I was once asked, when setting up an online account, what was my favorite color. The gentleman I was speaking to was amazed that I didn’t have a favorite color. Thinking a little further, I realize that I’m one of those people who doesn’t have favorites, or maybe I just can’t articulate it. There are things I like more than others and places I enjoy more than others.
But when thinking of my favorite place, I think I’d have to go all the way back to my childhood to my grandparents farm. It was the place where my mother was raised and it stayed as a farmstead until the mid 80s. I was very saddened when my grandmother decided to sell the farm; it had been in my grandfather’s family for over 100 years.
It wasn’t a large farm, only about sixty acres. It had a couple of barns, chickens and cows. Grandpa grew field corn and we always had a good time popping the kernels off the ear. Mom came from a fairly large family, six brothers and one sister.
Growing up, some of the best times I can remember is having large family picnics with all my cousins at Grandma and Grandpas farm. We’d play in the barn, play softball in the yard, feed the chickens and jump from the hayloft. I admit that I only did that once. We’d hunt for fossils in the creek bed and swing on the grape vines. There is just something about wide open spaces.
Intellectualy, I know that farming is a tough life, but it has always been something I’ve been drawn to. Whenever we go out on the motorcycle or when I make an annual fall photo tour, it’s to the farming country I gravitate to.
This isn’t a photo of my grandparent’s barn, its just one I’ve photographed on our many motorcycle rides.
To see more of this week’s challenge, click Favorite Place.
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