Down on the Farm

The farm is part of my childhood memories.  It's a place we would go and gather with family on holidays, we would explore the barns and the fields with our cousins, we would play on the basketball court in the hayloft of the big barn.  We would chase farm cats, and play hide and seek.  It's a place that holds thousands of memories of my childhood and I hadn't been there in well over a decade.

Although the land is still worked, the farm is otherwise vacant.  My Grandad no longer lives in the old farm house, the barns are empty of cattle, chickens and rabbits.  Some of the machinery is old and neglected.  But, it's still beautiful and it's still a piece of me and of my family history. 

This is the place my Momma was raised.  The land she did her chores on in the 50's.  It's also her childhood we re-visited that day.

Camdyn was fascinated by the farm even though it didn't have animals on it.  She listened to my Momma's stories about where the animals used to be and how she used to feed them.  And, then we wandered down the path and in to the field and stopped to play with a pile of corn that was left behind.

They loved the way it felt in their fingers.  They loved throwing it and rolling in it under the bright mid morning sun. 

And, I realized how special it is that three generations are standing on this land.  The Farm won't be a monthly excursion for my girls, but I hope that they will grow up understanding that it's part of the roots from which they came.

I hope my girls understand that it's my Momma's life experiences that have molded her and thereby shaped me.  And, it's my experiences that are molding them.  

We are all connected to the generations before us.

If you look at this picture below and see trouble looming....

You would be correct.  It wasn't long after this picture was snapped that Camdyn came sliding down this pile of gravel and took out the poor baby standing at the bottom.  It was probaby the only not-so-great thing that happened on the farm that day.

So, we dusted the baby off, wiped away her tears, and then spent some time playing with soybeans and looking at antique tractors.  My Grandad must have 20 tractors on his farm.  Some are old and inoperable (I assume) and some are new. 

And, then we piled in the car and drove 40 minutes back to City life with the joy of reminiscing spread across our faces, and little pieces of corn tucked in our hems and pockets.