Back to the Farm
I grew up on a farm in central Wisconsin with my grandparents. My father lived in the same community but my mother was in St. Paul, Minnesota. My father was physically abusive to myself and three siblings and sexually assaulted one of my sisters. At times, to escape all the bad feelings about what was going on, I would go down by the creek that ran through our farm. On the south side of the creek were wheat, corn and hay fields. It was so relaxing to watch them blow in the breeze and easy to forget all the negative stuff going on.
Now that I am a social worker working with abused and abusive teens--there are times I need to escape for a few minutes to gather my thoughts. If one of my staff walk into my office and see me looking out the window with my feet up on my desk they know I have gone "back to the farm". I only need a few minutes but it is so relaxing and helps me put things in perspective. I have already decided that when I pass away, some of my ashes will be put in this creek, as it is by far the most peaceful place I have ever known.
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