My Dad

This is a photo of my Dad as a young boy. He is 15 years old as he sits on the old tree stump which would mean the original black and white photo was taken around 1941 or so. Dad grew up working hard on his family's farm and farms of others as well. This doesn't appear to be the old homeplace where he lived so I think it was taken on one of the farms where he often stayed and worked in his youth. With none of his five siblings in view I think it's fair to say this wasn't taken at home.
I like this picture of my Dad. It shows he was tall and lanky. He never lost that lush head of hair and it didn't turn gray until he was way up in age.
It will soon be fourteen years since my Dad passed away. It's hard to realize that many years have silently gone by. This coming Sunday the 17th would have been Dad's 84th birthday.

Love and miss you Dad.

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The Old Family Farm

The old barn sits silently amidst the tall overgrown grass. It's tin roof peeled back by the ravages of time and neglect. Inside the weathered walls once stood the implements needed to farm and garden the fifty areas of land. Bags of oats and corn lay ready to be mixed as a supplement for the milking cows. Cats and kittens roamed freely keeping the mice at bay and often lapped warm cow's milk for their breakfast.

This old barn sits on the farm once owned by my Hubby's family. As a young teenager he himself built the additional lean-to on the right of the barn. His family lived on the farm about six years until his Dad suffered a stroke and they moved to the city. His Mom and Dad and five of the nine kids are gone now but the stories this old barn could tell about hard work, country life, and love are numerous and warm the heart. I know and I miss hearing them.

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Sepia Scenes: Forgotten Homestead

(Please enlarge for best viewing.)

This old farmstead sits way back from the road neglected and crumbling. At one time it must have been a beautiful place with the wide open fields in front of it. Through the woods and down the hill behind the house is the river. I imagine at one time the land behind was clear with a road that probably led to the river and perhaps a boat to carry goods. If only these walls could talk; but often as I drive by I hear them whispering.

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