Grandads farm

 His kids would be coming by today with little ones in tow. They loved the farm and told him he must be the farmer in the book their Mom read to them before bedtime. But they asked why Grandad's name wasn't McDonald's?

He was ready for them with ice cream churned this morning and chocolate chip cookies still in the oven. But the real fun began with a tour of the barn and a carrot for Danny, the miniature donkey, some feed for the chickens, and most fun of all, jumping out of the hayloft into a wagon below stacked with hay.

Lunch was simple, consisting of ham sandwiches and ice-cold lemonade that he had made with real lemons. Afterward, it was time for driving lessons on the old tractor, the same one he had taught his kids to drive, and for the older boys, a turn at the combine they had been waiting for, what seemed like forever, to arrive.

He and his kids sat on the porch, watching as their children chased the chickens, played fetch with the dogs, and made short work of the plate of cookies. As the day went on and the kids grew tired, it was time for a bowl of ice cream, which was eaten on the porch in silence as every last scrap of the bowl was consumed. And now it was time to say good night.

Goodbyes were said, and hugs were given, with a reminder from Mom to thank Grandad for everything. He stood on the porch as the last little face pressed against the car window disappeared into the distance, then began the task of washing dishes that his daughter had offered to do, but he was pretty direct when telling her he'd do them.

As night arrived, he sat in his favorite chair, remembering the day and the happiness on the children's faces. He remembered the talks he had with his daughter and son, telling them he was considering selling the farm. But his daughter said he'd been saying that for ten years. He fell asleep with a half-eaten bowl of ice cream on his lap and a picture his granddaughter drew for him, featuring Danny the donkey and a title that read "Old McGrandad's Farm."

Mike 2025