A "Peace" of Bacon

I grew up in the middle of nowhere. Quite literally. So few people live in or have ever traveled to my home state that it could feasibly be called Nowhere, USA.

And yep. I grew up smack dab in the center of it.

So when I go home to visit my parents, who still live there (Rural Route 1, Nowhere, North Dakota) I equate it to a fancy retreat that hoity toity people take to escape the bustle and hustle of civilization. Only I don’t have to pay a lot of money for peace and quiet. I just head down the highway a couple hours to the boondocks.

And I love it. There’s nothing better than falling asleep in my childhood bedroom, waking up to the sound of my dad whistling in the kitchen, bacon wafting up the stairs whispering good morning.

Although peace is not necessarily silent. Sometimes peace is loud.

You see, as I make my way downstairs my parents bicker and joke at not exactly a soothing decibel. Forty years of marriage has carved out dynamics that are somewhere between Archie Bunker meets the Waltons. “Bacon? Again? Jack, you’re going to kill yourself!” I hear my mom harp. “Yeah, yeah, at least I’ll die happy, woman!” my dad retorts.

I just walk by the chaos and wonder to myself if I’m going to find any raisin bran in this house that didn’t expire during Reagan’s presidency.

I pour myself some coffee and go out into the chilly morning, settling into a chair on the porch and listen to the majestic melody of the prairie. Thousands of migrating veins of snow geese pepper the spring sky and the accompanying cackles makes it sound like an NFL game is going on across the road where they have chosen to feed in the corn stubble.

My mom swoops onto the porch exclaiming, “Good gawd, your father. I can not believe he is having bacon. Again.” She continues her tirade about his unhealthy eating habits and I just listen and nod, her voice blending in with the geese. Soon, my dad is on the porch wrestling with his boots and complaining loudly about both the muddy yard and my nagging mother. He stomps off to the barn and soon the tractor roars to life behind the house as he begins the process of feeding the cattle, the machine joining the chatter of the birds and the commentary of the farm wife who just can’t believe her husband is still alive after so many decades of bacon for breakfast.

Five minutes later my youngest daughter is on the porch, my brother (her uncle) in tow exclaiming loudly that she’s going to get a four wheeler ride. They jump on the ATV parked in the front yard, she squeals, the motor growls and they take off down the road to get a closer look at the thousands of honking birds circling and diving in the wind across the road.

The chaos continues throughout the weekend. Crescendos of farm and family life rise and fall.

And that’s the best kind of quiet anyone can ever hope to find.

When the noise around you.

Makes you peaceful.

On the inside.
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Happy Birthday, Mom!!!!