Childhood Farm

As I stroll along my childhood farm with my Grandma, I can still see the horses grazing in the sunkissed fields and hear my Grandpa’s opera music blaring in his garage. I smell the fresh farm air, the mix of sweet grass, horse, pine shaving, fresh cut hay, and even the manure. My chest starts to tighten because once I blink a few times I see the farm for what it is now and feel the emptiness of all that is lost. Grandpa is no longer here, my parents are divorced, there are no more horses grazing in the fields, and everything is deserted, lifeless, desolate. Walking along the now fallen down fence sullenness weighing on me, I can't help but reach out and wiggle the only gate left standing. Hearing the jingle of the chain holding it in place, a smile begins to emerge as I picture my horse saddled and standing beside me. He happily rubs his massive face up my arm as I attempt to unlatch the gate. He can't seem to help himself, he is so excited we are going for a ride. I lean in as he nuzzles me enjoying the sweet smell of horse, fly spray and leather. I look into the paddock and see my mom atop her own horse with a huge smile on her face. She is so beautiful and looks at home riding her horse. I see the pride in her eyes as she sees me mount. This is how mom and I bond. We share this love of horses. The sound of a car speeding past the paddock brings me back to the here and now. I turn and look at the cow barn that held our horses, hay, and many memories. Though it is over 100 years old, it looks the same as it always had except I notice that the back side of the foundation is cracked. I turn to grandma realizing her back is now slightly hunched. She is much thinner and has a few extra wrinkles but really does not look her 86 years. Her smile and laughter are still there, along with the aroma of homemade cookies and a slight floral perfume. Our eyes lock and we can

feel the sadness that is surrounding us. We walk slowly over to the barn door and open it. It is cool, dark, damp and musty inside with a thick coating of dust over everything from years of not being used. I can still picture the horses in the stalls and hear my grandpa, dad, and mom chatting about all the work that needs to be done on the “farm”. I can hear the shovel scrape

across the stall floor while we clean early each morning. I smell the sweet smell of grain and hay and hear the horses happily chewing. Life on the farm at that time was much more simple, it was full of happiness, laughter, family, and of course hard work. Grandma and I close the barn door, shutting out those memories for the time being. Gazing over at the tack shed I hear

the creak of the door and get the giddy feeling of anticipation for an upcoming ride. As I look around at the saddles and bridles I savor the fragrance of the leather and polish. We amble over to grandpa’s garage and work room. Looking inside, I’m immediately flooded with memories of Grandpa. The smell of his old spice aftershave mixed with farm smell, and tractor oil. I remember my tall, tough Grandpa smiling at me with his huge handsome smile so excited to see me. Wrapping his big strong arms around me, my head would always rest just above his

stomach. I always felt safe with him. He would constantly be puttering around doing some sort of odd job or fixing the old ford tractor. I turned to Grandma and both of us had tears in our eyes. Both of us were picturing him still in there. A cow lowing in the distance brought us out of our memories but did not mask the sound of my grandpa singing to his opera music with the loveliest of baritone voices. Across the street I see my Grandma’s dog sitting stiffly waiting for us. Even time has not left him alone. He is having difficulty getting around. We sit down in the front porch loveseat glider that has been there for as long as I can remember, each deep in thought, deep in our own memories. My heart skips a beat in anticipation upon hearing the garage door open and close across the street in my childhood home. I have a moment of hope thinking it might be my mom or dad and then remember the divorce. The house that is no longer ours, a stranger is walking out of the garage and living in the place we once called home.

A cardinal lands on the birdfeeder in front of us. Grandma and I begin to talk about the types of birds she has been seeing on her feeders while I take a few long calming breaths. I smell Grandma’s house, such a comforting smell, the smell of home, love and family. A family that is no more, only the memories remain.

Written by Regina Velius