Humble Beginnings

Humble beginnings...

The farm where I grew up. I never realized how humble it was until I went back later in life. As a kid, I thought it was fine...a little small when I was fighting with my brother, no shower (just a tub), but otherwise, nice enough.

The house was an original homestead. In layman's terms, that means no water and you pee in an outhouse. Luckily, by the time we moved there, it was fully plumbed with a kitchen sink and a fully-functioning bathroom. Still, our water supply was limited. My dad, always the inventor, set up a light bulb above the door of the cellar. When the light turned on, that meant the pump was running; no one could run water or, God forbid, flush the toilet during that three minute hiatus. I still remember the dread shooting through me when I flushed without checking for the light. Hell to pay, as they say.

These are actually recent pictures. A raised pig pen flanked the barn on the right side when I was a child. An incredible garden ran down the left side, from the junk shed to the house. The whole setting looks calm, almost serene here..and I remember it as anything but. It was busy with children and dogs, old cars (dad was always working on old cars--still is), a rabbit hutch, and a small wire pen for the latest crop of geese or ducklings. My mom was (still is) a flower gardener, and all of that has been lost with time and negligence.

To me, home is what is left when you peel back the layers. This place is my core.