On the Farm

My mother's parents had a farm up in upstate NY. I always thought it was a nice place to visit, but never could understand why anyone would want to live in the country like that. My mother apparently agreed since she couldn't wait to get away from there. She married as soon as she could and never looked back. Well, except for once or twice a year, for holidays.

I adored my grandparents and loved visiting them. I just didn't get the farm thing. It was so...messy. I was also allergic to everything in sight. My face would blow up after five minutes outside. This terrified my grandparents. They never knew what to make of me. I was the "fragile" one and was to be kept indoors at all cost. I wasn't used as manual labor like my mom, aunts, and uncles. If I was caught outside, I was quickly shooed back indoors. I lived on allergy medicine. Still do, actually.

The farm was a world completely unlike my own. I grew up in the 'burbs, just outside of a rather large city. The neighborhood was getting a bit shoddy, but we all took care of each other. There was a nice cultural mix. Some dutch, some cuban, some italian, and there was us-- the russian/germans. I grew up speaking several languages, most of which I have since forgotten. But up at the farm, there was just land. Corn over there, hay there, the little family garden there, and the animals everywhere. My mom wouldn't let me have a pet. I was allergic to everything and she thought animals were messy. That's partly why I liked the farm. There were dogs, cats, sheep, cows, chickens, a huge bull. It was the anti-neighborhood. The nearest neighbor was a quarter of a mile down the road and they made the best strawberry jam ever. There was no cultural mix. I think there was one colored family in the area. You didn't get to know the other neighbors because they were miles away. There was just the farm and work. Lots of work.

My grandpa was an unusual man. He was of russian stock. Came over from there, via Germany-- where he met my grandma. I never learned much of his, or their, history. Much of it was kept hush hush, for some unknown reason. My questions always went unanswered. I was one of the few rare children who wanted to hear the stories my grandparents had to share. They just weren't sharers. He was a short, stocky man. Very solidly built. A veritable wall of muscle. He had a gentle heart and a wicked sense of humor. I adored him.

My grandma was the stoic german. She was tall, proud and strong-- physically and emotionally. She could set her hair in finger waves with little trouble. She was practical to a fault. She was the anchor, where my grandpa was the dreamer. She was an unbelievable cook. I spent many an hour watching her bake, trying to help when I could. She made sure I stayed inside so I wouldn't get sick. I tried to be a big girl and help cook and clean while she was gone, just to help out and make her proud of me. She loved word searches and was very competitive. I adored her.

My mom would always tell me to not get attached to the animals on the farm. It was ok to love the dogs and cats, but don't start naming the sheep or the cows. They wouldn't be around and she didn't want my heart to get broken. Typical of me to go against this wise bit of advice and start naming the sheep. I only named one or two. I'd tell grandpa not to butcher those, they were my pets. I started running out of names after a while and I stopped playing with them. I wouldn't feed them either. Oh, how I cried as a child when we'd have lamb for dinner. I would try so hard to be a good girl and swallow the veggies past the lump in my throat. I wouldn't eat the lamb.

At the time, I thought it was very cruel of him to kill my pets. But grandpa was practical in his own way. To him, animals were animals. He honestly didn't understand how one would form an attachment to them. To him, they were food, clothing, money. I understood it after a while, but I couldn't look at them the same. It took many years before I developed a deep affection for an animal. There was always that fear that something (or someone) would take them away. I managed to get over that and I developed a bit of insight into why my mom wouldn't allow pets for so long. It wasn't the fur or the mess or the allergies, it was the very same fear I had.

No one can mess you up like family can. Aren't they marvelous?