A barn. A door to the hay mow. An old kettle and old bucket. A grandson. Three sisters. The last day we would spend on the farm back the lane on Neff Road. The old racks once sat in the cow stable full of Dad's tools. Old boxes, crates and buckets held all sorts of odds and ends. A cow stable that once was a milking chamber became the catchall for an old piano frame, old sleds, baseball bats, piles of twine and sweet memories.
We played in the barns, in the creek bottom and in the woods. We roamed and nobody cared where we went. When dinner came, Mom would yell knowing we were within hearing distance. We ate fresh vegetables from the garden, meat from our own stock, eggs from the hen house. We saw ground hogs, owls, moles and sometimes packs of wild dogs.
One might say that life was simple back considering the above, I hardly think it simple. I think it simply wonderful.
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