Leaving makes me realize that I love this place after all.

It’s less easy to love when the yard’s a mess from renovating the house’s exterior, the garden needs attention, the kids have wandered off across the field where there are conveniently no dishes to do, the toilets need cleaning, and something else broke again.

But right now, the leaves are turning gold in the gentle, cool evenings, while the stars drift overhead. Crickets and migrating cranes and a sky full of rafts of clouds. I’ve been putting up tomatoes–the last of the garden. My home is warm and welcoming, we just had dinner guests the other night, and life here is rich and full.

I will be on a plane to a very large world, which sometimes scares me. Country girl, on plane, to a professional conference in Dallas. How weird. How intimidating. Is that really me? And those cities. I’ve been there before. You can’t see a single star in the night sky.

But this time around, I’m thinking, my prairie is big too. It’s just a matter of knowing how to get from A to B.

That’s a lesser concern than adding up noise, people, traffic, appointments, and obligations. I guess for someone from the city, getting from A to B in my countryside might be a bit nerve-wracking. It might feel like being lost, even though there’s always a neighbour and only the weather to worry about.

If it’s just a matter of knowing how to get there, then I’ll get there. And I’ll get through. I can’t predict the details, but I know the world is kind of different and kind of the same all over. And I also know how I’ll make my way home again. It’s simply a matter of getting there.