Page 2 of Homesick

Thankfully, I’m saved by the bell when we pull onto a familiar dirt road with miles of fields that are getting ready for the first cut of the season.

“We’re home!” my mom gleefully announces.

Sure enough, I spot the battered-up sign with Campbell Farm barely legibly on it. The red barn my dad made me paint on the sign is now starting to fade and some of the wood is beginning to chip off around the edges.

“That sign could use some TLC.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll have plenty of free time to fix it up. It’s almost like it’s been waiting for you to come home,” she gleams and pulls the car down the long driveway.

I still can’t believe I made this walk every day to the bus. I swear it gets longer and longer every time I come home.

I can feel my mom’s happiness radiate when I finally spot the familiar farmhouse. The one thing making this move bearable is seeing my family again. I used to be close to my parents and brother before I left for college, but the distance has become more noticeable the longer I stayed away. I let out the deep breath I didn’t know I was holding as my mom parks her car in front of the house. I feel the flutter of nervousness rise in my stomach. It’s weird being home after all this time.

The old white farmhouse is, surprisingly, still standing. My dad inherited the house from his grandparents and someday my older brother will inherit it as well. The two-story building looks like something out of a Hallmark movie, even though the inside tells a much different story.

I open the car door to get out and pause for a second before letting my foot crunch down on the loose gravel. I take in the old barns sitting across the road and my entire body hums to life at the feeling of familiarity.

“Hey hun, can you go get the boys? Ashley should be here any minute with the pizza,” my mom asks, heading inside with some of my things.

“Sure, Mom.”

I assume my dad and brother are in the barn, so I head across the road. I’m hit with a strong whiff of cow shit as I walk. That’s hardly the kind of nostalgia I would like right now.

As I’m walking, I see an unfamiliar black pick-up truck sitting next to the calf barn and I decide to start there. The truck looks more familiar the closer I get, but I still can’t place it.

I walk into the barn, almost running into my brother walking in the opposite direction. “Ah, the favorite child has returned,” he smiles before pulling me in for a hug.

Chris towers over my five-feet five-inch frame and I’m met with a face full of sweat that’s completely soaked through the t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Chris, you’re freaking soaked! Unhand me,” I say before playfully pushing him away.

“I see how it is. You’re too good to hug your only brother.”

“I don’t understand how you bagged Ashley with that stellar hygiene of yours.”

“If you must know baby sis, it’s because of my huge d?—”

I quickly interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. “Where’s Dad? Ashley’s on her way with the food.”

Something clicks in his brain and there’s a mischievous look behind his eyes.

“He’s inside trying to get one of the new calves to feed. I’ll go grab him if you want. Wouldn’t want to get any cow shit on those nice shoes,” he says as he looks down at my squeaky-clean Reeboks.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll go tell him. Plus, I haven’t seen any of the new babies yet.”

“Okay,” he says like he knows something I don’t. “Oh, and Wren, please don’t get all dramatic like you usually do,” Chris says, nervously jogging away before I can ask another question.

Weird, I think to myself. I head deeper into the barn, and I spot my dad trying to coax a calf to latch onto its mom’s udder.

“Dad!”

He looks up just in time to catch me in one of his famous bear hugs.

“Hey, kiddo! Good to have you home.”

When he says it, he sounds genuine, and it almost does feel good to be home.

“Good to be home, old man. I promise I won’t be in your hair for long.”