it takes a farm

While waiting for my son to finish gymnastics this afternoon, I overheard one of the moms talking to her friends. She was carrying on about how important she thinks it is to always and everywhere look your best. Even if you're running out for bagels on a Saturday morning, you should put on your makeup and a good-looking outfit. You never know who you might see, she reasoned. What if you bumped into an old high school boyfriend for heaven's sake?

I quickly gave myself a once over and figured I probably wouldn't rank particularly high in her "looking good" files. I had barely a trace of makeup and jeans that were long overdue for a wash. What a relief that I had remembered earings. Pearls, even.

I joke, but I am not opposed to looking nice. It would probably behoove me to try a little harder sometimes. But, truth is, I do not have a huge closet full of clothes and shoes. (Although, I do own a $200 pair of jeans. An uncharacteristic moment of insanity.) I rarely do more to pretty my face than whip out a mascara wand. But is that really what's needed for looking our best?

After gymnastics, we drove to our favorite local destination - Heritage Prairie Market and Farm. I get such a rush of joy and lightness when I step out of the car onto the gravel and see the chickens strutting through the zinnias and hear the goat babies bleating in their pen. I am nearly sure that in a beautiful previous life, a farm was my home.

After checking out the animal doings and drinking in every shade of green and gold, we hit the market for our staples. Inside, Liam was greeted by name by the shopkeeper. We chatted for a while about preschool and winter gardening and jewelry making and the funny paths our lives take. She never seemed rushed or ready to move on to something more important. And, as far as I could tell, she wasn't paying one iota of attention to how I looked. She, I noticed however, was makeupless and wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a cool enamel necklace she made. She was cute as a button.

On the way back to our car, we ran into the "farm wife," another makeupless, t-shirted woman who looks just like an Ivory soap girl. She could have easily and comfortably walked by without even saying hello as we were nearly at our car and she was on the path from house to store. But she waved hello and walked over to ask Liam if he'd said hey to the goats and to give Elliott a toe squeeze.

In that moment, I thought, this is it. This is what the gymnastics mom is looking for. Because as I soaked in the kindness, the slow pace, the genuineness, the happy squeals of my littlest farmer and the warm, golden sunlight, I felt quite sure that there in my well-worn jeans, unstyled hairdo and makeupless face, I looked my best. And if my old high school boyfriend was there on that farm, he definitely would have been groveling.