The Farm
On a hill in Eastern Iowa,
there stands a stucco house with stucco out buildings.
Massive pines border the west and north as protection
from the cold winter winds.
An ancient Ash stands guard
on the east with a huge trunk
rising high into the sky,
it used to shade a large barn
that was the hub of farm activity years ago.
All that remains of that once important place
is a lone broken up concrete walk
that now leads to nowhere.
To a casual passer by,
this is just another farmstead
on another country road
in the vast prairie of Iowa
each one unique with history,
yet very similar in many ways.
To us this is home.
In fact to John and Katie Kinsinger
this was once their future.
I can only imagine how excited they were
when they finally got the paperwork completed
and prepared to move onto their new farm.
There were hopes, plans and dreams.
They set out the first garden
and planted some fruit trees.
John plowed the ground first with teams of horses
then came tractors and rubber wheels.
Cows were milked and chickens laid eggs,
hogs were slopped and calves were bottle fed.
I can only wonder how many farm dogs
stood watch on this piece of land
all risking life daily to protect their masters domain.
What were all their names?
Multitudes of farm cats
have raised generations of kittens
in every color and style.
Then came the children, a son, four daughters.
There were many busy school days and quite Sundays.
How many years has spring come bursting with new life.
How many falls have gone by, each transforming this spot into a picture
with bright gold and red leaves falling from the trees
until the last is covered in a blanket of snow.
The glistening ice and snowdrifts decking the farm and house
in it's Christmas best.
I can imagine the sounds of children laughing
as they sled down the hill this house stands on.
Their father finishing the chores as evening falls
and Katie calls them all in for supper.
Oh the smell that welcomed them into a warm house
with homemade noodles and farm fresh chicken.
The house nestled on a hill with golden light streaming
out of the kitchen window,
the hands on the clock go around,
always moving steadily forward.
Just when winter began to feel long
and cold the first signs of spring would begin to appear.
A warm day and the bright green grass
would show though the places where the snow melted first.
Soon the first calf would be born
and Pops would have to go out in the cold night
to make sure the newborn was in the warm straw of the big barn.
Then a new crop of kittens were born
and the birds returned from the south to sing again.
Chickens hurry around the barnyard finding bugs and stray kernels of corn.
Year after year the same things happened on this piece of farmland,
yet every year when the birds return from their winter homes
they find a few small changes.
Maybe a new garage or the fence line changed,
then another building is torn down.
There are new cars in the driveway
and bigger tractors and the old ones are left out in the pasture to rust.
The sound of the children's voices change too as they grow older.
The years go round and round and some hard times come too,
the family faces death and the pain it brings.
The weeks cycle around and each Sunday the same familiar hymns are sung.
For generations fathers wait in the drive upset
because the family is late for church again.
School days come and go with homework and tests, plays and choir concerts.
Again the seasons change, calendar pages are turned over,
holiday tables laden with every kind of food,
cooked to perfection steaming hot and set out with love.
Followed by the best pies and cookies and pastries
that can be tasted anywhere in the world.
Three generations of great cooks have adorned this kitchen.
The first was Katie and she was followed by her daughter
Ruby and then by her grand-daughter Shari.
John and Katie arranged for Alva and Ruby to move onto the farm
and they shared the work.
Canning together and working the land together,
milking together and eating together.
This is the place Ruby took her first breath,
her first steps, learned about life,
was picked up for her first date,
now she is the young housewife.
A few years later the time came
for John and Katie to move to town.
Soon there were sounds of little children in the yard again,
a daughter, a son, two more daughters and another son.
More farm dogs and new kittens the old ones are only memories.
How many planting seasons,
how many harvest moons
have looked down from above
illuminating the fields.
Long days of work the Gingerich family plastered houses
for miles around and then had chores to do
when they came back here to the farm.
You could hear the sound of laughter as they stop for breaks.
Year by year the birds return from the south in the spring
and every year they see little things change.
One going by on the road wouldn't see much change
but the world is changing and so is life on this farm.
Haymaking days seem as if they will never end,
the cousins, aunts and uncles come around to help
and even Grandma returns to the farm to help with the meals.
Even now if you look out the kitchen window
you can almost see the hay wagon pull in the drive
and smell the green bales as they are drawn up into the mow.
The whole family putting up the hay, everyone helping,
working together, talking and laughing together.
A gentle breeze in the curtains and you look out the window
again and the barn is gone,
all that can be seen is a lone tire-swing spinning round
and around in the wind.
The sounds of their voices fade into an echo.
At one point the farm is almost completely quite when only
Alva and Ruby are here, the livestock, gone,
there are no dogs or cats except a stray or two.
Alva and Ruby arrange for Tom and Shari to move onto the farm.
This is the home Shari first knew, where she learned to walk,
learned about life and had her first date pick her up.
Now she is the young mother and there are young voices here again.
Four daughters and son. Around and around the seasons go
and the birds return to hear new sounds and see new additions
made to the place. A new spotted farm dog guards the territory
and new kittens are born each year. Horses and ponies use the barn
and pasture and even chickens make a comeback.
The places in the yard where the little girls used to play with kittens
and dolls are now where they lay out on blankets to sunbathe.
The sound of laughter in the front yard as a boy and his dad play
catch or shoot hoops by the barn. New cars line the drive,
young men appear at the door wanting to take these young women on dates,
which ones will be part of our future
and which ones will fade into the memories of the past.
The old windmill still stands towering over the farm like a watchman,
it's face turning in the wind surveying the land.
Working hard it keeps turning round and around as if it believes
it is still pumping water but a new electric pump is taking care of that.
Now Katie's great grand-daughters live here learning the same recipes she used.
Ruby's grand-daughters try their hand at the same dishes she once cooked
Shari's daughters dress up the house at Christmas time
with the same enthusiasm she used.
Will another generation live here and fill this house with their own memories.
Time changes everything and when the calendar pages are turned
again what will become of this house on the hill.
So many good times on this place, many hard times too.
Kind words spoken and harsh words, sometimes no words
when there should have been something said.
Other times too much was said and there is no way to turn back the hands
on the clock and change any of what has happened here.
The face of the clock watching all that happens as it's hands turn round and round,
ticking, ticking, always moving forward.
To someone passing by on the road this is just another old farm house
but to our family this place is a historic monument.
To everyone else this is just a hill in the middle of nowhere,
to us it is the middle of everywhere.
This is the center of our universe.
This is our home.
By Tom Nye
