A Handful of Earth

 I consider myself to be a nostalgic futurist. 

As I am writing this my wife, Christine and I are enjoying a week at the old family farm near Mankato, Minnesota. My mom lives in the old farmhouse that she grew up in. And when we come up to visit we stay with her. 

NOSTALGIC:

It never fails to bring back memories from my childhood. I can honestly say that the very happiest memories growing up were when we could travel back to Minnesota and stay a week or two on the family farm with our Grandma Woods and Aunt Doris. We would spend the time exploring the farm, walking to the Blue Earth River. Of course, the best part was getting to see our aunts, uncles and cousins. Usually during our visits the entire family would come out to the farm. Aunt Doris would saddle up the horse, Pal and we would take turns riding. We would often make a fire and have a hot dog roast too. Sometimes a couple of years would go by between visits but it was always something we looked forward to and hated when we had to leave.

As a child I often dreamed that I would come back and actually run the farm and restore it to a fully functioning family farm, maybe as a ‘U-pick-it’ vegetable farm. I wanted to have sheep, chickens, and maybe a milk cow as well as a sizable vegetable garden. Of course, I would make the fields into pastures and huge produce fields. 

But for some reason after a visit around my eighteenth birthday I never made it back. 

It would be seventeen years before I would return with my own growing family just long enough for my sister’s wedding. It was the last time I would see my Grandma Woods as she went to her heavenly home just a few years later at the ripe old age of 95. 

Fifteen more years passed. 

In the autumn of 2016 just after my marriage of 24 years ended I made the drive from Florida back to the old Woodvale farm. Coming down the old gravel road brought back bittersweet memories of vacations spent with our grandma and relatives. Grandma wouldn’t be here now. The farm is still beautiful and Mom has really done a fantastic job keeping up the old farmhouse and yard. But it isn’t the same.

Since then I have made it back every year. The last five times I have come back with my wife, Christine. Every time we turn down the gravel road and head into the woods I have vivid memories of making the long trip from wherever we happened to be living and realizing the trip was almost over. Coming to the farm literally felt like coming home. I always felt like I belonged here.

As I walk the farm property I can remember sheep in the pasture across the road. I remember the horse, Pal and the pony, Sally. I remember walking down to the old swimming hole on hot summer afternoons to cool off in the fresh cool water of the Blue Earth River.

If I sit on the old swing in the yard and close my eyes I can almost see Grandma walking along the sidewalk to do a little work in her garden, either picking some vegetables to add to supper or some flowers to put in a vase. If it was winter she would be walking towards the chicken house in her long overcoat and scarf to feed Pal and Sally. And none of us can ever forget the wonderful music that came from the old upright piano when Grandma would sit down and play.

This morning I walked up to the mailbox and looked over to what once was the old Hanel farm. Herbert Hanel was my grandma’s younger brother. Usually visits to Minnesota included having supper with Uncle Herbert and Aunt Leona. Uncle Herbert had taken over the family farm from his parents. It was where my grandma grew up.

She literally married the boy next door. 

But Uncle Herbert and Aunt Leona have been gone for many years and their farm has long since been sold. Today as you walk towards the mailbox the pond Uncle Herbert made is obscured by mature trees and the farmhouse was torn down and the new house is barely visible from the road.

Most of the old buildings on the Woodvale farm are deteriorating and have fallen into disrepair and are no longer in use.The fences were taken down years ago and some of them are rolled up by the old corn crib which is falling apart.

This farm was purchased by my great great grandfather, Isaac Woods in 1856 and it has been in the family ever since. The farmhouse where my mom still lives was built back in the 1870’s. It’s sad to think that someday the farm may no longer be in the family.

But it is reality. 

FUTURIST:

I fully understand that the generation after mine doesn’t have the same kind of nostalgic attachment to the Woodvale Farm that my cousins and I do. Many in the next generation never met Grandma Woods and those that did, remember her very differently. I remember a strong farm woman who would sling hay over the fence with a pitchfork. By the time the great grandchildren came along she was old and frail. Most of them never heard her play the piano. They never rode Pal. They don’t remember the barn. They didn’t spend the time out here and do the things that we did. Grandma has been gone now for more than eighteen years. Three of her four daughters are now in their eighties, and most of us cousins who played out here as children are past middle age.

This is where the ‘futurist’ in me comes in.

Years ago I heard a wise man say, “If your dreams don’t come true, dream new dreams. And if you fail to achieve your goals, set new goals.” I dreamed I would one day come and run the farm. That dream didn’t come true. So I’ve had to dream new dreams and set new goals. And I’ve done that. The fact is life goes on and time doesn’t stand still. The only thing in life that is permanent is change.

And it will change.

I realize each trip I make back here may very well be my last. One day the farm won’t be here to come back to. Someday there may not be a compelling reason to come back to Minnesota at all.

It’s not a bad thing. The fact is farming is so different today that it would not really be practical to attempt to restore this farm to what it once was. It is not a bad thing that the next generation may not care to keep the farm in the family. Their experiences growing up were very different…and that’s OK. Life goes on and time flies.

The property that was affectionately nicknamed ‘Gracie’s Woods’ is finally being sold. It is a 40 acre woodlot located across the river from the farm. It’s main purpose originally was to harvest firewood for use on the farm and to sell in town. We hiked there earlier this week. I believe the last time I was there was when I was 16. That was over 40 years ago. One of my cousins is actually buying it so that part of the property will technically remain in the family…at least for now. In many ways I believe it should have been sold years ago. It hasn’t done much except cost the farm money in property taxes. At least by being sold now it won’t be something the next generation will have to be concerned about. I really hope it turns out to be a very good thing for my cousin.

I am now 56 years old. If 56 represents ⅔ of my life then I will live 28 more years. That will make me 84 when I cross the finish line. That would be old and full of days. In a blink, me and my generation will be ready for our departure. Then it will be up to those who come after us.

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

Isaiah 43:18‭-‬19 NIV

Maybe it’s time to let things go. We still have memories and we remember them fondly. But that’s all they are, memories. Life is going on, time is flying, things have changed and the future is coming soon, to a theater near you.

In the meantime, we are still here, walking the sod and we have work to do. My wife and I have jobs, two duplexes and some farmland acreage in Tennessee that need to be maintained and developed. We both have ministries and people there who need and depend on us. So we need to get back to the task at hand until God calls us home. 

“It will be good for that servant whose master finds him doing so when he returns.”

Matthew 24:46 NIV

So we will be heading back to Tennessee and our home near the Great Smoky Mountains. Hopefully, we will be back next year but just in case we aren’t, I am taking a handful of earth home with me.

Yep, still nostalgic.