The outhouse no longer stands guard on the hill. It’s been gone for years. As have the chicken-coop and the cattle. Once the farm teemed with livestock, now all is eerily quiet.

Through the eyes of a young boy, the green-shingled house was huge. Nearby the barn was painted a vivid red. Its cavernous interior a haven for life: cows, cats, mice, owls, and countless spiders and crickets. In the Barnyard stood the skeletons of better days, the hog-houses. Sheltered in the corner of the lot, they huddled together as if waiting for my father, younger by many years, to drive the hogs in from the field.

Rising from the center of the hayfield was a hill. For a small boy it was a mountain. From its summit, you could see into Michigan, seven miles to the north. An orchard stood to the north of the house. It provided shelter from the savage north wind. The trees are gone now. However, the wind still brings the snow, five to ten feet of the white, soft stuff. Snow drifts often covered the equipment shed, making it impossible to clear the lane.

The shed no longer stands. It collapsed years ago under heavy snow. All that is left of the cattle are the stalls. The barn needs a coat of paint, and the hog houses have disappeared. The mountain has shrunk, and weeds and vines have reclaimed the orchard. My uncle’s mobile home sits on top of the outhouse hill where it dwarfs the green shingled house. Farm implements that once worked the land, plows, wagons, and rakes, now rust away at the foot of the mountain.

The owners have changed too. No longer the young grandparents they once were. Gone is the vigorous stride of their youth. Their eyesight, and hearing, are gone as well. The old man can barely farm a tenth of what he has, and what he has is smaller than it used to be. Bad times came. They grew older, and their meager Social Security forced them to sell their “extra” land.

In time, they too will go the way the outhouse and chicken-coop.

Thankfully, they will leave behind a treasure of memories.

David Dahl

Today is Throwback Thursday.  I wrote this piece way back in 1971 (can it really be 47 years ago?)

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