Out on the Farm

This blog article by Penelope Trunk, made me think of summers when I was a kid visiting my grandparents farm. I loved going out to the farm; although my cousins, who lived next door could never understand why. When I was about 11, my parents allowed me to ride my bike out to the farm, which took about 45 minutes. I would go out almost every week even though my grandmother scared me. She had a lot to do, and didn't need someone jsut hanging around. She wasn't afraid to shoo me out of the house if I was in her way (which was most of the time).

If I went out on Saturday's especially in the morning I could take part in the bread making ritual. She would bake 10-12 loaves of bread and coffee cake every week. If there is anything better the melted butter on a piece of warm homemade bread, I don't know what it is. She also made strawberry jam, applesauce and apple butter.

I loved the farm because there were so many cool places to hide and read a book. I could go down to the apple orchard and climb one of the trees, or sit on the swing on the front porch. I could go out the the barn and play in the hayloft or run through the fields with their dog Queenie an old collie. Going through the old smokehouse or summerhouse always were treasure troves. The best part was going down to the river in the spring after it flooded and finding arrowheads. I once found a musket ball.

There was plenty to explore inside also. The basement was always dank and dark, full of spiders and mice. The upstairs closets held party dresses from my Mom and her sisters. And of course the mounted deer head that was always looking down upon us in the front bedroom closet.

It was a time of exploration, and fun, but also a time to just curl up and read. My cousin John lives in the old farmhouse now. He has bee a good steward of the house, that holds so many memories for my sibling and I.