When I was young around 13, I thought the world was moving on without me.

On our farm, there is a tall hill that leads down to the land that is farmed. It floods in the rainy seasons so it isn’t a place someone could live.

At night, I would sit at the top of this tall hill and I could see the lights of towns to the north of us. There were two towns. I had been to one of the towns that was only about 20 minutes from the farm but the other one I had just heard about.

I would feel left out. I felt that the whole world was doing something and I was sitting here on this hill. I hated this feeling.

As soon as I graduated high school, I moved to a large city to go to college. I could not wait to get off that farm and live. Do all those things that have been going on since the hill sitting.

And boy did I do things. I stayed out late, I ate in every restaurant and I went to all movies, plays, exhibits and retail stores. Granted this was over the span of 18 years.

During those 18 years, I married my husband, worked for a large newspaper selling advertising, had a cellular phone installed in my car before they were hand held, found more than 100 great places for happy hour (most of which have probably closed down by now) and met many, many friends that most of which are still friends.

In 2000, our neighborhood was going down hill fast. What I mean by “going down hill” is the teenagers were different. They drove down the street with the music that was so loud, the windows vibrated in our house. Several times a year one of the punks egged our cars or house. One night about 2am, we woke up to the police outside our house. They had a kid on the ground and cuffing him. We heard the next day that he had robbed a house a street over and chased him that far. Whew. It just goes on and on.

One Monday afternoon as I was driving 10 mph in the middle of the rush hour commute, I talked with my mom. She told me how many problems my dad and brother were having on the dairy farm. Equipment problems. Help problems. Theirs just went on and on as well.

A few months before my grandparents had moved into town to a senior assisted apartment. There house was vacant for the first time since my dad built it in 1962. A light bulb went off in my head.

Mike had bugged me for years to move to the farm. He loved the country life. I couldn’t see any way that I could “move by home” if that were even possible. There was now a glimmer of possibility.

The farm paid our house and utilities. We only had our eating, gas and drinking expenses. Who ho! We’re moving out of Beverly Hills, Granny!

The first time back home that I sat on that hill and looked at the lights of those same two towns, I said, “I know what’s going on out there and I’m glad we’re here.”

Those 18 years in the city did help me to appreciate that hill.