Thursday, October 20, 2011

A Bond

"I would have stayed on the farm. Why did you sell it?" my son asked. Why indeed? My son learned to love the farm, not by being a farm kid, but by the love of the place we all called home.

Today my blogs are for my son. A boy who first met his farm grandparents the beginning of November when they came to see the new baby in Wisconsin. Their last grandchild. My grandfather, Mom's dad, would die on their way home from this trip to see his great-grandson.

James loved the farm. He and his sister loved the freedom to roam with no one worrying about where they might be. They loved the swing in the barn and the animals that lived behind the barn. They rode on the tractor and played with the neighbor kids. They bonded with the home place where once their mother played.

James was never at the farm long enough to learn much about farming, but still he loved the land as much as any of us. The dark, rich soil had found its way into his blood. Over the years we have all wondered why we sold the farm. None of the Loxley girls wanted to live there at the time. Caring for a place hundreds of miles from home was impossible. Yet my son would have given up anything to have the farm back in his life.

Maybe the farm was really more a frame of mind for those who lived far from it. Peace, a slow pace, an oasis in our busy lives calls us home over and over again.

James may have been born in Wisconsin and raised in Oregon, but his heart is still back on the farm on Neff Road.

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