"Now you may kiss the bride." I felt so loved, so special, as Mark took me into his arms and kissed me. Were we really going to always walk together, laugh together, cry together, and work side by side "until death do us part?"
Back at the old farmhouse where I grew up, there was cake, punch, congratulations, hugs, and gifts. Then it was time. I made my way upstairs to my old room to change into my "go away" dress. I stood there for just a little while remembering. Over on the night stand stood Mark's senior picture in its 5 x 7 frame. I remember holding it to me some nights while falling asleep. I remember laying in bed, the window open, listening to the old bull frog down at the pond. So many memories here in this old room. I took one last look around, took a deep breath, walked out the door and closed it behind me. Mark was waiting down stairs.
Everyone was lined up outside the back door, waiting with rice in their hands. Snow was gently falling. Just at the end of the sidewalk stood our old blue car.
Mark took my hand, looked into my eyes and asked "Are you ready?" I answered by squeezing his gentle hand.
After a short and sweet honeymoon, my new husband drove down the long three mile lane, across a couple cattle guards, and through rolling pasture land to a little farmstead nestled along a beautiful creek. He pulled up to our plain little white trailer, setting next to his mom and dad's old two story farmhouse. Mark had brought me home.
I had mixed feelings during our short stay there on the ranch. I became homesick--very homesick! After all, Mark had brought me some 250 miles from the only home I knew. And this part of the country seemed like a whole new world, with its flat fields and no trees in sight for miles. Another thing was, we were a whole three miles from the mailbox!
I had just left a little four year old brother, and now we were five hours apart! My parents and little brother came to visit about a month after we moved into our little trailer. I was so happy! It was so comforting to have our family together again for a couple days. The morning they left, I went back in the trailer and there laid my little brother's favorite little pillow on the chair. We were too poor to mail it, and I didn't know how I was going to make it, seeing as I burst into tears every time I looked at that pillow. So, I went to the shed and found a spade. I went out under a big cottonwood tree and I buried that little pillow!
I was so lonesome and felt I didn't have much to do, but my husband was wonderful. He would hold me at night and let me cry, or quietly listen to me tell stories about home. He then would kiss me and say "I love you so...you make my world complete." Then I would laugh, wipe away the tears, and know exactly why my heart was in love with this man!
I will always remember the beauty of the ranch. You could see for miles. The sunsets were beautiful, and sometimes at night we would walk hand in hand together under that huge sky, full of millions of stars. They were so bright up there in that black. Everything had gone to sleep and quietness surrounded Mark and I as we stood there together looking up.
Every time I hear a turtle dove, I remember that old ranch with its creek and huge cottonwoods. So many mornings we would wake to the sound of the dove. There were blue jays, magpies, cardinals, robins, and the beautiful call of the killdeer.
I would go with Mark to check the windmills, fix the fence, or try to count the calves. He was helping his dad and brother on the family farm for a couple months before we would move to our own little rented farm some 300 miles east. Sometimes his brother and I would milk the old cow or feed the horses together. It seems like he would always like to see if he could hit me with a squirt of milk!
Would you believe Mark and I actually dug up our sewer pipe, washed it all out, and took it with us? Now we did live on beans and rice...but dig up your sewer pipe! Because, after all, it was only three months old!
It was in the springtime, when the cottonwoods started to bud, that we hooked onto the little white trailer and pulled it down that three mile lane, over the cattle guard, past the old mail box, and into town. There it sat, waiting to be pulled 300 miles to its new home at grandpa's place, among the hedge row.
The next morning, Mark and I said good bye to his mom, dad, and brother. We headed down the interstate. My hubby driving his red pickup with his precious sewer pipe and our bucked toothed puppy, and me following in the blue car. We were heading east to our little rented farm that became home for 40 years.
When Mark first told me that he hoped to someday have a farm of his own, I never dreamed it would be so beautiful, so special.
Beautiful has different meanings to different people. To me beautiful means the big open blue sky, special neighbors, the old milk cow, the hard work, summer nights, full moons, and the old oil well squeaking up and down into the night.
That was my grandpa's farmstead. That was the place we called home for three years.
Setting off the road behind a row of old cedar trees, was the newest building on the place. My grandma and grandpa's one story brick home. Out in front was a circle driveway and in the middle of that drive way was a grape arbor. Every August or September you would see them out there, grandma in a old dress covered with one of those full aprons, a floppy straw hat on her head. Grandpa in his bib overalls and a pair of high top shoes that didn't always match and quite often were untied. They were busy filling those little buckets that hung from their arms. They would spend hours canning up the juice in big gallon jars and storing them in the basement for drinking all year round.
Right north of the house stood an old three stall garage. It was green in color and one door was off and the other two doors always stood open. This old garage became my husband's shop for the first couple years.
Just to the east of the old garage across the drive way, stood an old weathered barn with its roof slanting down to the ground. A coral fence, made of old yard fence held up by hedge posts, ran from the front of the barn out to the road. There was an old door in the peak of the barn. This lead to the hay loft.
At the west side of the barn stood an old concrete silo. It reached 50 feet into the air. There were steps leading up to the top where an old loose fence railing sat. Down east of the barn were two more of these old silos. Between them was an old weathered building of sorts.
Now let's walk back up to the three stall garage, and we will walk west through some fruit trees and across my grandpa's big garden through a row of ceder trees. We will come out into a clearing that was grandpa's cow pasture. Standing in the northeast corner sat grandpa's little milk barn, covered with tin. About 8:00 every morning and again at 6:00 in the evening, you would hear the old screen door bang shut at the house and grandpa would go whistling down the path, swinging the old tin milk bucket.
Just north of the old green garage sat our little white trailer. The hitch end was setting up among an old hedge row. Our little wood porch was on the east side. On the other side of the hedge row was an old oil well. At night we would go to sleep to its monotonous tune...squeak squawk...up and down...pumping around the clock.
We both loved my grandma and grandpa. They were both German and had such interesting ways. Many times I ran over to grandma's house for advice. Many times grandma would give me homemade donuts, cookies, or New Years Pumekies in a little brown lunch sack to take home for my husband. We loved grandpa's warm fresh milk. He would strain it into a gallon glass jar with a wide mouth. We would skim off the bright yellow cream from the top. It was so good to dunk cookies and graham crackers into!
Grandma had the cutest way of talking. She got her groceries at four-4-Less instead of Food-4-Less. When grandpa and her went to town and grandpa stayed in the car, grandma would tell the clerk. "My husband's ON the car".
When Grandma drove to town alone she would sit there behind the steering wheel as straight as a board, her knees slightly apart, her dress pulled neatly down over them, and both hands on the wheel. She would't look left or right, always straight ahead.
Sometimes we would go places with them. We would ride in the back seat. Down in front of the front seat on the floor grandma had a little pouch of necessaries.One of the "necessaries" was a bottle of black licorice Vicks 44 cough syrup. Grandma would sometimes get a tickle in her throat. She would reach down, pick up that bottle of cough syrup, take off the lid, and take a big swallow. No more tickle!!
Grandpa had an old beat up light blue Ford pickup that he drove everywhere. Lots of times you would see him come whistling out the house side door with his fishing pole in one hand and an old beat up bucket in the other. He would put them in the bed of that old pickup, hop in and away he would go to a pasture pond where he would spend the afternoon fishing. He was always home at 6:00 to do the milking.
We were so happy living there in grandpa's yard, even if all we owned was two old tractors, a silage blower, a silage cutter, a pull plow, a disc, and a bucked toothed dog and a little trailer. These were happy years.
Back at the old farmhouse where I grew up, there was cake, punch, congratulations, hugs, and gifts. Then it was time. I made my way upstairs to my old room to change into my "go away" dress. I stood there for just a little while remembering. Over on the night stand stood Mark's senior picture in its 5 x 7 frame. I remember holding it to me some nights while falling asleep. I remember laying in bed, the window open, listening to the old bull frog down at the pond. So many memories here in this old room. I took one last look around, took a deep breath, walked out the door and closed it behind me. Mark was waiting down stairs.
Everyone was lined up outside the back door, waiting with rice in their hands. Snow was gently falling. Just at the end of the sidewalk stood our old blue car.
Mark took my hand, looked into my eyes and asked "Are you ready?" I answered by squeezing his gentle hand.
After a short and sweet honeymoon, my new husband drove down the long three mile lane, across a couple cattle guards, and through rolling pasture land to a little farmstead nestled along a beautiful creek. He pulled up to our plain little white trailer, setting next to his mom and dad's old two story farmhouse. Mark had brought me home.
I had mixed feelings during our short stay there on the ranch. I became homesick--very homesick! After all, Mark had brought me some 250 miles from the only home I knew. And this part of the country seemed like a whole new world, with its flat fields and no trees in sight for miles. Another thing was, we were a whole three miles from the mailbox!
I had just left a little four year old brother, and now we were five hours apart! My parents and little brother came to visit about a month after we moved into our little trailer. I was so happy! It was so comforting to have our family together again for a couple days. The morning they left, I went back in the trailer and there laid my little brother's favorite little pillow on the chair. We were too poor to mail it, and I didn't know how I was going to make it, seeing as I burst into tears every time I looked at that pillow. So, I went to the shed and found a spade. I went out under a big cottonwood tree and I buried that little pillow!
I was so lonesome and felt I didn't have much to do, but my husband was wonderful. He would hold me at night and let me cry, or quietly listen to me tell stories about home. He then would kiss me and say "I love you so...you make my world complete." Then I would laugh, wipe away the tears, and know exactly why my heart was in love with this man!
I will always remember the beauty of the ranch. You could see for miles. The sunsets were beautiful, and sometimes at night we would walk hand in hand together under that huge sky, full of millions of stars. They were so bright up there in that black. Everything had gone to sleep and quietness surrounded Mark and I as we stood there together looking up.
Every time I hear a turtle dove, I remember that old ranch with its creek and huge cottonwoods. So many mornings we would wake to the sound of the dove. There were blue jays, magpies, cardinals, robins, and the beautiful call of the killdeer.
I would go with Mark to check the windmills, fix the fence, or try to count the calves. He was helping his dad and brother on the family farm for a couple months before we would move to our own little rented farm some 300 miles east. Sometimes his brother and I would milk the old cow or feed the horses together. It seems like he would always like to see if he could hit me with a squirt of milk!
Would you believe Mark and I actually dug up our sewer pipe, washed it all out, and took it with us? Now we did live on beans and rice...but dig up your sewer pipe! Because, after all, it was only three months old!
It was in the springtime, when the cottonwoods started to bud, that we hooked onto the little white trailer and pulled it down that three mile lane, over the cattle guard, past the old mail box, and into town. There it sat, waiting to be pulled 300 miles to its new home at grandpa's place, among the hedge row.
The next morning, Mark and I said good bye to his mom, dad, and brother. We headed down the interstate. My hubby driving his red pickup with his precious sewer pipe and our bucked toothed puppy, and me following in the blue car. We were heading east to our little rented farm that became home for 40 years.
When Mark first told me that he hoped to someday have a farm of his own, I never dreamed it would be so beautiful, so special.
Beautiful has different meanings to different people. To me beautiful means the big open blue sky, special neighbors, the old milk cow, the hard work, summer nights, full moons, and the old oil well squeaking up and down into the night.
That was my grandpa's farmstead. That was the place we called home for three years.
Setting off the road behind a row of old cedar trees, was the newest building on the place. My grandma and grandpa's one story brick home. Out in front was a circle driveway and in the middle of that drive way was a grape arbor. Every August or September you would see them out there, grandma in a old dress covered with one of those full aprons, a floppy straw hat on her head. Grandpa in his bib overalls and a pair of high top shoes that didn't always match and quite often were untied. They were busy filling those little buckets that hung from their arms. They would spend hours canning up the juice in big gallon jars and storing them in the basement for drinking all year round.
Right north of the house stood an old three stall garage. It was green in color and one door was off and the other two doors always stood open. This old garage became my husband's shop for the first couple years.
Just to the east of the old garage across the drive way, stood an old weathered barn with its roof slanting down to the ground. A coral fence, made of old yard fence held up by hedge posts, ran from the front of the barn out to the road. There was an old door in the peak of the barn. This lead to the hay loft.
At the west side of the barn stood an old concrete silo. It reached 50 feet into the air. There were steps leading up to the top where an old loose fence railing sat. Down east of the barn were two more of these old silos. Between them was an old weathered building of sorts.
Now let's walk back up to the three stall garage, and we will walk west through some fruit trees and across my grandpa's big garden through a row of ceder trees. We will come out into a clearing that was grandpa's cow pasture. Standing in the northeast corner sat grandpa's little milk barn, covered with tin. About 8:00 every morning and again at 6:00 in the evening, you would hear the old screen door bang shut at the house and grandpa would go whistling down the path, swinging the old tin milk bucket.
Just north of the old green garage sat our little white trailer. The hitch end was setting up among an old hedge row. Our little wood porch was on the east side. On the other side of the hedge row was an old oil well. At night we would go to sleep to its monotonous tune...squeak squawk...up and down...pumping around the clock.
We both loved my grandma and grandpa. They were both German and had such interesting ways. Many times I ran over to grandma's house for advice. Many times grandma would give me homemade donuts, cookies, or New Years Pumekies in a little brown lunch sack to take home for my husband. We loved grandpa's warm fresh milk. He would strain it into a gallon glass jar with a wide mouth. We would skim off the bright yellow cream from the top. It was so good to dunk cookies and graham crackers into!
Grandma had the cutest way of talking. She got her groceries at four-4-Less instead of Food-4-Less. When grandpa and her went to town and grandpa stayed in the car, grandma would tell the clerk. "My husband's ON the car".
When Grandma drove to town alone she would sit there behind the steering wheel as straight as a board, her knees slightly apart, her dress pulled neatly down over them, and both hands on the wheel. She would't look left or right, always straight ahead.
Sometimes we would go places with them. We would ride in the back seat. Down in front of the front seat on the floor grandma had a little pouch of necessaries.One of the "necessaries" was a bottle of black licorice Vicks 44 cough syrup. Grandma would sometimes get a tickle in her throat. She would reach down, pick up that bottle of cough syrup, take off the lid, and take a big swallow. No more tickle!!
Grandpa had an old beat up light blue Ford pickup that he drove everywhere. Lots of times you would see him come whistling out the house side door with his fishing pole in one hand and an old beat up bucket in the other. He would put them in the bed of that old pickup, hop in and away he would go to a pasture pond where he would spend the afternoon fishing. He was always home at 6:00 to do the milking.
We were so happy living there in grandpa's yard, even if all we owned was two old tractors, a silage blower, a silage cutter, a pull plow, a disc, and a bucked toothed dog and a little trailer. These were happy years.
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