As the sun rises over the farm it lights up an old granite bucket that hangs from the original farmhouse water pump.
A place called home.
We have all read countless sayings about home and probably have a favorite quote written in a book, tucked in a box or stitched in a wall decoration.
The house I grew up in. The dairy barn is across the road.
“–home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. “ —Oliver Wendell Holmes
The dairy barn in 2011 during hay season and in the winter of 1951. The tractor has changed but not the barn.
Most of you who read this know I grew up on a dairy farm. It shaped who I am today. It is the place I go home to. It is the place when life is too fast or too mean, that I go to for peace. It is the place I think of when I am joyful. The sounds; the smells; the noise; the routine, always brings me back to the peaceful place of my childhood. It is the place I always feel welcome, I am always at home.
The morning fog lifts as the sun rises on the farm road.
Putting up the hay on the land near "Freeman's Barn" All the different barns are named after former owners some change with each generation some keep the name of its original builder. One of the Farmall tractors used on the farm and a slow moving vehicle sign on the back of a wagon.
Recently the family (for many reasons) chose to sell the dairy cows. The farm is still a working farm just not a dairy farm. I went home to visit just before the sale. It was one last chance to see my brother and father milking cows in the barn. A job my brother has done his entire life — up every morning by five a.m. and back again every night to milk the cows. He knew every cow by name; he made adjustments for each one. He was a Dairy Farmer. I loved going to the barn to watch the milking.
The cows enter the barn (top left photo) each one has her favorite stanchion to stand in and she finds it instinctively. My father (top right photo) walks along to grain and lock each cow in for milking. My brother takes a moment to cool off by the open window.
I will miss “milking time” when I visit the farm next time but it is my family that makes the farm HOME. I am blessed to have grown up in such a magical place. I am more blessed to have my family to go home to.
The cows are always curious. My dads chore boots. Some of the many barn kittens.
My father walks out to feed the calves. Each calf has his own calf hutch and pasture area.
The Milking Parlor as it is called. White washed every so often. The stanchions are used to keep the cow in place as they are milked. As each cow finishes she is released and allowed to go back to the pasture.
I hope you enjoy the photos from my recent visits home. To my family, I love you all and thank you. I hope you can finally sleep past 5 a.m.!
The sun has just risen at about 6:15 am as my father walks home to have breakfast.