Dan Branigan didn’t plan
To follow in his father’s footsteps
No matter how noble farmers were thought to be
Even in Dan’s own eyes.

In a land devoid of architecture
With perhaps the single exception
Of an occasional cement silo towering over the lonely prarie
Dan dreamed of being an architect.
He planned to escape what we liked to call
The center of nowhere with nothing in sight
And make his way to Chicago
Like his idol, Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright.

But Dan said he had no desire
To build modest homes in a style reflecting this empty prairie
But rather to design beautiful, bustling towers
Tall enough to sway in the stratosphere
Gleaming glass castles housing as many people and businesses as
The grain stored in that rich farmer’s silo down the way.
Something like the Sears tower, or that giant needle
Rising from the desert in Dubai
Was what Dan had in mind.
If it could happen in Dubai,
Why not here in Iowa I often heard Dan say.
God knows who would ever come to the middle of Iowa
To occupy his skyscrapers, but that thought never seemed to matter to Dan.
Build it, and they will come…like in that movie he used to say.

Growing up on a farm never left much time for leisure
Always something needed doing
And as the eldest son, Mr. Branigan most often turned to Dan
To help keep the family farm afloat.
Animals to feed at sunrise and again before sunset
Fields to prepare for planting,
And then to plant, and fertilize, and irrigate, and harvest.
And never-ending fences to mend.
Dan found time enough to dream
But never much time to pursue his dreams.

Except perhaps, each year when winter came
And snow fell on everything all around
And life slowed down.

The dead of winter gave Dan the time he needed to study
To earn the grades necessary
For acceptance to the University of Chicago.
But then, just before Easter of his freshman year
Dan was sent home early
So Mr Branigan could tell his eldest son face-to-face
About the tumor his doctor said explained
His many recent, recurrent, painful migraines
And ask Dan to take his place
To keep the Branigan farm alive.

Dan put his dreams on hold
And turned to something he knew all too well how to do
But something he also knew would likely hold him captive
With responsibility not just to his current family
But to all past generations of Branigans
Who had invested their own lives in building and tending this farm.
How could he ever let them down?

As so often happens in farm country
Dan married his high school sweetheart
And raised a family the only way he knew
Of honest, hard-working children who knew
There was always another chore to do, another fence to mend.

In Dan’s own last days
He didn’t think about architecture or sky scrapers or University even.
No, he thought about his grandson
And a day they had spent walking in a corn field.
Dan had crumbled a clod of Branigan farmland through his fingers
And together they had pulled a cob of fresh corn off the stalk
And peeled back the green husk to reveal golden kernels of grain.
They had listened to the sister stalks rustling in the breeze
And inhaled the yellow mist of pollen
Tickling their noses and smelling like no other smell.

Dan had told his grandson about all the generations of Branigan sweat and toil
And love that had been poured into every handful of soil on this farm.
He had told the tale of his own father, and his father’s father
Who had all been Branigan farmers as far back as anyone could remember
Had planted and harvested crops from these very fields
And sent their harvests to feed millions, all over the world.
There was no profession more noble on this entire Earth
Than to be a farmer on this farm, the Branigan farm.

That was the moment Dan realized
He had lived a good life, and was happy in that moment
Like no other moment.

Thinking of that day now, precious months later
He looked out at the snow falling on the Branigan farm
Felt the warmth of the fire crackling in the fireplace
Gave his rocking chair a little push
Smiled to his grandson cuddled on his lap
And silently thanked him for giving
This simplest of gifts.

This poem is a little long to be about mindfulness. But the message I tried convey in this little story is that we often spend too much of our lives dreaming grandiose dreams and wishing to be something other than what we are. Real, honest joy comes from appreciating the simple pleasures of everyday life, like the moment when Dan shows his grandson what the farm really is — the soil, plants, sounds, smells, and so on that surround them every day. We are also surrounded by similar simple pleasures in our own everyday lives. We just need to let life slow down, stop for just a minute every now and then, and experience the things that are happening in that moment. Those are the experiences that make up our true lives…not the constant dreams and worries of the future or regrets from our past. Take a minute, even now. Experience this very moment in your life.