farewell to the farm

I know I just posted a few seconds ago, but the one about my Grandpa got me all emotional. Maybe you know, maybe you don't, but my family is getting ready to auction off his farm, and it makes me very sad.It's been known as simply "the farm" to me all my life. How many times have I asked the question, "Dad, can I go with you up to the farm?" Then we'd hop in the truck, Jenny and I in the back during the summer, dad trying to run over groundhogs, and we'd go see Grandma and Grandpa.

Dad used to help my Grandpa out when I was growing up, and I spent lots of time there. Some of my favorite memories were riding on the tractor with them while they were working the fields, or on the hay wagons with my cousins while our uncles were baling hay. Then there were the times we'd play under the big pine tree by the old house and smash corn we'd grab from the corn crib with rocks for our pretend food. We'd usually get yelled at for that, but we'd do it anyway.

There were the days of Mary Lou Retton when we'd make a meager attempt at gymnastics across the front yard. Or how bout that time (I think it was Easter) when we all played kickball out front. I have pictures of that as proof if you don't believe me.

There were times that I spent in the kitchen with Grandma. She'd be pricing things for her yard sale and I'd be baking up a storm. She always let me bake goodies and sell them to get a few bucks. Grandma taught me embroidery and candlewicking and she got me a cross stitch kit - something she ordered for free out of one of her magazines.

I can remember seeing Grandpa walking back up to the house after finishing his chores. He was always whistling. And he'd come in and say, "want some ice cream?" Wherever Grandpa was, ice cream was sure to follow. My family would go up there on Sunday nights after church for our regular ol' tuna fish sandwiches and ice cream. Mom would eat bologna because she can't stand tuna. It was our weekly ritual. And no one can make a tuna fish sandwich quite the way that Grandma can.

I can remember our big family gatherings in the old farmhouse - with tables spread all the way across the living room. Grandpa would always pray for the meal and start crying. If it was Thanksgiving, that surely meant that Grandma had the new Sears Christmas catalog, and we marked our names on every single thing we wanted. Of course, I don't think any of us ever got anything out of it.

I remember when they built the new house and knocked down the old one. I was away when all that was going on, and the first time I went up there and saw it missing, I had a hole in my heart. I had to get myself used to the new one.

Now I'm away again, much farther though this time, and the next time I drive by, it won't be Grandma and Grandpa's house anymore. And that's something I don't think I'll ever be able to get used to.So I'm officially saying farewell to the farm. I'm going to miss out on the auction and all that goes into getting ready for it. And actually, I'm kind of glad because the memories I have will be the memories I get to keep. I don't have to have that other stuff crowding in and taking over.