Going Home

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Farm life. After all the time that has passed, the childhood home, I remember so fondly, does not exist.

Submitted: November 26, 2016

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Submitted: November 26, 2016

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Going Home.

Finally I have come to believe you can not go home again.

After all the time that has passed, the childhood home, I remember so fondly, does not exist. Oh there are some building there, BUT.

I grew up living and working all of my formative years on a farm. In the very early years with my parents and siblings and then later with my grandparents. The years that stick so firmly in my mind are the years working and living on the land my grandparents farmed. They were sharecroppers on about 320 acres doing the time I was there. (about 5 miles south of Cyrus, Mn) Black land farmers. Good land if not just a tad rocky in places. I lived there from about 10 yrs old until my grandmother passed when I was in seventh grade and then I became a school holiday visitor to work and help my grandfather. After grandmother passed, grandfather sold off all critters and became a crop farmer. My last summer on the farm was 1960. That fall I went back to school, graduated and then choose to enter the service in 1961, to get it over with. Planning to return, never dreaming my grandfather, without me, would decide to retire, sell everything and buy a house in town (Murdock, Mn). I never went back.

I loved the farm and the time I spent there. The other day I used Google maps to explore my old stomping grounds. I expected things to have changed but still..... Nothing looked the same. Everything was difficult to recognize. Paved roads, city style addresses, new and more building, etc. For gods sake, one field was torn up and looked like it was a gravel pit to be used when paving roads! A whole field gone. Grooves of trees gone.

The last time I drove by the old place was perhaps in the late “60's. If I drove by today I would not recognize it nor some of the neighbors places. Neighbors that I had an occasion to work for, to earn a little spending money. One or two of those places, families and buildings are gone. For that I shed a tear or two. I hope my memories don't fade. I can't go home to reclaim them.


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