Call of the Meadowlark

When Steve and I retired, we made a decision that surprised even us—we moved into my grandparents’ old farmhouse and bought the land from them. I never imagined we’d spend our retirement here, but the pull of this place was stronger than I’d realized. It wasn’t just a house—it was home, woven tightly into the fabric of my childhood.

Some of my fondest memories live within these walls: big Sunday dinners with the whole family gathered around the table—usually beef and noodles, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and always a pie waiting on the counter. No matter what Grandma was doing when we arrived, she’d stop everything just to give us the warmest, tightest hug. I spent countless nights in the upstairs bedroom, where mornings always greeted me with the smell of breakfast cooking and the sound of a meadowlark singing just outside the window.

That bird—the meadowlark—became more than just background music. Its song came to mean love, comfort, and a sense of belonging. Even now, when I hear it, I’m taken back to those moments of safety and joy. That’s why we chose to name our farm Meadowlark. It’s more than a name; it’s a tribute to everything this land has meant to us.

It was always Grandpa’s dream that someone in the family would carry on the farming legacy. Now, that dream lives on in us—and we hope, one day, to pass it on again. Meadowlark is a reminder of where we came from, and a promise to keep that spirit alive for generations to come.