If I close my eyes, I can still remember the way it felt to sit at the edge of our old stone bridge on our property in the Midwest. I'd sit there for no particular reason and toss pebbles into the creek water below. The creek was lined with old Willow trees whose branches became swinging vines when my little sister and I felt like playing Tarzan. The pond across the bridge provided ice-skating in the winter and swimming in the summer. It even served as a community "bath" after the annual mud volleyball tournament a few hills away. Nobody had to be invited, it was just common knowledge that my father, Bud, wouldn't mind if they jumped in to wash off the mud.

As a child, I was incredibly happy and free; freedom that I can't give to my children these days living in a large city in the Southwest. My sister and I would take off in the morning and spend hours outside climbing our apple trees or playing in the old barn that once held my great-grandfather's farm animals and hay. Mom never worried about us, even when we wandered over to the Coleman property on the other side of the barbed wire fence. They had the best hill for sledding in the winter and riding our little motorcycle down in the summer. And on summer nights, when my sister and I would climb into bed tuckered out from our day of running about, we fell asleep to the sound of crickets and frogs.

I suppose there are other areas in the United States that offer this type of freedom for children, but my love for the Midwest goes beyond the acres I grew up on. There's a spirit in the Midwest that in my travels, I have yet to find anywhere else. Where I grew up, business was done on a handshake. The whole community pitched in when the high school needed a football field and track. For the most part, we supported our local businesses even if it meant paying more for a couch from Lemon's Furniture Store than it would cost at the American Furniture Warehouse store down the highway.

If the football game was at home, the majority of our town could be found at the high school sipping hot chocolate and rooting for our team on Friday nights. As a matter of fact, every high school game, football, volleyball or basketball had a huge crowd of Panther fans cheering them on whether they had a child on the team or not. And when our teams would begin tournaments at the end of the season, the whole town would rush back home to catch the fire truck parade that always followed the advancing games.

There's no going back for me as my husband is a city boy and would be lost in the Midwest. I have no family left in the Midwest. My parents were the last to leave about 12 years ago, following their children and their children's dreams out West. We left to explore career opportunities that are hard to find in rural communities. The good news is that no matter where I am for the rest of my life, the acres are never far from my memories and the spirit of the Midwest is ingrained in my heart.

Learn more about this author, Mary Franz.
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