With the continuing rain, it’s too muddy to drive in to shift my cows to a new paddock, so once again, I’m ‘hoofing’ it across the previously ploughed ground to their paddock. Today, as I walked across the muddy ragweed and cocklebur infested paddock, I spotted something very white and roundish on the ground. Nothing to do when finding something so unusual, but to stoop and pick it up. Alas, nothing but a broken piece of porcelain, which – guessing – was once a drawer pull or door handle. Not one to just toss away such treasure/trash, I contemplated about the story it could tell. Possible, if my Grandma Falconer was still alive, this little bit would bring memories – good or bad – we’ll never know. I found it just back of where the old house, yard, hen house, and cellar once held sway on the Bowyer Farm at which Grandpa and Grandma ‘went to housekeeping’ back in 1940.
I trekked on down to the little creek (crick, as we say) and washed it off a bit, but carried it to the cows, shifted the cows, and brought it back. As I passed where the old homestead once stood, I imagined my dad and his younger brother dashing out the door to catch up with their papa on his way to milking cows, with momma hollering out ‘DON’T….. slam the door” as the screen door bangs shut behind the two boys. Momma sighs…
Of course, I don’t know that any of that happened, but grandmas, grandpas, moms, dads, and children are much the same – we say the same things to each generation – some of it sticks and is good and sometimes it seems they/we hear nothing. And, sadly, too many times now, there is no mom or dad to instruct their children not to slam the door.