When I was six we lived on a farm in far northern Wisconsin. My parents were Back-to-the-Land’ers. There was a giant old white house, a dilapidated barn and a huge field with an old hen house. The farm sat up on a point on a lake and had the most amazing (albeit overgrown) rock garden that took up probably a full acre. The house we lived in was a bit scary to me – the old field stone basement with the door to nowhere, a huge hole in the foundation and an enormous old oil furnace. It conjured up all kinds of mystery and scary thoughts in our young minds. My older sister and I shared a room on the second floor that overlooked the lake, and we would spend nights playing guessing games of the words we were thinking about before we both drifted off to sleep. I was a couple years older when we finally moved to the official homestead we would stay in until we moved when I was nearly 13.
When I remember my childhood, I rarely think about school (I spent nine years in a tiny Catholic school, and daily longed to be anywhere else). I started school a year early, so I always felt out of place and like I was trying to fit in with kids too much older than me. Instead, I focus on the days playing in the woods, the paths I would run, the animals that visited our little homestead, my dog, the garden my Mom tended to every day, the forts I built. I was more of a tom-boy that my sister – she was the girlie girl playing with dolls and hair and make-up. I trailed my Dad when he’d go to the hardware store and help him build anything it was that he needed to build or repair. I’d ride in the truck as he dropped trees and yanked the stumps from the yard, and we’d play ball against the side of the garage. For some reason I just did not want to be a girl back then – boys always seemed to have more fun, so I followed their lead. Played in little league, watched football games with my Dad, tagged along with my cousins as they shot at squirrels with BB guns and dug in the earth – just to dig. I played with toy trucks and ignored the fact that I was a girl.
I always enjoyed the time by myself out in the fields and forests. I explored and made up elaborate tales in my mind to occupy myself as I climbed trees and ran through the meadows. I guess it’s not much different than how I am now. Even these days – 30 years later – I love to explore in the woods and fields. And sometimes I even still climb trees and play in streams. I ponder deep thoughts as I walk endless trails. The only real difference these days is that, although I’m still a tom-boy who loves to be by herself, I do actually enjoy being a woman. Perhaps it just took me a few years to learn to appreciate that part of myself.
I really long to follow my parent’s lead and return to the land. I left the city life for good two years ago, and came back to a smaller town. Although, there are times even this town is too big. I dream of that little brown cabin deep in the woods with the giant garden. Chopping and stacking wood. Canning veggies before the long winter. I’ve been a student of Voluntary Simplicity for several years, although I feel that simplicity slipping away these days. So I just have to embrace my love for that philosophy and return to my own roots, and work toward that final place where I make a life for myself and not just a living.
I think if I had “met myself” when I was a kid, I’d be a little confused. I’d wonder how life got so complicated, and why I thought so much and spent so little time playing…
Today’s a good day to start playing. I’ve been writing, sewing, painting, dancing and listening to music since I got home. And this weekend, I’ll run through the woods and get muddy and bloody, and I’ll have a good time doing it. 
Thanks for the insightful prompt, Christine!
