The Farm

As we drive down the highway, the fields around us stretch out for miles. The grass and crops seem like a sea, the waves move by the unseen wind in ripples. The air blows in the car window bringing with it the feeling of freshness. As we turn around the big bend, I know that soon we will have arrived. A few more minutes on the road and the farm house can be seen on the top of the hill. The house and the barn look as though they are the commander of a great ship, resting at the top of the world. We turn up onto the driveway and listen to the crunch of the gravel under the tires.
After we get out of the car and bring in all our suitcases, we immediately grab lawn chairs and go sit out on the front porch. This is where we can watch the cars go by and enjoy the solitude of the moment. The sky covers us like a huge blue dome, coming down on all sides to meet the endless stretches of fields at the horizon. The air remains undisturbed and the noise of civilization is silent. Except for the occasional passing car, we feel that we are all alone. The only thing we have to listen to is the chirping of the birds and crickets. After we have enjoyed the scenery for a while, we decide to go on a wagon ride.

Grandpa goes to the barn to start up the 1950 Ford tractor that is all rusted over but miraculously still works. We grab our blankets and spread them out on the wagon. The soft material makes the rough wood more comfortable, although the ride could not be called smooth. We bounce along the dirt path and our noses fill with the smell of exhaust, blocking out the fresh country air. We watch the barn swallows with their dark bodies and soft yellow bellies swoop down to grab insects like stealth fighter jets. The fescue fields are dotted with wild flowers, everything from Black-eyed Susans to Queen Anne’s lace. They create tiny bursts of color amongst the field that has turned from green to gold by early August. Pieces of fescue fling out from under the tractor wheels, striking our ankles and legs. We reach down to try and grab a piece as we go by. Once we have picked one, we stick it in our mouths to chew on and laugh at each other while we pretend to be real country folk.

Once we find the Black Angus cows, Grandpa counts them while we get out the bucket of feed. The cows know exactly what is going on and they line up as if they are in a cafeteria. The bolder ones come right up to the wagon waiting to be fed. Before dumping all the feed on the ground, we each take a handful of pellets to feed to the cows that are brave enough to approach us. Number twelve is first in line and she pushes all the other cows out of her way. I hold out a pellet in my open palm and she licks it off with her huge black wet tongue. It grazes along my hand like sandpaper and I laugh because it tickles. After she has gotten her piece, I wipe my saliva-covered hands on my old jeans and get out another pellet. Number eight is next as she tries to scoot her way around number twelve. The older cows begin to eat the pellets on the ground, while the younger calves hang back and watch. Once we have given out all our pellets, and Grandpa has counted all the cows, we get back on the wagon.

It starts with a jump and I scramble to hold on. Mom shouts at Grandpa to slow down, but he cannot hear her over the roar of the engine. Even without the added noise he probably would not have heard her since his hearing is failing. Fortunately, none of us fall off since we are used to doing this. Soon we are bumping along again, laying back and enjoying the beautiful blue sky which is uncluttered by buildings, trees, or utility poles. Soon we reach our destination, the Charlie House. The house used to be inhabited by my great-grandparents and had no indoor plumbing or electricity. It is now reduced to ruins, but we still like to visit it and imagine what it used to look like. My brother and I carefully climb up onto the porch and peer in the slightly open door. We have been instructed ever since we were young not to go inside because the floor might fall through. Inside we see the skeleton of a cow that did not have the benefit of this warning.

We each grab a few bones to bring back to our collection in the barn. Then we hop back on the wagon and bounce all the way back to the house. Grandpa puts the tractor away while we bring in our blankets. As soon as we enter the house the aroma of hot food being cooked by Grandma surrounds us like a warm hug. We rush to wash up before we eat; we hurry so that we do not keep Grandpa waiting. After a prayer we begin to eat. Grandpa shovels food into his mouth in between comments of whether or not we want more or whether or not we are going to finish that. After most of the food is devoured we sit and talk before washing dishes. Usually this is the time that the men disappear into the living room. I try to join them, but I end up being talked into drying dishes. After that the house is pretty silent as Grandpa sleeps in his chair and Grandma does the crossword puzzles.

The rest of us return to our spot on the porch with a bag of peanuts. We talk while we crack open shells and throw them on the ground as if we were at a baseball game. The darkness surrounds us and is only broken by the flicker of fireflies and the occasional pair of headlights down on the road. We listen to the symphony of the crickets and enjoy the calm. The stars light up the sky in amazingly bright patterns. The twinkles looks as if they were silver that had just been shined, the stars never look brighter. After it has gotten late, we go back inside to play cards and eat fresh gooseberry pie, made with wild gooseberries picked by the creek. We play a card game called hand and foot for hours, until it is time to go to sleep.

In the morning, I manage to get up before noon and am met by a huge breakfast of eggs, sausage, biscuits, bacon, gravy, and melon. Everyone else has been up since five doing chores. Although this is not really necessary, Grandpa has been waking up at that time for years and cannot break the habit. Fortunately, he only wakes up my mom and brother. The rest of the morning we spend lying around the house as relaxed as the cows in the field. Of course, there really is not that much to do for entertainment. The only place there is to go is the Amish store for groceries. We decide to make the trip in order to get some variety in the day.

We travel along the highway passing farm after farm after farm. Finally, we turn onto a gravel road and travel past horses pulling buggies and young Amish children dressed in old-fashioned clothing playing in their yards. The girls wear long dark dresses with white bonnets, and the boys wear black wide-brimmed hats, pants and jackets with white shirts. The Amish store itself looks very plain and bland, just like everything else about them. The store smells of spices and fresh cooking. We pick out some homemade jam as well as some pies. While my mom waits in line, my brother and I go outside to look at the horses. We coax one of the huge dirty monsters to come over to the fence by offering it grass. I am glad that there is a fence between myself and this giant animal because it is several times larger than me.

When my mom comes out, everyone piles into the car and looks out the windows during the drive back. Once we have put away the groceries, we take out all the left over food from the night before. We heat up what we want or make sandwiches. The most common activities at the farm are eating and sleeping. There is a television in the living room, but it has not worked for as long as I can remember and looks like something out of an old fifties television show. We sleep, go out on the wagon, and read until dinner time. The rest of the night continues the same as the last. Life out on the farm is very slow and repetitive, but very relaxing. We all try to put off the thought that we will soon have to sacrifice this feeling when we return to the bustling city and the crowded airport.