Farm Memories

Writing my last post, about the farm, made me think of my grandfather. He grew up on the farm and loved taking my sister and me there when we were kids. He showed us everything and explained how everything worked. We were fascinated by the milking barn which had rows and rows of milking machines. We loved playing with the kittens in the barn. We envied the kids who lived there because they had go-carts and lots of room to ride them.

We always wanted to visit the cows; they were large black and white Holsteins. When we came up to the fence surrounding their field, they would wander over to us and reach their heads over the fence. They seemed to be as curious about us as we were about them. Sometimes my grandmother came with us and we would be invited inside to visit with the farm wife in her big, sunny kitchen. We would usually take home fresh eggs that she had given us.

There was a small family cemetery across the road from the farm. My grandfather would take us over there so we could see the gravestones of our ancestors. He took us to a sulphur spring that smelled like rotten eggs and encouraged us to taste the water. He took us to the grain elevator to see how it worked.

We went many places with our grandfather. He was not a demonstrative man but he enjoyed spending time with us, and we with him. He knew all the back country roads and all the interesting things to see along them. He always wore his army boots, a short-sleeved short, and khaki pants with suspenders. He was a character, which is the best kind of grandfather to have.