Is this Heaven? No, it's Iowa

Just got home from Iowa last night.  Took my daughter's furniture and household stuff up in a borrowed stock trailer.   It was a quick trip with detours due to the God awful floods.  Parts of I-29 closed and in it's place, lakes with big, white barns and farmhouses seemingly floating on the surface. 

And yet, the countryside was gorgeous as it is mostly in June.

Some day I'll have an old, two-story farmhouse up there with a barn where I will spend every single June from then on, on high ground of course.

I don't know why but I feel like crying.  Coming across a book by Roy Underhill The Woodwright's Shop while ordering books online, I got tears in my eyes.  Simpler times.  My childhood floating away on the Missouri River this week.  My Mom out of town when I went back to Lincoln to visit my brother and his wife.  This is how it will be when she's gone, I thought.  My brother drove us through her back alley on the way to a Middle Eastern grocery to get cardamom seed and yogurt soda.  Grass growing amongst her tomato plants.  This is why I bury myself in Gunsmoke reruns and PBS sewing shows on Saturday mornings.  I can pretend I'm a kid, again.  Like nothing has changed.  Those fields dry and people still living in those houses.

For now I'll just sit here, a western on tv, the sound turned down, and listen to this.