The Farm :: Descriptive Farms Essays Papers

The FarmFlat Rock Farm was a hardscrabble anachronism in the 1950s. The dirt roads of Kansas, in those days, were littered with similar testimonies relics of another time, passed down by the pioneers who carved them from the prairie. That it survived at every was a testament to the resourcefulness and tenacity of those that had scratched a subsistence from it during the dust domain and great depression. Once the fulfillment of life- eagle-eyed dreams, farms like this one were being rendered ancient by the emerging consumer society of post-war America. To the uninitiated there was nothing ridiculous or extraordinary about this particular farm, except perhaps for the telltale signs of its certain obsolescence. The harness hanging from the tack room wall, the idle group of aging horses milling in the corral, the bucket at the cistern affection and the absence of electric lines all betrayed the homesteads lack of modernization and its inevitable future. standardized thousands o f others, it would be bought out and combined with a larger, more modern function when death or bankruptcy hastened its demise. The passing of such a infinitesimal and unremarkable homestead on the Kansas prairie would not be noticed nor long remembered -- yet it is.To a small boy growing up in the inner city, there was no place more wondrous or exciting to visit than that small farmstead somewhere northeast of Emporia. It was a vibrant place, alive with the sights and sounds of nature and bustling with important work that mattered. employ whose judge and purpose was easily recognized by a child. operate connected to the land and animals in some grand collaboration with the universe. there were people there too who were glad when you came to visit. Patient people who cared, and who took the time to listen as well as teach. People who understood the value of a small childs efforts to help with the important work of the farm and encourage those efforts. There always seemed to be a humming in the reason that permeated everything there. A current, perhaps, that ran through it all and kept the people, land, and animals in sync with some universal pattern. I couldnt actually hear it, but if I sit down very still on the sways by the well pump, on a warm spring afternoon, and closed my eyes, I could feel it. The warmth of the rock beneath me, the sun reaching out to touch my skin, the breeze on my cheek -- all were connected -- as I was, with the sounds of the insects and animals around me.