The old house had been closed for years now. The old man
passed away and all his children couldn’t care less about the run-down farmhouse
that sat on bank-owned land. The oldest son recently received a letter from the
bank stating the property was scheduled for demolition at the end of the month
and if the family wanted anything from inside the buildings they had until then
to do so. He and his dad were not ever close, well they were when he was just
a kid. He decided to make the three-hour drive tomorrow just because.
It was crisp and sunny when he headed out for what was
called the North country. where Fertile land and generations of farmers claimed
to have the best fruits and vegetables anywhere else in the state. He grew up
here eating as many apples as he wanted or roaming through rows and rows of
corn snapping off a stalk and enjoying its sweetness that people drove for
miles to purchase. His dad sold most of his crops to local restaurants and
grocery stores while some were destined for the roadside stand, he built years ago.
Every end of summer he would put on a fresh coat of paint and lay down a colored
mat where he would display his produce. On a good weekend, he would make enough
money to cover expenses and put some away for those frequent rainy days.
As he got closer to the homestead his childhood memories
filled his head and the drive became less enjoyable. He arrived to find quite a
few vehicles parked in the field next to the old barn that once was filled to
the rafters with equipment and other needed farming tools. A couple of
neighboring farmers were looking over a combine that had seen better days, he
remembered his dad working on that thing late into the night cussing every nut
and bolt as he fixed something else all too often. He saw people roaming around
the house where the bank's employees kept them out until he had a chance to have
a look around.
Walking inside the house he was slammed back to his youth
before mom died and his dad became the town drunk. For a few good years, they
were a family with a respectfully run farm who went to church on Sundays and
had dinner together every night. Being the oldest he was expected to help
and help he did. He couldn’t count the times he missed
school because his dad was passed out in the barn, an empty bottle next to him.
He never did know why his old man took to the bottle, some said because he
never left the war behind him, others said he was just like his own father who
drank himself to an early death. He tried to keep the farm going but when mom
passed, his dad got really bad and just gave up. Being the oldest he tried
keeping everyone together but after a year or so the state stepped in and put
the younger kids in the system. He packed a bag and never looked back. He was
sixteen years old.
He roamed around the old house for awhile looking at
pictures from happier times but not wanting any of them as old memories can sting.
He stopped at the door going into the kitchen where mom in happier days spent a
lot of her time cooking, baking bread and cookie, and always there to listen to us.
The smells swirling through his head, he took in a deep breath then walked out
of the house. Nothing he wanted he told the bank rep who stepped up to the
portable podium and yelled over a bull horn the auction was about to begin. He
stood next to his car and watched as items large and small went to the highest
bidders, some hiding their eyes from him as if they had stolen something from
his past. Little did they know, he could care less. By the end of the day, anything worth anything was sold and the bank guy shut it down.
Heading back home and to his life, he couldn’t help but
remember his first sixteen years. Running through cornfields, playing hide and
seek with his sisters, getting to drive the tractor all the way to the end of
the dirt rod and back, sitting up straight telling himself this farm would be
his someday. He could smell the clean clothes hanging on the line softly
blowing dry on a summer day. He remembered going fishing with his dad on the
pond next to his land. He clearly remembered county fairs and cookouts, how
neighbors came from miles around when the barn caught fire helping dad rebuild
it just because that’s what neighbors did. He remembered cutting the perfect Christmas
tree and singing carols while they decorated it with their own hand made ornaments.
He smiled as he remembered easter egg hunts that lasted for hours because there
was a lot of hiding places on the farm. Birthday parties and fourth of July, baseball
games, and wheelbarrow races. He can still smell the paint as he helped paint
the roadside stand and how big he felt helping folks fill their baskets. Then
he remembered the darkness and loss, the past due bills, and being cut off by suppliers.
He remembered the girls needing shoes but there was no money for that. So, one
night he broke into the dress shop in town and stole two pairs he hoped would fit.
He never got caught but later he learned the store owner knew it was him but
never said a word.
Things only got worse as time passed. The VA came when he
was about fifteen and had a long talk
with dad saying they would help him if he’d let them but by then he was too far
into the bottle and that was that. Wasn’t long after and the girls were takin
away leaving him to do what? Run the farm on his own? That’s when he packed a
bag and as he was leaving, he looked into the barn and saw him hanging from a beam.
He didn’t leave a note he just ended it and he walked away leaving him to
swing. Sixteen years of happiness his only reminder of youth. Thanksgiving is coming
soon, and he will have a gathering of friends at the table. He invites his
sisters every year, but they never have come. Guess he is a part of their past
that does not bring many good memories. He
nodded his head and understood.
Mike
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