I’m feeling a bit nostalgic as I write this. And a bit gloomy. Down in the dumps, you might call it. I can’t pinpoint an exact reason, just feel off my normally perky self.

I’m a person who doesn’t go anywhere and not know someone.  Back in the day, when I was a farm broadcaster, I talked to so many people in a given day. I was interviewing people, seeking stories, travelling, etc. And I often felt like I’d walk in a room and know more people than not.

Now, in my wine marketing job, it’s the same thing.  I know lots of people. Some are the same from the radio job. But I widened my circle. I know lots of people. It’s fun to be able to walk into a room and pick up a conversation with nearly anyone.

And yet, if my world crashed around me tomorrow, I don’t know who I’d call for help.  Does that make sense?  I have thousands of contacts, but no true best friend.

OK, The Farmer is my best friend.  That’s a given.  He is my everything.  He’s my rock when I get crazy.  He’s my calm when my head is spinning.  He’s my first thought in the morning and last at night.  But after him, who would pick up the phone?

I grew up with two amazing friends that I met at church camp.  One girl and I went to church together, yet different schools.  The other girl and I only lived 15 minutes apart and talked on the phone constantly.  They are friends to this day, but no longer the best friends that they were in my younger days. 

Then there are my college friends.  People I still communicate with often, but are scattered all across the country living fantastic lives. 

I have work friends.  These are friends from other commodity groups who are fantastic people and we get along so well when we are together. But the miles between our houses prevent weekend gatherings.  I have some great friends from my work with Farm Bureau and our time on the State Young Farmer Committee.  Two couples we met then are still people we hang out with now.  But again, miles prevent frequent gatherings.

I have church friends.  It is this group that I hang out with most often and know would be there if we were to ever need something.

I have the friends I grew up with and, by virtue of living in the same county I grew up in, they are still friends today. 

I have new friends.  A few ladies pop to mind, people who have kids the same age as mine and we are together alot for baseball games, camps, field trips, etc.  They are friends who hopefully will become better friends.  But it’s like dating. It takes time to develop those relationships.

So it leads me back to the original question. If my world were to crash around me tomorrow, who would I call?  I’m lacking that one best friend that I always had when growing up.  Two friends come close  in my mind. But I often think I value the friendship more than they do.  So I step back so not to smother them.

In the end, I wonder if I need that one best friend.  Maybe I have what I’m supposed to. A bunch of really good friends. 

I offer these thoughts as a question to you.  Do you struggle with the same thing?  Has our busy, crazy, insane lives as parents, full-time employees, farmers, volunteers, spouses, caused us to lose those valuable friendships?  In an effort to stay connected via Twitter, Facebook, texting and all other forms of communication, have we actually lost what matters most?

Who would you call if your world suddenly crashed around you?

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  I’ve been in a funk all day.  And it didn’t get any better when I headed out the door to take the kids to daycare.  I was greeted by a downpour.

This is one of our wheat fields.  It doesn’t look so great.  The dots on my lens are rain drops.  All of this rain hit as we have ONE field left to plant.  ONE.  Just ONE.  And at this point we may have to abandon the acreage, meaning we won’t plant it.  I can’t think of the last time we didn’t get all the crop in.  To say it’s been a frusterating year is to say Noah had just a little bit of water under his ark.  At this point, I’m starting to understand what Noah had to deal with.

I began anticipating my Monkey’s preschool graduation about 3 months ago. Which means I’ve been crying about it for roughly 3 months as well. Just the thought of her walking down the aisle in her little yellow cap and gown made me want to grab her up and rock her as I did when she was a baby.

So I’ve been thinking alot about her growing up. My Monkey came into the world as a tiny, stubborn child. Although she looked fairly angelic and innocent! Despite having a fast labor, she was pretty content to stay put in utero and required a bit of coaxing to get out.

After she was born, she turned a great shade of yellow/brown and spent about a week in the big city’s NICU. I spent the week crying as I had no idea what I had done wrong in the pregnancy and was so worried. We had left the little country hospital and were in a whole different setting in the big NICU. But she ended up being fine.  I learned alot about jaundice and heel pricks during the first 3 months of her life.  But she was really fine compared to some of the other mom’s and their babies I met while in that NICU.

She was a happy baby! And I had finally had a child who looked like me! This picture of my Monkey looks so much like some of my baby pictures, even down to the the tongue sticking out of her mouth.

In all fairness, I first posted this as a guest blogger last week to my friend’s Liz’s blog. And seeing how I haven’t had time to blog this week, I’m going to post it here as well. 

Growing up, it was a right of passage to go mushroom hunting.  Many Sunday afternoons, after we had been to church and had lunch, Dad would load my sister and I up to trapse through the woods. In the early years, my sister and I just goofed around. But once we got old enough to find mushrooms, we were good hunters! Dad still jokes he’d go stand near one and say “I think there must be some around here.” But I like to think we found some on our own!

Now my husband and kids enjoy heading to one of our wooded properties that adjoin many different farm fields we plant each spring with corn or soybeans. We are on the lookout for the treasure morel mushroom. You can’t travel to any church service, coffee shop or farm commodity meeting this time of year without someone asking you how many mushrooms you have found.

So our yard had not yet been mowed, thanks to the rain we have had. But the sunshine had produced morel mushrooms. A lot of them!

By no means is this a healthy meal, however we only indulge in this meal as we find the mushrooms. Thus far our 66 mushrooms have made a few meals. And I do run a lot to work off the calories this meal provides. Not to be left out, my Lion Cub, who is only 8 months old, has discovered a taste for mushrooms as well!