Homeland Farm

Homeland Farm

Sunday, May 27, 2012


     This is a top ten list of true events that have happened at Homeland Farm. While you may not believe it, these events really did happen, and now I just need to find time to write about them all. I hope you enjoy reading the list, and I look forward to explaining at a later date.So, here we go...


Number 10...I was saved from death by my guardian angel..
                    (actually written already..will write on blog for
                     those that never saw the magazine article.)

Number 9...Cabelas doesn't allow me in their store anymore.

Number 8...I delivered a foal while people watched and ate
                  coffee and cookies.

Number 7...I outran a mad cow. (Back when I could run.)

Number 6...My grandmother was at my wedding, even though
                   she had passed away.

Number 5...We had a very naughty monkey.

Number 4...I  have been attacked by an angry goose, a very
                   "insistent" German Shepard, and a few yellow
                   ( You will be happy to know it wasn't all at the
                       same time.)

Number 3...My Uncle Billy died at home. We wouldn't let the
                   ambulance take him away.

Number 2...I can't be trusted in restaurants.

              and NUMBER ONE...

                    I slapped a cop. ( It was Zenya's fault, as usual.)

    Thanks for reading the HOMELAND FARM Top Ten List.
So, which one ya want first???

Here is a lovely picture of the BLOG MISTRESS..Makes ya kind of wonder if those things listed above really happened...OR was it the Champagne talking???

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Memorial Day

       Memorial Day, the last Monday in the month of May, has been set aside to remember fallen soldiers and those who have served our country in the Armed Forces. It is also a day when families remember their loved ones who have passed away, often by placing flowers on their graves. I am part of a family that plants over 30 red Geraniums at the stones of four generations of our family.
        My brother, sister and I were fortunate to have been able to grow up surrounded by the older generations of our kinfolk. Great aunts and uncles, my grandparents, aunt, uncles and cousins galore were an immediate part of our daily lives. We didn't get dressed up on Sunday to go visit the grandparents, and we weren't forced to kiss the great aunts and uncles once a year at awkward family reunions. No, they participated in births, deaths, and everything in between. Birthday parties, cookouts in summer, haying, holidays and road trips. They were an active, loved part of our family gatherings.
         Time has a way of marching on however, and now I have seen an entire generation of our family pass away. We would mark the passing with a comment, such as "well, that leaves just 5 in that generation now", then 4, then 2, and then, we lost the last great aunt.
         Suddenly, and without even trying, I was moved up a notch. Without much fanfare, I became part of the "middle generation", and for me, being part of the middle generation bears a responsibility. I feel it is up to me to record some of our family stories for future generations. I want them to know something about the person on whose grave they are planting a red geranium.
          My stories are simple memories of those older, kind hearted folks that worked hard, lived well and made Bridgton their home. Salt of the earth people-farmers, machinists, laborers, homemakers. Regular hard working men and women that struggled through the depression and two world wars to make a good life for their children and their children's children.
          Stories about a great uncle that went away to war and came back a changed man, about a great grandmother who, when she traveled from home to home visiting her many adult
children, would always take her pot chair along with her. Stories about the childless great aunt that sewed clothes and knitted mittens and scarves for her sister's youngsters, and then of course, stories about my grandparents and uncle, of which I have many.
           Now, with the passing of each member of my family, my Aunt Dorothea and Uncle Billy included, I am moved that much closer to being the "oldest generation". It is the unavoidable, yet natural progression of life.
           So, as I join my family on our annual pilgrimage to 5 cemeteries, the back of our van loaded with red Geraniums, I stop beside each stone and remember. I remember the love and joy that each person contributed to the fabric of our family, and I hope that someday a future generation will do the same at my stone.
The Road to Homeland Cemetery