Surrounded by the skeletons of thousands of dormant mounds of sage brush, I crouch on top of a ridge and look down across the rolling hills, punctuated occasionally with the brownish-green foliage of thirsty Eastern Red Cedars.
As the late afternoon sun descends into dusk, the prairie is mute except for the sound of the wind. It whistles and whirrs, emulating the sound of numerous voices, all involved in different conversations. It is a dull roar of indistinguishable words - except for one.
My heart races and I am filled with a strange feeling of satisfaction as I realize the meaning of this one word.
My sister is just across the way. I can see her on the top of another ridge. She is looking at something in the sand - most likely an old snake hole - she is always watching for those - even in the winter.
We don't feel the need to talk to each other as we trudge along. Every now and then we stop to point out something, like an old bottle or a snake hole, but there is no need for idle conversation out here.
I can see her face, she is not talking. It is the prairie I hear - and today, it is calling my name.
This prairie wind calls out to me, reassuring me that this is exactly where I am meant to be - where I belong. This soothing whisper in the wind is like the bond between friends. It envelopes me in warmth on this cold winter day and confirms what I already knew in my heart.
This land knows me by name. It knows that I have a plan for it and that I will not forsake it to the wrath of the summer heat or the blustery winter winds. It knows that I have seeds in wait to plant in its dry valleys and that instead of seeing a dusty and windblown wasteland, I see a dormant oasis in need of a little care and cultivation, ready to burst forth with a rich bounty.
It knows my name because my name is written here. I write it with my footprints in the red dirt hills and the sandy valley bottoms and with every swath of the plow and every seed that is planted. The mark I make on this land pales in comparison to the mark this land has made on me.
It has supported generations of Phillips' who depended on it. Though the weather and the markets may have let them down, this land never did. It stood by steadfastly and now I hope to repay the favor.
Welcome to the farm.
