On What I Did When I Lived on a Farm (A Childhood Story)

From the ages of 9 to 12, I lived on a farm.  Not one of those working farms with animals and such.  It was probably once a working farm, because it still had all of the buildings, but it had since become run-down and all of the outlying buildings had become a bit dilapidated.

During this time, my sister and I had quite a few adventures.  When I lived on the farm, I was, unequivocally , a tom-boy.  So was my sister because when we younger, we did a lot of things the same.  Sometimes by choice; sometimes we had no choice, like at Christmas because we were given the same things.

We played in the junk cars lying about the farm, pretending we were race car drivers.  This game lasted a long time since there were A LOT of junkers lying around.  Some guy once took an aerial photo of the farm that I remember seeing.  He tried to sell it to my mom and step-dad.  I cannot remember if they bought it, but I hope not.

It looked a lot like this, and who would want to hang this on their mantle, even if you do not have one?

My sister and I also liked to build things.  We once built a “shelter”, which could have probably more aptly been called a shack.  A shack with no roof.  And only had a floor and two walls.  I am not sure why we built it, except that my mom and step-dad apparently thought it was okay to let a 9  and 6 year old play with tools, nails, and random-sized boards.

I bet our shack was just as stable.

We had a garbage pit on our farm, and back near the pit was some prime clay.  We really liked to build things out of clay.  I can remember when we first discovered the clay and filled an entire wagon and two ice cream buckets full of clay and trudged across the entire yard with all of it.

 

Don’t kid yourselves; our wagon looked nothing like this.

We left a long, disturbing-looking trail that lead right up to our front door because we felt the best place to mold things out of clay was on the front steps.  Mom yelled at us for messing up the yard, which I could not understand because who ever saw our yard?  No one visited our farm!  Well, except that aerial photo guy, apparently.

Probably the coolest (not really) thing I can remember us doing, also the STUPIDEST EVER, was to play with fire.  Remember, I did not learn to NOT play with fire until much later in life.  My sister and I went to play in one of the abandoned sheds quite often.  Well, we played in all of the abandoned buildings because, back then, I didn’t have an irrational fear of being murdered OR of the dark.  But specifically, we liked to hang out in a small building near the back of the farm that looked like a little whitewashed cabin.

You get the idea.

We played a lot of “house” in that building, if “house” were set in 1859.  And apparently we wanted to play the most realistic version of 1859 “house” ever.  We had a fire pit in which we burned sticks and paper.  We did chores – probably the only time we ever did chores of our own accord.  We had mulberry trees nearby that we picked from and used as our food source.  The only thing we did not do was actually sleep out there.  Because we were not allowed to.

Then we got caught burning our paper and sticks, and were never allowed to return to that building.

That did not stop us from climbing in the hay lofts, though.

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