I'd sit with my granddaddy on his front porch, looking out over his fields of corn, and I asked him how they could live as they did with so few conveniences. He would finish lighting his pipe, settle back in his chair, and then speak to me.
Back when I was brought into this world in a bedroom by a midwife, you didn't travel for miles in a wagon to the nearest hospital; the woman and girls tended to the new mother's needs. And once the dad heard the babies' cries, he smiled and went back out to the fields as it was harvest time.
We never thought for a minute we were poor, as there was always food to eat and a roof over our heads. We had two sets of clothing and two pairs of shoes that would last until your toes were coming out of the shoes and the trousers couldn't be let down anymore. There weren't any department stores, but we got a Sears catalog in the mail every month that Mom could order things from, like cloth for making pretty dresses for the girls and slip covers for the good furniture, off-limits to anyone who hadn't taken a bath first.
You see that old steam tractor sitting out yonder rusting away? That was your great-granddad's first piece of machinery, which replaced the team of mules used to plow acres of land. You see that tractor just over there? That was my dad's, who was one of the first farmers to buy a diesel-powered machine that most laughed at, but soon changed their tune when they saw how fast and efficient it was.
Now we have combines so big they can harvest a crop and shoot the grains through a giant tube into waiting trucks to be filled and sent off to the mill to be stored and sold. One day's work today was a week's worth of work yesterday. Change takes time, he told me, drawing on his pipe, blowing smoke rings to my delight. When I was a boy, we had no indoor plumbing, just an outhouse that, believe me, was a cold and dark place you didn't look forward to visiting, especially in the dead of winter. But you did have a Sears catalog to read while you waited for that morning constitution.
There were no televisions or flat screens, just a movie theater in town where every Saturday evening folks would dress in their finest and eat popcorn Mom had brought along, in our own paper bags. And we'd each get a bottle of Coke-a-Cola from the vendor outside the doors. We'd watch the newsreels of the war overseas,s sometimes Mom shielding our eyes from the violence on the front lines. The movie was silent, but with actors like charlie chapman and others who didn't need to talk, as their gestures spoke volumes.
But what did you do for fun, I would ask him, and he would think for a minute, then speak. Our lives were mostly spent outdoors, working long days, starting before the sun came up and often well into the night to plow new fields, milk cows, deliver newborn calves, fix machinery, put up fences, and handle many other tasks required on a farm.
We'd go to the chapel on Sunday mornings, and when the last amen was spoken, we were off to the farm, where we'd change out of our Sunday go-to church clothes and into our rag-torn clothes. Different seasons meant different kinds of fun, like summer when we'd go to the pond and swim for hours, swinging on the rope swing back and forth, then letting loose and falling into the water. We'd catch fireflies at night along with night crawlers we'd use for bait when doing a bit of night fishing.
Winter meant sledding, snowball fights, ice hockey, and snow forts. We'd play all day if Mom hadn't called us in by ringing the dinner bell. A late supper was well worth the wait, as Mom always outdid herself in the kitchen, turning simple ingredients into masterpieces. Most of the time, Dad would take me hunting for deer or elk, which he'd dress out, teaching me the proper ways to do things. A nice slab of deer meat topped off any meal.
I asked him how he liked things today, with all those computers doing your thinking for you and all the social networks manned 24 hours, 7 days a week, spilling out any information you could ever want. I asked him if he'd ever see himself chatting or texting and maybe even finding a date. Mom yelling from the kitchen, over my dead body.
Well, my boy, I'd have to say, with complete truth, it wouldn't bother me one bit if there was a clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning and the world went black. Those throngs of city people would panic as cell phones went silent, cars quit running, and the box stores locked their doors: no DoorDash or food trucks, no ATMs, no cash. There would be a world of overeducated, underworked masses of people lost within the world they created.
As for us, we'll light the lanterns and sit around a campfire. We'd live off the land, which provides us with everything we'd need. We'd still go to church on Sundays and play outside. Mom would keep cooking with vegetables from her garden, and the smokehouse would always be full of meat. I pondered what he said, then said, "Life goes around 360, doesn't it, Granddad?" He stoked his pipe again, blowing smoke rings into the star-filled night just as Grandma rang the dinner bell.
We never thought for a minute we were poor, as there was always food to eat and a roof over our heads. We had two sets of clothing and two pairs of shoes that would last until your toes were coming out of the shoes and the trousers couldn't be let down anymore. There weren't any department stores, but we got a Sears catalog in the mail every month that Mom could order things from, like cloth for making pretty dresses for the girls and slip covers for the good furniture, off-limits to anyone who hadn't taken a bath first.
You see that old steam tractor sitting out yonder rusting away? That was your great-granddad's first piece of machinery, which replaced the team of mules used to plow acres of land. You see that tractor just over there? That was my dad's, who was one of the first farmers to buy a diesel-powered machine that most laughed at, but soon changed their tune when they saw how fast and efficient it was.
Now we have combines so big they can harvest a crop and shoot the grains through a giant tube into waiting trucks to be filled and sent off to the mill to be stored and sold. One day's work today was a week's worth of work yesterday. Change takes time, he told me, drawing on his pipe, blowing smoke rings to my delight. When I was a boy, we had no indoor plumbing, just an outhouse that, believe me, was a cold and dark place you didn't look forward to visiting, especially in the dead of winter. But you did have a Sears catalog to read while you waited for that morning constitution.
There were no televisions or flat screens, just a movie theater in town where every Saturday evening folks would dress in their finest and eat popcorn Mom had brought along, in our own paper bags. And we'd each get a bottle of Coke-a-Cola from the vendor outside the doors. We'd watch the newsreels of the war overseas,s sometimes Mom shielding our eyes from the violence on the front lines. The movie was silent, but with actors like charlie chapman and others who didn't need to talk, as their gestures spoke volumes.
But what did you do for fun, I would ask him, and he would think for a minute, then speak. Our lives were mostly spent outdoors, working long days, starting before the sun came up and often well into the night to plow new fields, milk cows, deliver newborn calves, fix machinery, put up fences, and handle many other tasks required on a farm.
We'd go to the chapel on Sunday mornings, and when the last amen was spoken, we were off to the farm, where we'd change out of our Sunday go-to church clothes and into our rag-torn clothes. Different seasons meant different kinds of fun, like summer when we'd go to the pond and swim for hours, swinging on the rope swing back and forth, then letting loose and falling into the water. We'd catch fireflies at night along with night crawlers we'd use for bait when doing a bit of night fishing.
Winter meant sledding, snowball fights, ice hockey, and snow forts. We'd play all day if Mom hadn't called us in by ringing the dinner bell. A late supper was well worth the wait, as Mom always outdid herself in the kitchen, turning simple ingredients into masterpieces. Most of the time, Dad would take me hunting for deer or elk, which he'd dress out, teaching me the proper ways to do things. A nice slab of deer meat topped off any meal.
I asked him how he liked things today, with all those computers doing your thinking for you and all the social networks manned 24 hours, 7 days a week, spilling out any information you could ever want. I asked him if he'd ever see himself chatting or texting and maybe even finding a date. Mom yelling from the kitchen, over my dead body.
Well, my boy, I'd have to say, with complete truth, it wouldn't bother me one bit if there was a clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning and the world went black. Those throngs of city people would panic as cell phones went silent, cars quit running, and the box stores locked their doors: no DoorDash or food trucks, no ATMs, no cash. There would be a world of overeducated, underworked masses of people lost within the world they created.
As for us, we'll light the lanterns and sit around a campfire. We'd live off the land, which provides us with everything we'd need. We'd still go to church on Sundays and play outside. Mom would keep cooking with vegetables from her garden, and the smokehouse would always be full of meat. I pondered what he said, then said, "Life goes around 360, doesn't it, Granddad?" He stoked his pipe again, blowing smoke rings into the star-filled night just as Grandma rang the dinner bell.
Mike 2026
Mike 2026
