The Farm

Yesterday I left home to come to my grandparents’ house. They have a large farm filled with pastures and meadows for their horses and cows to graze, several ravines, and a stream we call the crick.

I took a walk with my grandpa, a sturdy man who’s lived on this farm pretty much his whole life. We went down by the crick with grandpa’s beloved dog, Sammy, at our heels. Sammy is a lovable little dog who is always roaming around the fields and getting into fights with the various rodents that inhabit the farm. This time, he sure found things to do!

While I was wading in the crick, I saw Sammy come over to grandpa and drop something at his feet. Then grandpa picked up a small furry thing and dangled it by the tail. A dead mouse.

After a while, Sammy found some bigger fish to fry. He went sniffing around up the hill that had fallen away, into the crick. Not too much later, we heard the low vibrating growl of a coon, and the barking of our dog. Sammy had found a fight with a raccoon!

There was lots of barking, yelping, and growling from both sides. Several times the hubbub dimmed and the battle seemed to be over, only to start again. Since reading Where the Red Fern grows, I had understood all the tricks a coon could pull, and so also knew why it sometimes took Sammy several minutes to find the coon again.

Anyways, we eventually got Sammy to stop, and went along through the pastures. I crossed through the crick several times, wading through the brisk water, balancing for a moment on some stones, walking across the grassy island-like mounds. I love this place!

I think that having grandparents with an oasis like this is kind of like a miracle. I mean, with our intoxicated, technology-integrated world, you’re pretty lucky to have land and water and animals and just to be separate from all that junk… Walking across these stones and feeling like you drifted backwards in time, when really  you’re just like 20 miles from reality.

I love the farm…

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