Revisiting Mary's Old Farm

Tonganoxie, Kansas, a growing community of over 6,000 people now, if you managed to count all the farms. Growing except here, on this farm. Sherry’d left for school, and nothing had been growing much but weeds ever since Frank died. The fields had gone to seed, and the animals had either been sold or wandered off. I knew I should have visited Mary, but with Sherry gone, there didn’t seem to be any urgency in getting out here. Now with Mary’s funeral, which Sherry didn’t even come home for, it put a period on the whole family story.

But there was still the farm to be dealt with. It had always been a pretty little farm. It grew food for the animals and a garden that would support some sales in town besides Mary’s canning. There had just been the one horse when I was little, and I still think "Pilot" was sort of a silly name for an earthbound animal. There was the time I got in trouble for getting a Mason jar from the shed and scooping up a glassful of seed to feed the horse, and when Frank found out, how he went ballistic because it wasn’t feed, it was grass seed, and he didn’t know how it would affect Pilot. When you think about it, grass seed is just a sort of grain, and surely horses eat it in the wild, but he sure was mad.

I wandered from the glorious old three-story farmhouse up the overgrown lane that leads to the old barn. There were no inhabitants now, no supplies of grain or hay. I remembered how I hated the smell of the alfalfa hay. There might be inhabitants I thought, but they hadn’t been invited. I passed a particularly out-of-control stand of gooseberry bushes and the barn came into view. Its weathered wood form stacked on the stone base had shifted several degrees to the right, and the grayed roof had slumped and fallen in, in some areas of the small structure. There would still be room to stable a horse, but the food storage would be compromised.

Continuing up to the old barn, I ran my hand over the rough stone doorframe where the door once hung. What memories I had of playing here! Sherry and I would play in the naturally dim interior and ride the bench as our horse, playing Pony Express rider, or member of a posse -- the possibilities seemed limitless. When I stepped inside I was delighted to find the old bench still survived after all these years. I went in and happily sought the bench with my backside and looked around.

Except for the layer of dust, the barn just stepped straight out of my memory. It needed to have a grain delivery and some straw, and another horse -- and of course, the roof repaired -- but it looked like I remembered, under that thick layer of dust and spiderwebs. I couldn’t help but think of "Charlotte’s Web". I had seen the animated version so many times when I had babysat for Martha’s Jacob that I could recite the script along with it. Or to have fun with Jacob, I would turn off the sound and do it all myself. There was just one problem. We had no incredible pig.

I leaned back against the wall of what had been Pilot’s stall, thinking about the games we had played, and the times we had gotten in trouble. Picturing an eight-year-old Sherry with her gorgeous long red hair, while I had to have my copper locks cut short, wasn’t fair. On one of the hot summer days, I remember Mary bringing lemonade all the way out here so we could go on playing. I remembered how soft and velvety Pilot’s nose had been the few times I was allowed to touch him. I have no idea how long I was lost in my thoughts or if I might have dozed off, or if I was just drifty. It seems I was fully engaged in my reveries.

“Ahem.” A slight cough brought me to a focus right away, and there was a tall, well-built man standing in front of me. He was mostly silhouetted against the light from outside and he removed his sun hat which he folded under the tablet he carried, revealing a smooth bald head.

“Oh!” I stammered, embarrassed to have been caught so out of it. “Excuse me. I must have lost the time.”

“No, no, excuse me,” the newcomer countered. “I shouldn’t have startled you. But are you Sherry Steiner?”

I was surprised and gave a quick chuckle. “No. I haven’t seen or heard from Sherry in years. Were you expecting her here?”

“Not expecting to see her, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.” He examined his tablet. “There was a letter in her Mother’s papers apparently indicating that the farm should be assessed for potential development and placed for sale immediately, with Sherry Steiner being the beneficiary of all proceeds.”

“Wow. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about selling the farm, but I’m surprised you’re here so soon. Have you been contacted by Sherry?”

The man looked around briefly and asked, “May I sit?”

I indicated that he should help himself to the remainder of the bench.

He continued, “Let me start over by introducing myself. My name is Bob Matthews and I am doing an initial once-over of the site to see about its suitability for other development. As far as I know, there hasn’t been any direct contact from Sherry Steiner, but her Mother’s instructions which were made part of the will and executed as such, to my understanding, were to go on with development.”

I nodded. “Nice to meet you.” I incidentally noticed that he was a very attractive man, even though my type usually ran to long hair. “So you have no idea who Sherry is, or where she might be?”

“No, I just saw the red hair and thought you might be her.”’

Somewhat surprised, I had to ask, “Why is that?”

“The letter,” he tapped and stroked the surface of his tablet. “Well, I don’t seem to have the section I’m looking for. It may not have been forwarded to me, but after the directions for the farm, Mrs. Steiner got rather nostalgic for the place as it had been with her husband and with her daughter, her beautiful, long, red hair, shining in the sun.”

“How sad.”

“But now you understand about my mistake with the red hair.”

“We were childhood friends that basically grew up as sisters,” I explained. “Then they moved out here and we sort of lost touch.” I hung my head trying to keep tears from forming in my eyes. “It was a long time ago, but I miss my friend anyway.”

Matthews obviously felt bad about bringing up the subject. “Listen, I’m sorry I brought up the sad memories.”

“No, that’s what this period is all about. Looking back and remembering. I was sitting here before you came, remembering times playing with Sherry.” I was silent for a few moments and thought I’d change the subject so I asked Bob if he thought there was any reusing any of this wood.

“Sure.” He said, surprised by the change of topic. “Some of it might be good.”

“I guess the stone is just going to be trashed or used as landfill.”

His expertise showing, Bob answered easily. “It should be hauled off. When the ground is tested, the stone won’t be in the ground. And the tests won’t allow for the inconsistencies and air pockets of that kind of landfill anyway.”

I suddenly needed to get out of the cloying space of the barn. “Would you like to see the property?” I asked.

Bob perked up. “Well certainly. That is why I came out here.”

We left the barn and headed up the hill west of the barn. From the ridge, the entire farm fell away, leaving everything visible, even in its overgrown state.

“So this hill is the only elevation to be dealt with.”

“What do you mean, ‘dealt with;?” I asked.

He smiled. “The engineers may decide to knock the top off of this hill.”

Dismayed, I intoned, “You mean level it off like they do for highways.” Looking at him flatly he could tell it made me sad as well as bringing back the memories themselves had done. “What are you going to put in?”

“I’m considering the site for an industrial park. This area has been showing enough growth to warrant a site to develop jobs and industry.”

I chuckled “You sound so formal.”

“Well, it’s a serious business. I’ve got to get the testing ordered and get a crew out here.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling properly corrected. “You just go ahead and do what you need to, I’ll be around.”

I turned a loop-de-loo on the un-mown hill and settled my swirling skirt onto the ground around me as I sat in the middle of a patch of white clover. While Mr. Bob Matthews wandered about making notes and taking pictures with his tablet, I collected the white blossoms and tied them into a chain, making fancy jewelry as I had when we were young.

By the time Bob returned I had a necklace, bracelets on both wrists, and a tiara. “Don’t you love my finery?”

He looked and said “You’ve been busy. Glad you weren’t just sitting around waiting for me.”

“Na’ah. Just remembering the good days on the farm.” Bob offered me his hand and assisted me to my feet. “Thank you,” I murmured.

“De nada,” he replied.

I brushed the grass and dirt from my skirt and turned to walk with Bob in the direction of the house. We walked past the old barn and back down the lane. The old tree in front of the house beckoned. It stood so tall and proud with its dark shade in the afternoon. As we reached the yard I skipped forward happily.

“Do you think I dare?” I asked Bob, grabbing a rope of the board-swing and staring up into the tree to find the branch where it was tied.

Following my gaze up into the tree, Mr. Matthews did a quick assessment. “If the ropes are good to hold, the tree looks solid.”

He stepped up and held the swing so I could get on safely, then let go, backing out of the way. Once I was free, I began to swirl around in circles with my toes on the ground. “You know, If you do this right, you can make yourself dizzy as sin.”

Bob chuckled. “You go right ahead, but I’m going to have to leave -- Gotta get back to the office.”

“Oh,” I pouted. “But we were having such a lovely afternoon.” The old tree creaked and rustled above and around me.

“Yes, but I do have to go.”

“All right, then. It’s been nice meeting you. I hope your project goes okay.”

“And I hope you enjoy your memories.” With a tilt of his hat, Bob Matthews headed to the sporty little Audi waiting in the driveway, and with a growl of the engine, he was gone.

After a minute, the swing came to a stop, and I wandered into the house to say my goodbyes to the ladies who had held the reception. Come to think of it, I didn’t know who had authorized a bunch of people wandering around the farm. But I was done for the day, my memories revisited, with a lovely new one added to the book.