The long, dirt driveway leads up to the old
barn. The barn doors are always left
open and the scent of fresh hay and horse manure waft out. Off to the left is an old, red tractor for
hauling hay and beyond that is the field.
The horses wander lazily around the grassy field which is surrounded by
a fence. The fence is made of three rows
of barbed wire between wooden posts. The
woods line the length of one side, while our home and yard are at the bottom
end of the field and the road lines the other side. There is a tiny stream that runs through the
bottom part of the field and a small frog pond over by the woods side.
The farm house is off to the right of the barn. It is painted white with a large front porch
facing the roadway. Inside are narrow little
staircases leading up from several different points in the house to the second
floor. The front room is a cozy family
room with windows making up the wall that looks out onto the porch. The kitchen is big and bright, roomy enough
for the cook to walk around with a whole table full of folks waiting at the dinner
table to be fed. There are numerous
small bedrooms to accommodate the large family and several little bathrooms to
prevent long waits.
That was then.
Now there are no horses, no smell of fresh hay, no
fences. The farm house remains but it’s
no longer a working farm. The field has
been divided into lots for single family homes.
The tiny river has dried up and the pond has been filled in. Even the memory of those days has become
dusty with time.
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