Growing up in rural Missouri, I daydreamed about my escape, as kids do the world over. We always think there is something better out there. In high school my best friend, Candi, and I would spend our study hall hour drawing up the floor plans of our future homes – hers, a rustic lodge in the Colorado mountains – mine, an apartment in Manhattan. I wanted to work in fashion, and I would flip through the same Vogue magazines until the pages fell out, looking for inspiration as I sketched my “fall collection”. We planned to always get our families together for holidays. Candi was to have a son named Logan (which she did). I would have a daughter named Willow…that maternal instinct to procreate and nurture never kicked in, and so I ended up with a black lab-mix named Callie.
My friend Candi never found that home in Colorado, but she tries to get out of these hot Midwest summers by going to Michigan. And although I have visited New York City a few times since I left high school, I ended up on the other end of the spectrum…in Alaska. I went there to work with a college roommate following graduation, met my husband, Mick, that summer, and made it my home for over twenty years. At the time we met Mick lived in a one-room log cabin at the head of a bay along the ocean. The cabin had no electricity – he read by oil lamps. There was no running water – he carried water from the creek and heated it on the stove for bathing and doing dishes. Needless to say, there was no toilet, just an outhouse. And yes, I moved in! Which is proof positive that when in love, you are capable of doing extraordinary things. Mick and I eventually moved into a beautiful log home with endless ocean and mountain views, watched grizzly bears from our living room window, and lived a life that for most is only a dream.
Our years in Alaska are worthy of their own blog, but this blog is about “life after Alaska”. Everything runs its course, and for us, it was time to move on to the next chapter. Mick had retired from his job on the Alaska State Ferry System. He had also just had a pacemaker/defibrillator implant, and I was afraid that one more winter of shoveling snow might just do him in. So I quit my job, and we found a buyer for our home, reluctantly turning over the keys. And, on a wintry January night, with snow falling thickly, we loaded the last of our things, and our dog, Callie, into the back of the Jeep, said our good-byes to friends at the ferry terminal, and boarded the ferry bound for Washington State.
We had been talking about moving back to my hometown of Hermann, Missouri. Mick was sure he could be happy there – small town life with low-key tourism – maybe we would buy a B&B. From past visits he had fallen in love with the countryside around Hermann – the rolling hills, views of the Missouri River, the sound of car wheels on gravel roads – he already had the Lucinda Williams’ tunes going through his head – now he just needed the setting to fit the soundtrack. Besides, winters in Missouri would be a cakewalk after all those years in Alaska.
I was not as easily convinced that I was ready to go back to Hermann. After spending my childhood dreaming about the life I would build outside of my rural upbringing, I had succeeded in doing it. I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel and go home yet! I was sure we could find a nice community, other than Hermann, to call home. So, when we drove off the ferry in Bellingham, Washington, we started driving south along the West Coast to see where we wanted to live next…first Oregon, then California. We started heading east through Arizona, New Mexico, and before I knew it we were in Missouri in the midst of one of those famous February ice storms. A few more hours down the road, and there we were, driving into Hermann, with Mick grinning ear-to-ear.
Before the end of that first day back in Hermann, we had signed a contract to purchase the Grapevine Guest Suite, and by the end of the week, we had found a house and acreage in the country to call home. I can’t say the adjustment was easy for me. Suddenly I was back in the heartland of conservative politics, where you can still find people who have never traveled outside of the state, and avocadoes are considered exotic cuisine.
Initially I viewed this move as a backward step in my life, but now I see it as more of a rejuvenating respite. Whether I’m at a church picnic or watching a Friday night high school football game, or listening to the retired farmers complaining about the price of fuel at the local cafe, the scene hasn’t changed much in the twenty-some years that I’ve been away, and that’s okay. It’s actually reassuring in a way. You see, my time back home has shown me that self-fulfillment doesn’t necessarily come from traveling the world and having new experiences. Those times are just icing on the cake. Having a fulfilling life is, first, about feeling content in your own surroundings and enjoying the people and places right around you – and small towns are full of folks doing just that.
As you read this blog, whether you are already familiar with historic Hermann, Missouri, or you are planning an upcoming visit here, I hope my reflections on life and happenings in this area of the Midwest will inspire you to return again and again, or maybe to even make it your own home some day.
I’ve become a morning person. I never used to be one. My mom joked that it was a good thing I was in the afternoon kindergarten class, or she would have never gotten me there at all. As each year goes by, I seem to enjoy the early mornings more and more. My mind feels refreshed, and I feel I can get a jumpstart on my day. Also, my husband, Mick, often has trouble sleeping at night, and usually sleeps in, giving me several hours with the house all to myself.
You meander down the road with a hay field on one side and woods on the other, and then you see a church steeple poking out through the trees. A huge oak towers near the church – you can imagine its gnarled limbs providing shade for several generations of parishioners. 
Cows graze in the fields beyond. If you can overlook the electric lines to the church and the sound of drivers in the distance on their way to work, you will think you have walked back to another time.
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