Field of Dreams

Field of Dreams

“It’s that feeling of fragmentation,” he says, eyes fixed on the road, “when work and life have nothing to do with each other. I hated that the most.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah. For me, it was Walmart. Soul-crushing, life-sucking. Just surviving paycheck to paycheck—working to live but never really living.”

An 18-wheeler thunders past in the left lane, sending a sheet of dirty water across the windshield.

“God,” she mutters, flipping the wipers to high. “I can barely see.”

“Flash your high beams,” he says.

The truck roars ahead and fades into the gray mist.

“How much longer?”

“Another six hours,” he says, offering a tired smile.

“I can’t wait,” he says, eyes brightening a little. “Tell me again about the wood shop.”

She chuckles. “What do you want me to say? They have one.

“Okay, okay—I’m just excited.” He leans back, staring at the blurry highway lights. “This is it, right? We’re really doing it.”

“We’re doing it,” she says. “And you can finally start on that bucket list.”

“Yeah—like building a cabin. Living off-grid. You said there’s an art studio too, right?”

“There is. Painting. Sculpting. Whatever you want.”

He grins. “What about you? What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

He glances over. “Check out the pottery studio. Make sure it’s still there.”

He turns to her. “Pottery? You never told me.”

“I never had the chance to do it,” she says. “Not in our old life. But I just couldn’t do it out there.”

“It’s the idea of being part of something bigger than myself. Giving myself to it. That really appeals.

“For me, it’s the land,” she says. “Feeling connected. Getting my hands in the soil. Watching things grow.”

They fall quiet again. The hum of the tires and the patter of rain fill the car.

Gravel crunches as they pull into a small parking lot. We climb out, stretch stiff limbs, and breathe in the crisp mountain air. The scent of pine and damp earth fill us with hope.

Looking around at our new home, we watch the sun rise slowly behind the trees, its first light catching on wet leaves.

“Feels like the world’s just beginning...,” she says.

I nod. “...like we can create our life together here.”