The Roads that Lead Me Home!

Hidden Stream Farm, Brubaker Valley Road, Lititz, PA

There is something about returning to Lancaster County that awakens every sense. The country roads stretch out before me, curving through fields quilted in green and gold. Each shortcut is its own folklore—argued over at kitchen tables, mapped out in memory. The sharp left by the red barn, the gentle dip past the creek bed, the rolling rise where cornfields lean toward the sky. Every twist and turn carries its own claim to being “the best way home.”

And then comes the slowing. I pull over where the road shoulders give way to a wooden table, shaded by sycamores. The air is thick with the sweetness of peaches, the earthiness of just-picked tomatoes, the faint spice of basil still clinging to its stems. Jars of zinnias blaze in color, their petals catching the hum of bees. There are hand-stitched potholders, their fabric faintly sun-warmed, folded with care. No seller stands watch—only a dented cashbox, a pocket calculator, and the whisper of trust left behind in their place.

The cicadas drone in the distance, the air heavy with late summer heat. A breeze carries the scent of cut hay, mixing with the sharp tang of manure from a field nearby. These small roadside altars invite me to linger, to breathe in the patience of a slower rhythm.

In a world so often hurried and loud, these moments bring me stillness. They remind me that home is not just a place, but a way of being—where honesty is expected, where beauty is found in the ordinary, and where the road itself feels like an embrace.