The Family Table

We’d left the flocks behind, and aside from a minor hiccup involving a house key—and a quick pit stop to ship said key back home—we were off to visit family.

We had been looking for an opportunity to visit our family in Iowa for at least three years and we were so excited to finally be en route.

As we drove through Iowa—a state none of us had visited before—we were surprised by how much it resembled Oklahoma.

But as we continued east, the landscape began to shift. Rolling hills appeared. Miles of farmland stretched in every direction. It was truly beautiful.

Later, as I gushed about its beauty to my mother-in-law, she told me that she had done the same on her first visit and was told that Iowa actually means “beautiful land.”

Once we arrived, I expected the usual “warming up” phase that often comes with long gaps between visits.

Instead, everyone fell back into step almost immediately.

We quickly settled into a steady rhythm for the week: gathering, dispersing, then gathering again.

With no strict schedule for either of our families that week, we were all free to wander, with the anchors of animal care and meal times keeping us from floating adrift.

There were cows to milk and lambs to feed, tractors to fix and trampolines to jump on, fabric strips to cut and mattress slides to build.

The Table

Each meal was shared around the family table in the dining area—breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Food was blessed and received eagerly. Dishes of delicious food were passed around until everyone had their fill. The volume rose and fell as one conversation gave way to another. Funny stories, proud stories, sad stories, stories of struggle. Even dad jokes and knock-knock jokes had their turn.

Afterward, a few of the children handled the clean-up while others drifted toward other chores or raced off to play.

The Animals

During our visit, I got to help bottle-feed their six lambs—some hair sheep like our own, others wool sheep.

I also tried my hand at milking a cow again. The last time I attempted it, I was woefully unsuccessful, but this time I finally got the hang of it.

My niece, who handles the most of the milking, graciously walked me through the process—bringing the cows into the milking parlor, washing them, and attaching the milking machine. Once finished, she turned them back out to pasture, where they headed off to eat their fill of hay.

Having considered getting a cow for our own little homestead, this was a valuable learning experience. It taught me that while I may continue dreaming of a miniature—or perhaps micro—cow someday, I do not ever wish to own an animal larger than I am.

I was in awe of my niece’s confidence and the way she handled such large animals with both firmness and kindness. I, on the other hand, found them rather intimidating.

They had four cows and one bull, and we were especially excited because one cow was expected to calve during our visit.

Spoiler alert: she waited until the following week, when she gave birth to a big, beautiful bull calf.

My sister-in-law had also ordered boxes of baby birds, so we got to see goslings, turkey chicks, and guinea chicks.

Honestly, the turkey and guinea chicks look nearly identical to chicken chicks, and the goslings mostly just look like oversized ducklings. But baby animals are always a delight, and everyone enjoyed getting to hold them.

At one point, one even escaped its brooder and landed on my foot during dinner—quite unexpected.

My husband later recounted a story to me about our younger son and a boy cousin who once raced into the shop, grabbed a 5-gallon bucket and a drill, and were immediately stopped by the dads asking what they were doing.

My son simply said, “Making a waterer,” as if that were explanation enough.

My husband laughed—already realizing what they were planning—and asked our son to explain how it worked to his uncle.

Once he did, he agreed that their idea of turning a 5-gallon bucket into a gravity waterer was actually a good one, and the boys were allowed to continue, proudly showing how it all worked.

The Auctions

While we were there, we attended four different auctions: small animals, cattle and hay, produce, and farm machinery.

It was fascinating. I’d never been to an auction before, and I loved getting to walk the catwalks above the animal pens and take it all in—except for the smells, that is.

Thankfully, there no irresistible deals on a miniature cow that day, or I would have been scheming as to how to get one back home in our minivan.

The Amish

We were in the midst of the oldest Amish community west of the Mississippi, founded in 1846.

I’ve always found it fascinating to learn about other cultures, so I looked forward to observing daily life there.

We especially enjoyed the steady clip-clop of horses’ hooves and watching buggies pass by the windows.

One family in particular extended such warm hospitality, inviting all the cousins to visit. The children got to see a newborn foal, dozens of horses and dairy goats, hundreds of Isa Brown chickens, and even ride in a pony cart.

The Treehouse

All the boy cousins spent much of the week building a treehouse.

It was genuinely inspiring to watch them work—carrying ladders and tools back and forth, climbing up and down, sawing logs, and figuring things out as they went.

They even built a whole pulley system to be able to lift the logs up into the tree.

The Tractors

On our last night, my husband and brother-in-law taught our two sons how to drive tractors and all the cousins enjoyed putting on a full tractor parade.

It’s impossible to fully capture—or even articulate—the magic of that week.

The steadiness. The quiet wandering. The camaraderie of the cousins. The learning woven into everyday life.

But more than anything, it was a week built on authentic relationships, a shared faith in Christ, and a shared understanding of the joy and trials of raising children and caring for farm animals.

It’s a week we won’t soon forget.

Before we even left, I found myself wondering: What do I want to take home from this?

I’ve asked that question after meaningful trips before, recognizing that while there is a unique magic inherent to vacation, there are also ways to carry pieces of that magic back into daily life. A visit to San Diego nearly ten years ago inspired me to begin walking—and biking—through my own city whenever I had the chance.

This trip was inviting me toward a different rhythm.

The family table.

We already eat many meals together, but I longed to linger longer—to listen more carefully, to engage more deeply, to quiet the noise of this crazy world, and to soak up these final, fleeting years when all three of our children are still under one roof.

It may not be easy to swim upstream of the mainstream culture, but it has always been worth it.

So, we came home and I fought for that moment where everyone gathered around the table.

Except I found I wasn’t the only one longing for it.

My husband led the way in calling everyone to the table.

One child starting lighting a candle to add a touch of ambiance—and requested a different candle for each meal, so I bought them.

Just a small shift in trajectory. But small shifts, compounded over time, can change everything.

We may have left Iowa behind—but we brought a piece of it home with us.

Well, that…and a gosling.

Next Up: A Time to Lose – coming May 30.