1895, exactly one hundred years before I was born, a group of settlers decided to put down roots in what they would call White Oak in the Northeast corner of Indian Territory, now present-day Oklahoma. Well over a hundred and thirty years later, I know why they would have chosen this place, for I’ve tasted and seen the goodness of God here, and I can only imagine that they did too.

I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living –Psalm 27:13

Slowly, we pulled off the highway onto a sloped gravel road leading up a hillside. We were on our way to look at a house that had just been listed for sale. It was so fresh on the market that pictures weren’t even included with the listing yet, but I just knew in my gut we had to see it. My husband made a sharp turn left when we topped the hillside, and my breath was taken right from my lungs. The afternoon sun was making its way farther and farther west, and the valley below me demanded every bit of my attention. Cattle covered miles and miles of open land before me, and the ponds below glistened underneath the sun. In that split second, my heart knew I had found the place my heart would call home while here on earth. My eyes didn’t blink, and my words never stuttered when I confidently proclaimed, “Michael, this is it. This is home.” His response was obviously the more rational one, but my heart was making the decisions on this day. In his defense, though, we hadn’t yet seen the house, and he promptly reminded me of that. “Brentlee!” Michael exclaimed. “Don’t let our realtor hear that yet! We haven’t even seen the house, and that land is across the road! It doesn’t even go with the house.” And while I knew all of that already, I also knew that it would be my view from my front porch every single day, and that was truly all I needed to know.

We drove a little further up the gravel road and took another left that turned into a driveway lined with maple trees just starting to hint at their autumn color. To the left was a garden shed with an old, neglected chicken run beside it, and immediately, I had visions of chickens once again pecking at that ground. Past the garden shed was a shop that made Michael’s eyes light up, and the garden with late-season okra peeking behind it just fanned the fire that I already had in mine. We pulled into the circular driveway that looped around a cedar tree, like it had been designed out of respect for the tree that must have been there first. The house was beautiful with stone steps leading you straight to a redbud tree planted right in front of a large front porch that just begged you to sit and have a cup of coffee. Honestly, though, the house could have been a run-down, neglected patch of timber, and I still would have wanted it. The land had my heart, and I was there to stay. Not even two hours later, we were signing contracts, and I pulled out my journal and began putting to paper visions of what we could accomplish and put our hands to as soon as we moved in. Chickens, gardens, cows, fruit trees- for me, the possibilities were endless. A door to dreams I had been holding in my heart since I was a little girl was opening, and I couldn’t get there fast enough.

On a foggy October morning, we were driving back up the hill to the house- this time with the keys to the front door and a U-Haul truck loaded up behind us. The fog was thick, and you couldn’t see the rolling hills below us, but I didn’t have to see them. I knew they were there waiting on me, and that’s all that mattered. We quickly unloaded all of our belongings, along with our two little boys, dog, and cat. We didn’t do much unpacking that first day, because more than anything, we were ready to explore the eleven acres that now had our name written on the deed. I rummaged through a box of blankets to find an old quilt, and I laid it on the ground where we would have the best view possible of the sun setting. This would become an evening ritual throughout our time on that White Oak hill that I never, ever tired of. In fact, there was almost a healthy fear, one that told me to never take for granted even one of those sunsets. To never lose my awe and wonder when watching the sun sink into those distant hills and valleys.

Our days filled to the brim quickly, but not with what most people would deem as “busy work.” No, this was something truly special. Like when God said to be fruitful and multiply, to work and keep the land. Within two weeks of living there, we turned that sweet little garden shed back into a chicken coop that would eventually be home to twenty-six chickens. The cross-fenced pasture now had two yearling calves grazing its grasses, and loblolly pines had two little barefoot boys running through its fragrant branches. Life was sweeter than I had ever known, and it felt like I was finally putting pieces together of who it was that God had created me to be.

My twenty-four years of living up to that point had been spent dreaming about the pioneer days. Spending hours in the pages of books written about strong women who lived their lives close to the land, who raised their families to know both hard work and the tender love of Jesus. I spent my college years researching and writing papers on such people while studying American history. Even going so far as to spend my sophomore summer working on the Goodson Shelter- a Clovis archaeological site, not even ten minutes away from the land I was now standing on. All these little ties were being strung together in a way only God could do, and daily, I was overwhelmed with his intention to the details of our lives. Little by little, I was gaining the courage to dream and then try to turn that dream into something tangible. Learning to can fruits and vegetables, raise chicks, grow a bountiful garden, and raise our own beef. My hands and heart had never felt so alive, and with a baby strapped to my back I felt like I could accomplish any project my mind came up with.

We just kept on keeping on. Dreaming, learning, and figuring out how to live this life we wanted, not only for our boys, but for all of us. I relied on books, stories, videos, and podcasts from those who had gone before us. Not only to teach us what we were lacking in experience, but also to encourage and inspire us to keep that hunger alive. So, when our second year on the property rolled around, I was prepped and ready. We moved the garden from its previous spot and created a large, fenced-in garden right next to the little well house in the backyard. It was a labor of love and required everyone’s contribution, even those with little hands. When that was tilled and sowed, we were ready for the next project, and we finally dove into the world of goats! We bought a sweet little mom and kid Nigerian Dwarf pair and lovingly dubbed them “Slap and Mama” (we use Slap Ya Mama seasoning on everything, so it just made sense to us.) Every evening, the boys would love to help put those goats up in the loafing shed that was attached to the back of the chicken coop. They would end up chasing the little goats around until it felt like I had four goats running around instead of just two. Did I mention the two other dogs we ended up adding to the list of animals we paid the feed bill for? Well, we did. Or more accurately, I did, and Michael more or less just had to jump in at some point. We’re great at compromise! “Growth” was definitely the word that would summarize our time as a family on our White Oak hill, and it came into full fruition when we brought home our third little baby boy to this special place. Be fruitful and multiply applied to quite literally every area of our lives.

We would spend two glorious years together on our hill. I never could have dreamed of leaving, but seasons come, and seasons go. Some circumstances are just out of your control, but you do have a choice in how you respond to them. In our case, we knew we had to say goodbye to our sweet home on the hill, with a dream in our hearts to one day return if God ever led us back to the place my heart still considers home. It was here that the Heart of the Homeland bloomed. It was here that God became Father to me, where He grew and strengthened our little family, and where a little girl’s dreams came true. I’ve been holding this story in my heart for a few years now. It was tender for quite some time, but now I lovingly look back on this season and thank God for the sweet memories that are so engraved into my heart and mind that I can reach back and open them up like I would an old photo album. I used to feel like I left my heart behind when we last drove out of that driveway, but now I know that I take those White Oak hills with me wherever I go.

If you’ve made it this far down the page, then I’d like to thank you. Thank you for following the reminiscing mind and heart of a girl who just loves the land I had the honor of stewarding, even for a short time. To everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. -Ecclesiastes 3:1

The White Oak Hills

The cattle graze the hills

they have no thoughts for tomorrow,

but are content with today.

The shade of the white oak

the water of the creek,

the cattle have what they need,

and are content to stay.

I breathe in deep and soak it in.

though these fields are quiet,

creation is loud with praise.

The sunset demands my attention

The smell of the pines fills my senses

My eyes lift up to the hills,

and it’s here that I know exactly where my help comes from.

For He is the One who owns the cattle on a thousand hills.

For all the animals of the forest are mine, and I own the cattle on a thousand hills. -Psalm 50:10