everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

i thank You God for most this amazing

day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

e.e. cummings

When I first walked around New York City, I stared in disbelief at the tall buildings of Manhattan. I had never seen so much concrete. The history and architecture of the buildings may be enthralling, but it doesn’t speak to me the same as an old, knotted oak tree or a sunset sprawled across the Texas sky. And sunset, my favorite part of the day, was a rare sight. Either I was at the office, or buildings blocked the lowering sun. When I made the move from New York to Walburg, I’d go out by myself to see the sun set in front of my grandparent’s house. Wisps of cotton-candy colored clouds stick to the sky and, closer to the horizon, a bright orange sky burns in the distance.

Sunset in Walburg

Nowadays if you exit my Grandpa and Grandma’s Farm to Market road from the highway, you’re led down a twisty black paved road. On the side of the Interstate, you’ll see a Crestview RV dealership—something my family complained about for weeks on end as it was being built but has since seemed like it has always been there. As you near the first big curve in the road, a small white church sits straight in front of you. To the right of that church is a small house with a fence extending down its right side and on down the road. That fence wraps around my grandparent’s pasture. Their small white house has sat on that same corner since 1955. Going further down the road on the left, you’ll pass the game room, Mickan Motor Company, and several large yellow warehouses. Behind those warehouses lies a graveyard of tractors and old farm parts. About thirty seconds later, you’re in the heart of Walburg, and about thirty seconds after that, you’re out again.

Miles of pasture extend down each side of the road, occasionally interrupted by a small neighborhood or business. In the fall, the pasture looks like stalks of gold in the sunshine. In the spring, wildflowers of all kinds line the roads, and the famous Texas bluebonnets cover the fields with the right amount of rain. The fields and yards are as green as the John Deere tractors that keep them groomed. In a good winter, hay sprouts from the dirt. This year, farmers kept praying for rain to have one small harvest before the dead of winter. My grandpa and I would drive along the county roads, staring out into the rows and rows of tilled, planted soil—a testament to the dedication and faith of the farmers hoping for a miracle.

When we were little, we spent the majority of our time outside in the backyard or in the infinite pasture. We had huge bonfires, where we would roast marshmallows and the kids would systematically find things to throw in the fire. My grandparents had a trampoline, where we would perform our stunts. I was usually chosen as the one to be skyrocketed into the air because I was the runt. I jumped in the middle, and my cousins and sister propelled me in the sky by jumping as close to me as possible. Grandpa had a treehouse built for us when we were all little, and we would climb up the wooden steps and whoosh down the metal slide. We taught one of our golden retrievers, Saint, to climb and slide too. We also had our version of a merry-go-round, which consisted of four chairs molded to the ends of two crisscrossed metal bars all painted blue. We would sit in the chairs and someone would go in the center and push. When we felt we were going fast enough, the one pushing in the middle would duck under the metal bars and proceed to roll out. One of my revered pastimes was watching the Monarch butterflies migrate. The trees, covered in butterflies, looked like they were on fire as the Monarchs flapped their red, yellow, and orange wings. Some afternoons, we would be the only traffic on the Farm to Market road as we raced in Grandpa’s pedal cars. Grandpa had a golf cart that we would use to ride all over the pasture. I would usually go crawfishing with bacon tied to a string. On cloudless nights, we would all go out on the trampoline, bundle up in quilts, and gaze for shooting stars—calling out when and where we spotted one.

Now we still fish as a family in Grandpa’s pond, go out on the fourwheeler with the dogs trailing behind, or sit out on the swing in the backyard and admire the breeze in the backyard. Just last month, the number of stars illuminating the night sky stunned me. I was frozen watching them flicker above me. All I could think was, “Thank God for this moment.” In the age of iPods, computers, big screen TVs, it’s nice to go to a place still engulfed in nature, a place where I can feel as infinite as the sky, and as free as the butterflies.