We took a big city antidote today. On this cool crisp fall day we took a walk, along the country roads and woodland paths of the Wheeler Historical Farm. It reminded me so much of Oak Glen. Missing only the smell of crisp apples.
I felt so sorry for this old farmer. He’s retiring in 6 mo and he’s the only one that knows how to handle those beautiful Belgian Horses.
They will have no one to harness and drive them. It’s becoming a lost art. And he’s hurting for them, and a bit for himself, I would guess.
They had a lot of animals on the farm. I love to hear the sound of a rooster crowing, it takes me back to the times I spent on my aunt Mary and Uncle Howard?s farm.
I would hear that sound in the morning and jump out of bed and into my overalls and race down the stairs in the early light of dawn. At the bottom of the stairs the smell of breakfast would wash over me.
Oh those breakfasts ! Fresh eggs, milk and bacon and ham and butter, and potatoes and fresh baked biscuits with country gravy. Uncle Howard bursting through the door, laughing and joking and smelling of cows. He’d go to the old green pump at the sink to wash his hands. And then he’d say grace over the bountiful gifts of his land.
Aunt Mary and Uncle Howard had been up long before that rooster!