Journal Entry

The only thing I can say about the time I threw up over the side of a truck bed and saw my morning mini wheats splatter between the stiff blades of country grass is that my insides knew paradise before I did. It took me months to sink myself that easily into the farm and let it absorb me like it did my upchuck. That was the spring my Gran gave up on me and regifted my orphaned self to her cousin Samuel, and it was the spring I fell in love. Fell in love with solitude, that is. I became happy there, shoveling manure and having one sided conversations with animals and tractors. I don’t regret how long it took me to accept that I was meant for lonely farm life, because I know a part of me knew it was perfect all along. That’s why my gut threw itself at the farm the second the long ride from the city was over. The sick feeling I’d had in my stomach the whole trip wasn’t nausea like I thought. It was anticipation.