Memory of Trees
- Climbing the willow trees and swinging from the branches.
- Hunting for arrowheads and “bones” in the fields.
- Jumping into stacks of hay bales.
- Chasing the kittens.
- Visiting all the baby animals.
- Ice skating in the pasture.
- Sledding off the roof of the chicken coop.
- Drying-off and warming-up by the wood stove in the basement.
- Collecting the apples that have fallen on the ground.
- Picking currants and eating more than I put in my bucket.
- Playing hide and seek in the corn stalks.
- Shadowing my Grandpa’s (G’pa) every step and listening to all of his stories.
- Sitting with Grandma (G’ma) in her kitchen, as we paged through her magazines and and ate her cookies.
This was a large percentage of my childhood – hanging out at G’pa and G’ma’s farm.
We were required to help-out around the farm by:
- cleaning bathrooms,
- sweeping the kitchen, stairs and basement,
- doing dishes,
- collecting apples and currants,
- filling the water for the cows and sheep,
- feeding the chickens, cats and dogs,
- running lemonade to everyone helping out,
- baling hay,
- picking-up rocks in the field,
- helping with butchering chickens,
- running errands between my grandparent’s house and my uncle’s house, which was across the road,
- stacking wood,
- and many other farm-related jobs.
But, in return, we roamed the farm freely – finding places to hide, play, pretend and to just be a kid. Plus G’pa and G’ma spoiled us with sweets, fresh vegetables from the garden, fresh milk and eggs, hugs, kisses, praise and so much more. We knew we were loved. (And we knew who to call when we were in trouble with our parents – sorry Mom and Dad! I’m sure Little Dude will use the same tactic, though.)
The farm was a special place for us – from the HUGE willow trees in the backyard, to the ends of the fields, where we could sit on boulders, playing house or gazing at the clouds.
When my G’pa got sick, he and my G’ma began looking at houses in town. G’pa’s heart was at the farm, but he knew he couldn’t keep up with it anymore. And as much as we all would have liked to help out, between work and our own homes, there just wasn’t enough time in the day to help as much as we would have liked.
G’pa passed away in 2006, before he and my G’ma could complete their move into the new home. But, as my G’ma always was a city girl at heart, G’pa made us promise to make certain G’ma moved into the new home.
She did and the farm went up for sale, and for the longest time, it didn’t sell. This past summer, it finally did.
The other day, G’ma asked me if I had gone that direction lately, to take a look at the changes being made by the new owners. I mentioned that I hadn’t, since I felt it would break my heart.
I finally did.
And my heart broke a little.
The big willow trees, which made my G’pa so proud – cut down and completely ripped from the ground. They are laying in one of the fields near the house.
It had to be done, I’m sure, as the septic system needed to be overhauled, but my heart aches as I remember climbing the one tree and swinging from the branches of both trees.
I’m just thankful I was able to get this picture, prior to the place being sold (those are Mrs. V’s kids with Little Dude).
Little Dude and cousins in front of the willow tree at the farm.
And this one…
Little Dude in front of the barn.
And I’m thankful I still have my memories. I just wish Little Dude could have spent more time there.
(And I’m also glad I have these pictures, too…)
G'pa in front of the barn.
G'ma and Little Dude in July 2007. Check out the pout!
p.s. Two points for the person who can name where the title of this post originates. Sadly, the points aren’t really worth anything.
Sounds like a wonderful way to spend your childhood…. Well, except for the butchering of chickens. *shudders*
I would be bummed by the tree coming down too.
What great memories! We get so strongly attached to our childhood ‘places’, don’t we? I think it may be one of the most difficult lessons of adulthood — the letting go of things that meant so much and learning to live with our memories.
You have captured some beautiful memories of the farm…in your mind, heart and on film.
They cut down the trees….
I’m crying now.
That’s just so wrong.
you have the memories and they are shared with your other family members — no one can cut those down.
l’il dude will make his own. they will be different but just as much fun to him.
i am not sure what will replace sledding off the roof of a chicken coop! but i am sure he will find something.
take care,
storm
What great memories. I don’t think I would want to drive that way again, though. Better to leave those memories intact.
What great memeories that will last a lifetime!
Is the title from the Enya album?
And the two points go to Andrea! It is an Enya album….
Gosh darnit! You’ve got me crying now!
I have very similar memories of The Farm. It wasn’t a working farm, but I spent every weekend there, and all Summer long. It is also very connected to memories of my grandparents. My parents have retired there now, so it has been in the family since 1948.
Sorry for making folks cry… I find it sad, too. Urban Panther, I’m envious that you still have that farm in your family.