I give thanks for being raised on a farm, sometimes in a barn, and sometimes with lots of charm.
It has led to the ability to tell quite the yarn. I hope someday the stories are worth a darn!
No matter, this life was worth more than a darn because of the family, friends, faith, and farm.
Today I give thanks for growing up on a farm. The cows, pigs, hay, manure, apples, peaches, and more.
As with anything, there are benefits and deficits. It’s a great example to live by. I hope I can do it.
It’s that time of year! Delightful smells, gorgeous colors, and festivities everywhere.
Kalamazoo has a treasure this time of year in all of the farms with fun activities, treats to eat, and tours to tantalize. We are fortunate to have many apple farms, fruit stands, and corn mazes. Since my brother has an autumn fruit stand, I don’t much get around to the others. Yet, they are all of value no matter if they’re mostly for fun or muchly for games.
One pictured here is JUST for pumpkins! And it’s NO fruit “stand”. It’s an all out farm with ONE product for ONE month of the year. Honestly, I haven’t purchased much here, but I sure do enjoy getting great shots of pumpkins galore. I also appreciate that it’s a centennial farm, just as our family farm is over 100 years old as well.
If you’re in Kalamazoo, check out some of the great autumn fun, smells, tastes, and colors.
This is our old family dinner bell. When I was little, my mom would go into the backyard and ring it when meals were ready. We needed it because she couldn’t always find everyone to hunt them down to come in to eat. Also dinner time changed with the seasons. We ate a bit earlier in the winter and later in the summer – always depending on how many hours of sunshine in a day.
Over the years, the farm has not needed the bell anymore. Now, it is surrounded by a lilac bush and other trees and brush. You’d have to look to find it.
It is a relic on our farm, but one that still brings back happy memories of mealtime together with family, farm hands, friends, and good food. My friends were often smiling at first when my mom told them that everything on the table but the salt, pepper, and butter came from this farm. After a moment, they’d look at their meat and think of the cows in the dairy barn or the pigs in their pen and frown. One of us would look at that friend and say, “Yes, that too.”
This memory always brings a smile. I know how odd it can seem thinking of what you’re eating differently when it relates to what you just pet in the backyard. And yet, eating meat that way is far healthier than the single patty at McDonald’s which is a compilation of 100’s of cows. Plus, each cow or pig lived a fairly long life and was treated with the utmost respect, a healthy diet, and room to roam. Only 100 years ago, this is how we all ate meat. Don’t worry, I still respect my vegetarian and vegan friends.
I also remember eating potatoes from our own garden all year because they were stored in the well house, veggies from the garden and fruit from the trees because they were canned or frozen, and there is nothing like that home-canned tomato juice! Now my juices are flowing!
Moral of the Story: Farming – a way of life, or a life few will ever know again?
This is an image of straw. Straw is used on a farm for animals. But how?
My dad was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle person you’d ever have met. He wasn’t big on hugs, but he enjoyed spending time with those he loved. He was slow to anger and quick with a kind word. He took his time explaining most things, so long as time was available.
My dad was a faithful Christian through all of life’s toils and troubles, and believe me, he had more than his share. He led Sunday school, served on every church committee, and attended Sunday school until only two weeks before he passed on.
He was an animal whisperer. He could talk an animal into pretty much anything be it cat, dog, or cow. They were happy to do all things good for someone who understood them so well.
But he did use a language that my mom strongly disagreed with when bringing his dairy cows into the barn for the twice daily milkings. He could cuss out any cow who did not find her station in a timely manner … or who tried out another station, usually to have a few extra bits of grain.
This sweet man who could remain calm in emergencies and laugh so easily could swear better than the best of them at his bossies. I have not heard anyone cuss like my daddy could. Not sailors, not cowboys, not military men. It sure made for a fun part of the day for me to hear him tell the cows where to go and how to get there if there was any disagreement on their location in the dairy barn. It was a boring night when they all went in their assigned spots.
Morale of the Story: Everybody’s got to let off steam. Some are more entertaining to their family in doing so.
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