Of course, one of the main reasons one moves to a farm is due to some good memory or good experience with such a lifestyle.
One of my fondest memories as a child was visiting my great grandmother’s home. It wasn’t grand, as most small farms aren’t, but as a child, I thought the place was magical. Her chickens would peck at my toes when I went out to collect eggs. The calf that appeared each spring, disappeared each winter. I never thought to ask what happened to it, but I supposed we had many yummy roasts at its expense. I seem to remember a horse or two and definitely some rabbits and a small garden.
As we embark on our new farm life, I’m reminded often of her and of how her house always smelled like boiling green beans, bacon, and sweet tea. The fresh wash was always hanging on the line, gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. The supper table was always full of goodness from the yard, surrounded by the love of family who shared the meal. I remember she was always sewing something by hand. I never thought much of it at the time, but in the evenings, she was always in her chair with her glasses resting on the end of her nose, working on a quilt.
Sweet 16 Birthday Gift
When I turned sixteen, she gave me one of those quilts for my birthday, just as she did for each of her six great-grandchildren.
This other one was given to me a short time later, just before she died when I was seventeen years old. I still use the quilts in our guest rooms and think of her every time I make the beds.
How cute is this?
So, in my farmhouse delusions, I’m sewing my own quilt. It’s ridiculously time-consuming!
It’ll be done in a few more years.
I hope someday, someone will tell everyone about how their great-grandmother lived on a magical farm in a house that always smelled like boiling green beans, bacon, and sweet tea, and made some awesome quilts.