Mourning Doves

Six in the morning finds me outside in my nightgown. The sun is rising. The dog is emptying her bladder. The birds are crazy with song. And then my tired ears hear it, the low call of the Mourning Dove. I’m immediately transported back to by childhood bedroom; waking up with my sister beside me, and listening to the call of Mourning Doves, living the best childhood on a farm.
I think of my growing up in phases: childhood on the farm, adolescence and teen years in town and on the lake. We actually lived on two farms in my childhood, “The Other Farm” and well, “The Farm.” I have so many good memories from those days.
The Mourning doves in the morning; I remember waking up and hearing their calls. It was a peaceful sound, like a lullaby that gently wakes you up. I remember the smell of silage and fresh cut alfalfa; I still love those smells. Bringing lunch to my Dad and his hired-help was always fun. The log splitter that my Dad borrowed from my uncle; I thought it was cool the way it could split logs so fast. We had a wood burning furnace, and one summer we had a “twister” come through our yard and take out many trees from our grove and our beloved blue swing set. The log splitter was used a lot then!
We played in the empty corn crib, pretending we were poor, or playing “house” or Little House on the Prairie; and we’d all play a role from the book. We climbed trees, rode bikes, built forts, played with kittens and played with dolls in the straw mow. Not! the hay mow, the straw mow. There was a difference!!
I followed my Dad around a lot. My mom would get sick of us kids in the house, and we’d have to go outside. She’d say “Go follow your Dad around!” So, we did. Really, right behind him, all through the yard, the barn, in the tractor. He would turn a pail upside down in the barn, and make a little seat for us to sit on to watch him milk cows. There was a fear of the skittish cows, you never knew what their reaction would be; and not much fear of the rest of the cows.
I was a “farm girl” in the truest sense back then. I would be assigned a link in the human fence when moving cows from one barn to another. The fear emotion was present at those times! I was mostly afraid of “The Bull.” We always had one for sure, and they usually had a ring in their nose. I’d have nightmares about the bull getting out and climbing the stairs to the house and getting in. On the contrary, at one point we had two steers, and I wondered what the difference was between a bull and a steer. The steers weren’t as scary as the bull for some reason.
I can’t explain how lucky I feel to have been raised on a farm. I look back on my childhood with fondness and good memories. I don’t think times were easy for my parents. We never had a family vacation back then. And we certainly couldn’t afford things like dance lessons or Spanish class (not that there was a Spanish class offered for kids.) But, we learned other things. We learned to love animals. We learned to play together, to play outside, and to imagine. I remember so many smells, sights and sounds from those days.
I guess that is why I enjoy where we live now so much. I drive home through the little farms, the corn fields, the wheat fields, and the cut alfalfa. I see the horses and cows, and the apple orchards, and the raspberry fields. I hear the call of the Mourning Dove, and I see the lightening bug at night.
Almost, full circle.