Prairie Roots & Popsicle Summers:
Why We’re Raising Our Kids Where Life’s a Little Slower
By Michele Moquist
August 21, 2025
Let’s be honest: life in a small town isn’t exactly flashy. Our rush hour might involve a tractor, a friendly one-finger wave, and a teenager rolling into the gas station in a dusty pickup. The weather keeps us on our toes (and our snowblowers gassed up), and if you’re not paying attention, you might miss an entire town while driving through.
But when it comes to raising a family?
We wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Because here—beneath the big sky and between coffee shop chatter and quiet starry nights—life has a way of teaching the things that matter most… with quiet strength.
Life Moves a Little Slower—And That’s the Magic
“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” – Ferris Bueller
Ferris had a point. And out here? We’ve taken that wisdom to heart.
Small-town life doesn’t sprint—it strolls. We one-finger wave at every car that passes, and yes, we usually know who’s in it. Mornings aren’t a blur of traffic and chaos—they’re slow sips of coffee, checking the garden, and searching for that one missing sock.
Evenings are for lawn chairs and starry skies. For bikes on sidewalks until the streetlights flicker on, and for neighbors catching up without needing to schedule anything. There’s music on Main Street, spontaneous cookouts, and neighborly conversations that stretch long after sunset. And when someone’s grilling burgers three houses over, it might as well be 1985.
The world tells us to hurry, hustle, do more. But here? We’ve learned that slowing down doesn’t mean falling behind. It means we’re actually living—breathing, noticing, connecting.
So yes, life moves fast. But in the right place, you get to enjoy the ride.
Everyone Gets Involved—Because Everyone Matters
Community isn’t a buzzword here. It’s just how we live.
In small towns, showing up is second nature. Whether it’s a fundraiser, a school play, a benefit supper, or a ball game, people come not just to watch—but to help. Parents fill scores of tacos in a bag at the concession stand. Teens run raffles. Neighbors show up with a pan of brownies and a smile.
And the kids? They’re not raised on the sidelines. They’re in the thick of it—helping at church, stacking chairs after community dinners, handing out parade candy, and learning from a young age that belonging means participating.
There’s a beautiful rhythm to it all: give, receive, repeat. It teaches our kids that they matter—that their time, hands, and hearts make a difference. And when life throws a curveball? This community doesn’t flinch. Meals appear, hugs are given, and no one walks through joy or heartache alone.
That kind of support can’t be bought. It’s grown, nurtured, and passed down like a family recipe. And in a place like this, kids don’t just feel connected—they are.
Room to Run, Room to Grow
Our kids have something precious: space.
Not just space to move—but space to imagine, explore, and become.
Wide-open fields feel like oceans of possibility. Gravel roads beg for spontaneous bike races. Backyards were made for ghost-in-the-graveyard and flashlight tag. Summer days are a swirl of sidewalk chalk, sprinkler runs, and bikes coasting from one end of town to the other with no plan except freedom.
Sometimes, their days are filled with lessons and leagues. Other times? They’re filled with dirt under their nails, popsicle-stained shirts, and time to just be. And that balance—of structure and spontaneity, movement and margin—is where memories are made.
They’re not just playing. They’re building confidence. They’re growing up in a place that gives them both roots and room to dream.
Simplicity Isn’t Boring—It’s Beautiful
No, we don’t have same-day delivery. And no, you probably won’t get decent sushi unless someone brings it back from a bigger town. But what we do have is something rare: enough.
Enough joy in a Friday night game under the lights.
Enough peace in a quiet drive with nothing but fields and stars.
Enough laughter echoing from backyards and playgrounds.
Enough trust in knowing your neighbors have your back—and your kid’s lunch if they forget it.
This isn’t a life of curated chaos or constant noise. It’s a life of clarity. Clear skies. Clear priorities. Steady values that don’t shift with trends or algorithms.
Simplicity here doesn’t feel like settling. It feels like anchoring. It gives our kids a childhood where boredom breeds imagination, and screen-free days are full of real joy—mud pies, snow forts, dandelion bouquets, and people who know their name.
That kind of simplicity? It’s not just refreshing—it’s sacred.
In the End…
Raising a family in northeast North Dakota isn’t about glossy perfection or Pinterest-worthy aesthetics. It’s about the everyday kind of beauty—muddy boots, backyard swings, potlucks filled with hotdishes, and hugs in the grocery store aisle.
It’s about giving our kids something steady. Something real. A childhood built on hard work, long summers, slow mornings, and a deep sense of belonging.
And for us, in a world moving a little too fast, this life—a little quieter, a little slower, a little more connected—is exactly where we want to be.
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Read MoreAbout the Author
Full-time family manager and caregiver for her busy family of five young kids, Michele Moquist is thriving in growing Cavalier, North Dakota. She keeps her family active outside as well as with small town events and school activities. With an English Education background, Michele finds creative and meaningful ways to read and write still, including participating in two book clubs and writing for the Cavalier Chronicle and a marketing company based in Fargo. Michele is always up for trying a new North Dakota adventure, a cup of good coffee or wine, and savoring small town charm.
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