Have you ever driven by an old farm site and wondered about the people who once lived there? Where did they go that caused the farm to sit empty and become an abandoned old building?
I love old farm sites. I can feel a fluttering in my chest when I walk through the empty buildings. To stand in an abandoned farm house kitchen and see the colors of the cupboards, painted many times, faded and covered with dirt, gives you an insight to the woman who once labored with her hands to bring food to her families mouths.
I can see her standing there. She has on an old worn out apron on over her dress. Her hands are the hands of a woman who has put the needs of her family first.
I admire her.
I admire her because she has endured hardship like we do not know but through all the hardships and trials she has loved her life. She has been happy with having nothing fancy or frivolous, nothing of value other than her family.
Looking back around the old farmhouse you see a story unfold. One that revolves around a man and a woman, that same woman that stood in the kitchen and worked so hard.
Somewhere that woman has great grandchildren. Do they know who she was? Do they stand in this falling down building ever and see her? I hope so. I hope that for every abandoned farm house that scatters our landscape there is a family who carries the tales from generation to generation.