The Farm

It is heart-breaking. 

We live not far from the farm my mother-in-law and father-in-law lived as long as I knew them. 

My husband was born in that house. Not a hospital...that house.

It was a ram-shackle house. And very small. They had to move a mobile home on the property to hold some of the people.

It was not much of a farm in the traditional sense. All the land was on hills that are like small mountains. That means no planting. Even raising livestock would be too hard. 

My children loved visiting their grandparents. As long as they stayed away from the road they had more freedom to rove than they had in the city. Their favorite activity was to climb the hill and roll down. They still go over there when they visit to roll down the hill.

The man who now owns the property has invited them to roll down the hill whenever they wish to.  

When I began dating my eventual husband there were no people living close. The nearest neighbor was about a mile and a half away and there were no other houses until you got into town.

Now there are at least a dozen places between town and the farm. The open scenery is spoiled.

After my mother-in-law and father-in-law died the farm was sold. My husband asked the man who bought it not to take down his mother's weeping willow tree. The man agreed. Unfortunately the tree became diseased and had to be removed.    

All that is left of the farm now is my father-in-law's yard light. There are so many memories tied into that 40 acres. I feel them every time I drive that way.