A Time Long Ago

  Once upon a time long, long ago, there was a little farm.  On these acres lived a farmer, his wife and five kids.  They did not have a lot as far as money but they were happy.  They did not seem to need a lot of cash.  Sure, it would have been nice to be able to afford what others had but, in the long run, none of that mattered.  The kids worked hard in the fields, played hard in the yard and woods and ate heartily from what was raised in the fields.  The farmer and his wife never complained of any hardships even though, at times, there was simply not enough to even buy a loaf of bread.  Instead, cornbread sufficed and did a grand job of brightening the spirits of all.  Simple things like family meals, songs sung while the wife played the piano and stories told while sitting on the front porch after dark filled the days and evenings of the family. There was no television, fancy clothes or new toys.  Even during the bleakest of times, love pulled the family closer.  All was good.

  Then, as families do, the kids grew up, moved out and had families of their own.  Without the helping hands of five kids, the crops were pared down to a minimum and the house seemed empty. Grandkids visited, thought it was great fun to "help" in the gardens and then went back home. The farmer and his wife aged and eventually passed on from this world.  The little farm was sold and a subdivision took its place. It was sad.

  But!  No matter how much things change, they sometimes remain the same.  Yep, that statement is in stark contrast with its own self but things have a way of coming a full circle.  What was once, will always be again.  Today while sitting in the cooling breeze at midday, I watched as my brother rode his tractor about his yard.  A whole flood of memories flashed about in the brain.  His appearance was so much like that of Pop.  I had thoughts of the little farm, of Pop and Mom, of my childhood spent in sheer bliss.  I thought of Christmases without new toys, of a house without air conditioning, and of the sound of rain on the tin roof.  I thought of homemade jams and jellies, fresh baked bread and dresses made from flour sacks.  I thought of sitting by the fireside doing homework on cold nights, sitting on the porch swing listening to tales of long ago told by Pop and visits by cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents.  I thought of days spent in the fields either in the blistering heat of summer or the icy cold of winter,  of nights listening to the frogs and watching the fireflies and of sharing a room with my sister.  I thought...I reminisced...All because of a sight of my brother on a tractor.  For a bit, I missed all of that.  A tear rolled down my cheek.  All is good.