Somewhere in America, there is a neighbor helping another. Somewhere in America, there is a child playing in the mud. Somewhere in America there is a farmer praying for rain.
Somewhere In America…
I’m not sure there are even words sometimes to express our gratitude and appreciation for what we have, where we live, and the people in our lives. What I do know, is this… somewhere in America, there is a middle-aged woman on a little farmstead in a little town that still believes there is good out there. I do believe that neighbors still help each other, that children should play in the dirt and that farmers truly do pray for rain (I know we do).
We GET to live in one of the most beautiful places (that is of course my opinion) in America. Small town values, small town people, small town hospitality, small town traditions, small town parades, small town churches – are you getting the picture yet? Things that happen around here (that are out of the norm for “big city folks”) movies at the park, 4th of July fireworks up in the little league ball field along with the parade down main-street that features every kid in town, a whole community watching for a lost critter, open invites to the barbecue at the local church pavilion, driving a tractor through the center of town, and of course there’s always a few chickens wondering about. That’s my somewhere in America.
We have a 25 minute drive to work now that we have moved the farm, everyday we drive past open fields of hay, alfalfa, corn and other crops. We drive by other farmers out on their tractors or working on irrigation lines and sprinklers. I can’t help but to know (yes, I actually know) that each one of these people would at the end of the day go help get a neighbor’s crop in or help round up cows or fix fence for a friend. That’s the America I still live in, that’s my America. 
In my America, kids play in the ditches after a rain, where moms still bake pies and make noodles, and where you grow what you eat and you eat what you grow. At our place, we still gather eggs, sit on the porch and shell beans, read the Bible, and listen to the wisdom of the “Old Timers”. When was the last time you visited with your neighbor (or even knew their name)? Where was the last place you saw someone in overalls (legit overalls) and muck boots? When was the last time you had homemade bread and jam? Where is your America?
Somewhere In America…
Where we dream in red, white and blue.
Want your own copy of Brooks and Dunn’s Only in America? Get it here and listen to it regularly!
