…..the farm was nestled nicely inside a valley of two rolling hills. there, a creek wound itself through the fields of overgrown grasses and pastures that eventually feed to a large fishing pond. there, by the gravel drive lined with aged old maples, lead you to the two story white wooded siding home that housed my grandparents for over fifty years now. on the opposite side was my grandfathers poll barn where he worked on the farming equipment and piled up auto engine side projects that always kept him busy. further down past the yard, my grandmother works on a huge homegrown garden that fed many sunday evening family meals. and of course found on the same acreage, about a half mile away was the highlight of the farm. the dairy cow barn. the farm was never a big operation. just a business to sell dairy and homemade goods to the locals and travelers passing through // granddad never kept more than ten cows at a time. now, with his health and older age, that number dwindled down to just two. i think it was my grandfathers dream to start a multi-generational farm, but it just tuned out to be that. a dream. my dad grew up there, but never got into the farming. instead he grew out of the farm and settled for the white picket fence home in town and became an independent architect. that left my mom and i practically living on that farm by the day and going home at night to try to catch my father between work and sleep. // now, the winter was dying, which ment the farm was awakening. the brownish green grass was starting to peek through the melting snow and the morning chill wasn’t as bitter. with each passing day the grass became greener and the warmer spring air found the cows grazing the grass. once in a while would you find one of the black and white holsteins wading in the ponds edge catching a cool drink of water. the pasture was growing taller and the spring buds became bigger and opened up to the warmer air to be the leaves of summer shade. i can always remember as if was yesterday taking my school crush down along the side of the creek till we met the shade of the willow. there we studied, laughed and held each other in each others arms. often we found ourselves in a deep nervous embrace, kissing the minutes away. the shade of the elm dancing between the sun rays blocked the rest of the world to ours. a summers love bloomed in the birth of spring and somehow stayed strong through the years and never even blinked when we said our “i do’s”. and the initials inside the heart in the bark born in the year we met, will still be there when we pass. // the april showers lingered long into may, but the wildflower field didn’t seem to mind as it showed summer colours and sought the dance of the bees. hiking through the fields, a summer’s love found in pause in pure seclusion. the birds sing along in the distant trees and the blue sky washes in with the dancing clouds of imaginary shapes. the kite flys above the world and looks down in a carefree way. and there we were. we were working in a summers heat, beading sweat trickling down the foreheads as we helped in the dairy barn and tended to the cows. it always a family tradition of summertime production of products for the farmers market. granddad usually let me help him with the milking of the cows and my brother transported the milk to my grandmother and mom where they pasteurize the dairy into the different products, bottle and package. and in turn my father designing the packages and labels and eventually into storage for the next saturday market. a family operation only seen in season. // a summer’s sun closes the day, bringing night closer to the farm. the locus’ sing their nightsong while the family sits on the porch, brushing away the dirt from their brow. a hard days work rewarded with relaxation, a glass of iced tea and family laughter. the smell of dinner seeped through the screen door. grandma and mom usually out did themselves on a sunday night supper. a family feast of a roast, skin on mashed potatoes, freshly picked garden green beans, homemade rolls, a side salad and of course fresh milk – right from the dairy cows that we gathered that morning. it was nice being on a that farm. one got use to the hard work and the getting up every summer morning at four a.m., but it took years to do so. // a grandfathers pipe tobacco fills the senses, and a fishing lure hits the water. the sun sets below the treeline. and now my grandchild tugs at my pant leg , desiring the knowledge of the bait, and we wait. a fish bites and a child laughs in excitement. the sunset left a pink and peach coloured horizon. cattail gently peek out of the ponds edge and the evening welcomes the star filled darkening sky. the late summers air turns cool and gives way to autumn’s wood fire warmth. green leaf trees on the hills explodes in brightly coloured oranges, reds and yellows. slowly, one by one, each one falls down in a cold breeze down the gravel drive. good bye leaf, we will see you next season. naked branches say good bye and frowns upon another winters coat of snow all in a cold wind freeze. the slumber of the farm was welcoming after a busy season, but the quietness of a long cold hibernation winter was always sad. an empty pasture, a frozen pond. the chimney smoke slowly faded into the winter nights sky and the deer quickly pass through the open fields of the farm. // the farm was nestled nicely inside a valley of two rolling hills. there a creek wound itself through the fields of overgrown grasses and pastures that eventually feed to a large fishing pond. and then, the farm finds the family. there, by the gravel drive lined with aged old maples, lead you to the two story white wooded siding housed the home of grandparents for over a hundred years now…..
c 2013, 2014 bgw