Friday, November 17, 2017

Stuck in time...

Every day, on my way to and from work, I pass a lonely farm that sits at the edge of modern encroachment.  The stories that could be told if it could only speak. 

The farmhouse sits atop a rise where it had the early morning sun streaming through the back windows and its inhabitants could sit on the front porch basking in the golden rays of the setting sun.  The fields behind it surely were verdant and lush...most likely with the quintessential Midwest Hoosier corn crops.



What were the people like?  Did the woman of the house spend her mornings baking bread and preparing meals for the farm workers?  Did crisp white sheets hang on the clothesline and snap in the breeze?  Were there children that rose early in the morning, wiping the sleep from their cherubic faces, pulling on their clothes and dragging their feet outside to get the morning chores done before school?

I like to make up stories about what life must have been like in this home and on this farm.

Now it sits, empty and neglected.  The interstate and modern life sidling up like a cancer.
It will be torn down, that is an eventuality.  And with it, another chunk of the past will die.  



Honestly, it breaks my heart to watch and know what is coming.  Why do I do all the "old fashioned" things?  Simply put, there are parts of life that are worth preserving the knowledge of, nothing new can improve upon them.  So, at the heart of it,  I choose to learn and practice all those things that allow me the independence of being as completely self-reliant as possible.  It is a freedom that cannot be bought.



And, of course, IF I'm sitting, then I'm knitting.  There are socks to be made, afterall.

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