It was a long way to walk, from downtown where we lived, out to the farm. Grandpa wasn’t expecting me, but I knew he’d be there planting beans, milking cows, painting the barn, feeding the horses, or doing something fun like that. As for Grandma, I guess she was inside cooking or canning, sweeping, or with some ladies sewing a blanket. The walk was worth it, good to leave the dull traffic, boring noise and long lonely days of the city. Farm was more fun.
Fortunately, I knew the way, even though I was only eight years old. I guess my parents had taken me there in our old Studebaker often enough to impress my young mind with a mental map. Anyway, off I went, carefully waiting for the green light at Third Street. There was always lots of traffic there, even on Sunday. Somehow though, the streets looked different while slowly watching from a young kid’s head height. Oh well. What difference does it make? What if I do get lost? I don’t think my parents like me much anyway
It’s different in the country, especially with Grandma always making apple pie or chocolate cake just for me. Grandpa seemed to have time to hitch up the horses so I could have a special ride down to the South forty where seven sheep were not doing much but letting their wool grow. At least that’s what Grandpa said. What was it about sheep that was different? They didn’t make much noise. They didn’t push each other around like some of the animals. They just ate grass, played follow the leader or just stood there and “let their wool grow”.
Now the pigs were a different story. I’m not sure why Grandma gives them all that good food left over from dinner. They just like to wallow in the mud, poke at each other, make oinky noises, and stink. Grandma said something about bacon and sausage, but I didn’t get the point.
Chickens aren’t much fun. They just run around aimlessly, pecking at this and that, and occasionally at each other. I notice they sometimes go in a little building and sit down. One day I saw Grandma go in. Soon she came out with a basket of eggs. Someday I’ll figure out how that works. Also, I can’t help but wonder if one of these busy birds will be the chicken with fried potatoes we eat for dinner. So many questions.
The horses are my favorite. I love to see them race. Last summer at the fair I saw horses all lined up on a dirt track. After a loud bell they took off running with small men riding on top slapping them with a stick or something. I guess they thought that’s what makes them race. They don’t need to do that. Horses like to race. I know. I’ve seen them do it all by themselves.
The last time I was at the farm, while Grandma and Grandpa were busy, I went over and stood at the fence next to the field where seven or eight horses had their heads down, munching grass I guess. Then one raised his nose and poked another one on purpose. Looked like they might get into a fight. But no. Instead, the whole bunch lined up and looked around, but not for long. Suddenly they took off across the field, running faster than I’ve ever seen. Close to each other, neck and neck, noses nudging forward as they cross the field just in time to stop before hitting the fence where I was standing. I started to jump away; but they knew it was time to stop. I never was sure who won, and I’m not sure they cared. Later, when I told Grandpa, he said the winner would have liked a carrot. Too bad I didn’t know sooner.
I must have been thinking of farm animals instead of watching the light. It was red again. I wonder how many times that happened while I was standing there dreaming of fun on the farm. I’m not sure I really know my way out of town, down country roads to the farm.
Come to think of it, I wonder what mom and dad have planned for today. Are they wondering where I am? Are they worried ‘cause I’ve disappeared? Maybe they don’t care. I know I’m kind of trouble sometimes. They say I’m a little pest. Maybe they’d be glad to get rid of me. Maybe I shouldn’t be such a nuisance. Uh oh. The light is red again.
Maybe they were going to take me to a movie with The Little Rascals. If they really want to be nice, Bugs Bunny will be first, just as we go in. I suppose a walk in the park might be better than nothing. Or they might be planning a trip to the zoo to see animals that don’t live on farms. Maybe they were planning a day for all of us to go to the farm.
Why is life so complicated? My parents know everything. They have everything all figured out. Dad goes to work. Mom stays home, cleans the house, irons clothes, cooks food and tries to keep track of me. Here it is Sunday. Everybody was at home together. Dad reads the Sunday paper. What’s fun about that? Well, the Funnies maybe. At least they’re in color and have pictures.
Should I go back home? The light is red again. Or did it just stay red all this time? Uh oh! Do I know the way back? Oh. This is the corner where we live. That’s good. They probably didn’t miss me at all. See. They didn’t even notice. “Why were you out on the corner watching the street light, son?” Oh, I guess they did notice. Parents are so confusing. You just never know what they’re going to do next.
Leave it to mom. She says, “I have an idea. Let’s go to Bob Evans. They say that’s ‘down on the farm’.”
May be. But it’s just not the same.