Not too many months ago, news outlets far and wide warned of a dual cicada brood this summer. If we had predicted commodity prices half as accurately as the insect deluge, we would all be pretty happy.  

A snapshot of my dual brood summer would have a two year-old sitting in a farmhouse’s gravel drive - with a 50/50 shot of him being barefoot - collecting a ‘family’ of cicada shells while dad hunts the trees for more and mom paces with a colicky baby.  

This year, my dual brood turned literal, with the arrival of our second little boy. He arrived just before my first company trip to Farm Progress Show and we named him Boone- although our name choice came totally unrelated to this year’s show location in Iowa.  

I wouldn’t change a thing about my snapshot- not the dirt that will get dragged into the house or the bare feet. There’s something in me that wouldn’t want to live anywhere but in the country. I love walking down our dirt road and teaching my son all about the changing seasons of the farms around us. Spotting sprayers and balers and now combines with him is fun.  

The conversation around improving the allure of rural communities for young people like me often goes hand in hand with talking about agriculture. Keeping people happy in small towns is critical for continuing the legacy and building community. 

Related:Close encounters of the ranching kind

In those conversations healthcare and education opportunities are often top of mind. 

With each child I’ve had, my opinion of rural health care has only increased. There’s something very comforting about being treated by doctors you know and trust. My obstetrician was the daughter of a local Hereford cattle baron. Her family ranch takes up an entire section and butts up against our ground - we’re pretty much fence neighbors, in a sense. 

My nurses’ topic of conversation during my surgery centered mostly around their kid’s 4-H projects - goats named Leroy and Carl Wayne. Which greatly confused a late-arrived nurse who walked into a heated debate about their breeding prospects. 

Our baby was born the exact same day as my husband’s work partner’s. So, in a hospital with only four birthing rooms, two were occupied by farm management economists. There’s a joke in that somewhere, I’m sure. 

Those experiences provide a quick picture of how rewarding and comforting it is to live in a small town. (For me, anyway. Some people might find the goat talk weird.)  I’ve never felt like living 20 minutes from the nearest small hospital would somehow compromise my care.  

These are all things you all already know. If you have a hold-out child or grandchild that needs someone with a few less birthdays to tell them the virtues of returning to the family farm, point them my way. I’m happy to share.  

Related:Be a “Bell Cow”