Brewer Chronicles - Saying Goodbye to the Farm

Dad had passed away over a year before. The farm house was a half mile from Walnut Ridge Road. Even in nice weather, it was no place for an elderly woman to live alone. It was decided that it was time to sell the farm and buy her a home in the big metropolis of Salem. 

The thought of it was like amputating one of my major appendages.  The roots of my soul reached deeply into the soil on that farm. I took my first solo breath in that downstairs room with the window on the far left. I pumped a gazillion gallons of water from that well for our house and the animals. I mowed that lawn so many times. I marveled at Mom learning to drive the motorized mower (after I left of course) and watching her legs go horizontal when she ran over a snake (a moment of joy for her). 

I had been away from the farm for decades (two in the Air Force and two more in Arizona). However, I still felt tethered to that farm near Salem. Understanding the depth of these feelings, my wife Charlotte insisted on accompanying me on the trip for the auctioning of the farm, equipment, and almost all of the belongings. Driving down the lane to the house was a journey much longer than that half mile.

Preparing for the sale was like a ‘This is Your Life’ show (you have to be REALLY old to understand this). All of the equipment was aligned in the barn lot. Many of them had been well maintained for the last decades since I used them (Dad was funny about that). I had to carefully remove the pliers and screwdrivers that I was sure that he had touched many times from the tractor tool area – placing them like fine jewels in the tool display area. (I made sure to keep a few).

Dad had bought an Army surplus trailer (with canvas cover) in the late 40’s. That trailer had been put through the farm paces for 45 years. All of that time, one of the tires was an original tire. About a week before the sale, that tire finally gave out. It was a gesture that I understood what it was saying.

Cleaning out the tool shed and rooms in the barn revealed so many memories of the chores and brutal weather my brother and I ‘endured’ on the farm. Why did they seem so disgusting then (cleaning a barn in the spring can test you), but seem so precious now? The ghosts of the many cows, horses, and pigs that lived in the barn taunted me while they comforted me at the same time.

The sale was well orchestrated. Friends (we had some wonderful neighbors) and family organized everything efficiently. The professional auctioneer kept it moving rapidly (faster than I really wanted it). I saw a lot of memories being loaded into trunks and trucks by friends and sometimes strangers.

Some of the household family heirlooms (most would be turned away from Goodwill) spurred some family feuds that last until today. It is a good thing that the airlines have strict limitations on overhead bins and checked luggage. They would have needed a C-5 to get me back to Arizona. As it was, I was able to select some special items.  I touch them now and then to re-energize my soul.

Driving out the lane, it was a struggle to keep between the ditches since I was staring into the rear view mirror. I could still feel that tether. I still do.