Last Christmas Eve my Grandpa Al, who has dementia, and I were discussing my family’s move from Sacred Heart to Park Rapids and how it has affected me. He asked, “Do you even remember the old farm you used to live on?”

“Well of course I do!” I said.

“Then tell me the memories that you have about the farm, I don’t remember it all that well with my old age.” said my Grandpa Al.

“All right, I will do just that.” I said.

On the farm in Sacred Heart, my life was simple. I had to get up to go to school, do chores around the farm and go to church. Our routine never altered. My sister and I were very sheltered. We only had each other and had to find ways to entertain ourselves. My sister, Isabel, and I spent countless hours on many exciting adventures. The farm had numerous options for us to undertake and we were able to find never ending fun.

Our long, gravel driveway leading up to the yard from the township road came to a fork. When taking the left path, I would pass the old, white shop that was in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Its big garage door that at the time I could barely lift up was covered in peeling white paint. When I would lift it up, the crickets hiding under the door hopped around, and I always attempted to step on them before they found a new, more safe place to hide. Farther up the left fork in the road was our huge, light colored, brick house. I can still picture it to this day. It was a beautiful home.  Our white garage was attached to it and Cheyenne, my black lab, would greet us every time we would come home. The vision of my old house gives me a warm feeling of comfort. I love that place.

“I remember that house” said my Grandpa. “I was so happy when your parents decided to move there; it is a miraculous home!”

Continuing, I walked around to the front porch of the house and swung around on the huge white pillars that were as tall as a giraffe. I get a flashback of me playing catch with my dad on the sidewalk that leads to the front door. I can hear the snap of the baseball hitting my dad’s glove and my asking him how fast the throw was. We played catch for hours. When he grilled supper, outside by the garage, I always told him to grill our meal as slowly as possible, because I wanted to shoot hoops or play catch with him. He always gave me tidbits off the grill that tasted so good!

If I would go back down the road and take a right in the driveway it leads right up to the old bluish, gray barn. The barn’s face would peer down on me. The two windows that are evenly spaced on the second story are the eyes. The hay door for hay to be elevated to the hayloft is the nose, and the heavy, white wood sliding doors are the mouth. Inside the barn, the floors were all cement. When I walked in the door the smell of musty, old hay would fill my lungs. I learned to love that smell. To the left of the door, we had a little tack room where we kept the horse and cat food. The thick wooden ladder that led up to the hayloft was right behind the tack room. During the winter we had rich, green colored hay bales stacked high from floor to ceiling on the ground level that we had baled during the summer. We would use the bales of hay to feed the horses and insulate the well so the water pipes wouldn’t freeze during the cold months on the prairie. One very cold winter the pipes did freeze.  We had to put steaming, hot water through the pipes in order to thaw them. I even remember crawling around on top of the hay bales trying to catch the cats that had a mean temper. There were webs that barn spiders the size of quarters spun throughout the hay bales. I tended to stay away from them. We had stalls along the right side of the barn for the horses to come into during the cold, winter days or to get reprieve from the blazing summer sun. Going up the ladder to the hayloft you could see how worn the wood planks were due to the countless times my family and I had crawled up there. I kicked my sister off the ladder once. She got hurt, and I was grounded. I never did that again. Finally when I reached the top of the ladder, I flinched. One time I had just gotten to the top of the ladder and was stepping off onto the hay loft floor, and I nearly stepped on a huge ball of fur that started to hiss at me.

It was a momma raccoon.

I quickly pounced down the ladder to go tell my dad. He went and scurried the coon off with a broom. After that incident I always would peek over the ledge before I stepped off the ladder. Up in the hayloft we had a thick rope swing, and I would swing on it for hours. It was one of my favorite things to do in the loft. Isabel and I would also jump on the hay bales and have concerts for family and friends. I still know a few of the songs, and they get stuck in my head every time I think about the tune.

“Speaking of songs” as my Grandpa interrupted, “Didn’t you have the church Christmas play in your barn? I remember that very vaguely.”

“Yes we did, Grandpa!  Isabel was Mary, Amelia was an angel, and I was one of the wiseman.” I said.

Outside of the barn is a lush, green pasture where the horses roam. I always had to carry the bales out to the pasture to feed the horses and those bales were very heavy! The hay always got in my clothes and was really itchy. I can still see the pile of hay where we put the bales and the horses wouldn't eat it all so the hay would stack up. I loved to ride bareback around the pasture on my horses. The hard spine of the horse was very uncomfortable for my butt so I couldn't ride more than half an hour.

We had to do loads of chores. Isabel and I would split them as evenly as possible. We would race to see who could get done first, but I always won. My least favorite chore was bringing the two horses their food. They would always bump into me with excitement while I put the feed in the trough. Mostly I was worried they would step on me. My favorite chore to do was feed the cats. Once you poured the food out, all you had to do was yell, “Hear, kitty kitty kitty!” and they would all come running!

“I told you I remember the farm.” I told my Grandpa Al.

“Yes, you do!” He exclaimed. “You will always have those memories with you for the rest of your life”

“I love the farm and I know I will never forget.” I said.

Grandpa Al said, “You can have a farm of your own if you really want to someday. You know, Gabe, you can do anything you want in life if you set your mind to it and work hard for it.”

That clicked to one of the last memories of my farm place. We were just getting ready to pack up and head to Park Rapids and he said those same words and told me I will eventually love Park Rapids the same. It is true I love living in the The North Woods. I have made and will make many more memories in The North Woods, and who knows? Maybe I'll find a farm of my own, someday.