Coming Home to Dixie

This last week was full of excitement as we looked forward to the first football game of the season. My youngest had never seen a football game before and talked about it non-stop leading up to the big day. When Friday finally rolled around, we donned our matching sweatshirts to support our team. As we pulled up to the field, so many memories came flooding back—it had been 31 years since I last stood on that same field as a fan. Some things looked almost untouched by time, while others had changed dramatically.

The once tiny portable concession stand I remembered from my youth had been replaced by a sprawling modern setup, complete with barbecue grills and a menu full of meal options that didn’t exist back in my day. I still remember dumping hot chocolate packets into Styrofoam cups and zapping things in the microwave when I used to help. Now, it felt more like a professional event than a small-town game.

The bleachers, too, had been upgraded, with a defined fan seating area set back from the field—much more structured than when we used to crowd the fence and cheer with all we had. Still, the energy was the same. People of all ages filled the stands. Kids played behind the bleachers while adults caught up between plays. It felt like one big family reunion, where the common bond was a shared love for our town and its traditions.

My girls couldn’t have been happier. Roslynn was entranced by the cheerleaders, determined to mimic their moves with her own imaginary pom-poms. Siena and her friends gave her little lessons, and every ten minutes they ran back, flushed and laughing, to tell me how much fun they were having. Even though our team didn’t win that night, the spirit in the air was anything but defeated. We were all just happy to be there—connected, grounded, home.

Back on the farm, Dale and Ernie are truly becoming part of the family. They now come when I call their names—though I’m not sure they know who’s who yet—and occasionally give a soft “baa” when they see me walking out toward the barn. Ernie, the younger of the two, used to be so timid. But he’s gaining confidence and will now run with joyful leaps when we let them out of the pen. Dale, ever the big brother, stays close by and keeps an eye on him, but they both seem content and comfortable now.

I’m also becoming more confident in my role as their caretaker. I’m learning what time to feed them, what treats they like, and how to manage their pen and water. I even love the quiet routine of walking out to them in the morning—it grounds me and reminds me why we came all this way. I may still feel like I’m figuring everything out, but these moments? They feel right.

Every day brings new adjustments, but also new joy. And in these little scenes—Friday night lights, sheep greeting me at the gate, Roslynn cheering with all her might—I can feel our roots slowly beginning to grow.