SUMMERS ON THE FARM

School was out again, and the lazy days of summer were scattered before us, to spend in whatever way we so desired. We had waited for this the whole school year, dreaming of swimming, of going to the park, of just spending time with the kids in the neighbourhood, or just lazing around the house watching mom and dad doing what ever they were doing. I learned a few things that way and I’m sure it had the effect of putting mom’s mind at ease because she knew where we were. Then out of the blue we were going for a week’s holiday to our Uncle’s and Aunt’s farm a few miles up the road at the Black River Bridge where we turned left and climbed a narrow, dusty and very steep road that veered to the right at the top of the hill, and descended down the curving road and ended in our Uncle’s sandy front yard. The house was old, but homey and pleasant, and with all my cousins, also very noisy. There was always the constant slam of the old screen door as we went in and out with the words “shut the door, you’re letting the flies in”. It all fell on deaf ears as we were too pre-occupied with what we were doing to heed any such command. Oh those glorious days of visiting the barn and all the animals, of collecting fresh eggs right from under the hen. Watching our Uncle milk the doe-eyed cows, whose tails were busy shooing away the pesky flies, and then to get our attention, he’d squirt milk in our faces, and our reactions would make him laugh. He was a bit of a practical joker and got a big kick out of pulling our legs with his impromptu witticisms. There was never a dull moment. Though there was much work to be done on the farm, life I found, moved slower in the country. To hear the lowing of the cows and the clang of their bells as they arrived at the barn for milking and the snorting and oinking of the pigs as they trampled each other to gain access to the feed trough. It was all glorious to a town kid and mysterious and magical and smelly. I must not forget our Aunt’s meals, who could forget our Aunt’s meals; all fabricated in a “ tropical” kitchen, where the wood stove was belting out enough heat to singe the hairs off our arms if we got too close. The food was plentiful and succulent and the smell of it, as we got hungrier, drew us, as we played ever closer to the house in anticipation of a feast. All through the house were icons of their faith and the love of God was everywhere. When night time rolled around, we tended to get a little home sick tears were shed, but with all the living that was going on, you didn’t stay that way long. In bed, with the lights out, (and when they were out, it was pitch black) you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face and all we heard was the buzzing of mosquitoes as they zinged by our ears, so we covered up over our heads for protection, only to smother and sweat in the heat. We kids would start to giggle in our beds and as it started to get real late, our Aunt would get the strap and slap it on the stairs, to warn us that, she’d be up there if we didn’t go to sleep. She never did come up ever! Mornings consisted of more of my Aunt’s good food and then off to the barn again, this time to see the many cats and kittens that seemed to come out of the woodwork when it was milking time. What a sight, and how they loved it when they were given fresh warm milk to lap up, which left their whiskers all covered in foam. They were easier to get to know than the cats at our grandmother’s farm. Because there weren’t any children around, the cats were wild and we suffered many a scratching just to hold them. It was worth it, and if we held them long enough they settled down and began to purr. It was heaven and to this day these happy memories keep returning to fill me with the joys of my youth. Thank you Lord for these happy days.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Jan. 13, 2007