"Tell me a story Daddy"

As I close my eyes I see the narrow dirt road lined with weathered old sugar maples, the worn wheel tracks with grass pushing up in the middle. I see a pair of stonewalls that begin at the edge of the woods and lead the way to the north, to the old homestead. The old homestead, bought when land was nearly free, or so it seems, and kept through the generations. The old house is in need of repair, it has been for some time. The dark damp cellar with rock foundation just big enough to keep the produce through the cold winters. The white clapboards, now more paint than wood, but still holding out the rain, or most of it. I see on the lawn a little girl, waiting there for daddy to come back from town. So small, but such a big part of the growing family.



The main house, not big by any standards, but big enough for a warm living room, a couple of small bedrooms, and a parlor that we never use. The ell is my favorite place with the enamel cook stove throwing heat throughout the kitchen, keeping the family warm. One step out of the kitchen into the cold shed, a good place for the "two holer". A few more steps and the smell of hay tickles my nose. The barn, post and beam of course, holds the winter hay and the livestock which provide for our family. The milk cow, and her young calf, some sheep and a pig. Just enough, but not too many for what the land can provide. I look into the blue sky and I see lightening rods point high from the tops of every roof. A neighbors fire was lesson enough to make the sale when the dealer stopped by, nearly three generations ago now. The house is not big, its not fancy, but it surely is home. Great-grampa replaced the roof back in the 40's, maybe a little pension money, maybe the sale of a prized bull, but he found a way. Dad kept the old place looking good, but there is more to do.



A short walk behind the house and I see the old shed, weathered and gray. I see the vegetable garden, no chemicals used here. We didn't know it was organic, but it was always that way. I see the hayfield with raspberry bushes pushing on it from all sides. Beyond the field I see the old pasture, then down the hill to the meadow. I hear the groan of an bullfrog in the watering hole, I see the barn swallows dip and dive at their evening meal. I stand there for a long time.

The old tom cat rubs past my leg, he's looking for a cup of warm milk for supper. The cow hears me enter the barn, she's ready for the evening milking. I do the chores, alone tonight, talking to the animals, listening to them eat their hay. The barn becomes quiet, the swallows fly in through the broken window and into their nests for the night. I wait there, looking out the back barn door. A doe and her fawn steps into the field, their field. All this is too much for one man to own. I'm just the caretaker really, just for a short time, then maybe my son, maybe my daughter will take over the old home place. Either way, I've taught them well, they know that this place is their home.