Horses and Creeks

Today we had a field trip at Carriage Hill Farm, so we spent our morning learning a little about 19th century farms. We read a packet that listed the chores of children at different ages. They started doing farm chores as early as two years old, and by twelve they were helping out with everything on the farm. We also read an excerpt from a book about a boy on a farm, and then we wrote our own poem or story about one.

When we arrived at Carriage Hill Farm, we were told we could explore wherever we want (as long as it was in the area and open to the public). The first place I went was the horses, and I must have stayed there for at least an hour and a half. There were two specific horses that kept coming up to me and letting me pet them and hug them. I fed them grass and clovers and hung out with them for so long that my friends left me and I had to catch up. I saw some other animals like pigs, sheep, goats, and chickens, but I really loved the horses.

Once I was finally dragged away from them, we went to the country store because there was a little candy shop inside. We sat at picnic tables and ate lunch for a while before we decided to get back up. We found a little trail to hike that led down to a creek. We spent the last hour wading in the water and looking at fish. This was definitely my favorite part because I love being in the water.

I can't say I learned a lot about living on a farm, but I definitely learned that it smells terrible. However, seeing all the animals and hanging out with horses for an hour, I can definitely see why people love it. I can't say it would be worth the smell. It was bad.

The Room by the Barn

I spend my days travelling between the hard bed and the creaky rocking chair set ten feet apart in my dark room in the barn. The wooden boards that make up my walls are slowly rotting, barely held together with nails and rope. When I manage to make my way to the rocking chair, I set my wooden cane against the wall and slowly wiggle down into the seat. I sit towards a small, east-facing window that allows direct sunlight through between sunrise and two in the afternoon. I stare out at the farm in bliss, feeling the light touch my skin, reminded of my youth.

My children moved out long ago, but when I fell ill, my youngest son—who had yet to have children and a wife of his own—moved back on the farm with me. He married a young woman from the town, so naturally he made me a room out by the barn so his wife could stay with him in the house. They had many children of their own, and their list of daily chores grew bigger every day. The farm was thriving and had seen many good crop seasons, so there was always plenty to do and little time to see me in my old, wooden room by the barn.

My joyous heart has not faded with age. Every day I feel the sun through my tiny window warming my skin. I listen to the sound of my grandchildren laughing and playing on their tire swing. They visit me a few times a day to bring me food when they eat and water on hot days, and at night before bedtime, I tell them a story from when I was a girl. In the meantime, I happily watch them complete their chores.

The youngest boy, only three years of age, spends his days collected eggs, rocks, and sticks. He triple checks the hen cages to be positive he’s collected all the eggs. He keeps his rocks and sticks in separate, equal piles. Their only daughter, a girl of six years, hangs on her mother’s hip like a leech. She is learning how to sew, wash dishes, and prepare meals. They plan to have another daughter soon to help carry the weight of the women’s tasks. Their second-born son, who is but ten years old, feeds the animals and cleans their enclosures for hours a day. The eldest, a thirteen-year-old boy, follows his father and learns how to take care of the farm. He will be inheriting all of this land when his father passes, as my husband inherited it from his father.

This sounds like hard work, and it is, but my grandchildren do it with a smile and with laughter. Listening to the wonderful sounds of their youth all day keeps me blissful in my dark room in the barn with walls made of rotting wooden boards.