Writing a story always leads to ‘The End.’ But that isn’t the ending I want to talk about this morning. On Friday, June 10, 2016 almost 100 years of the Fords farming in the Chinook area came to an end. Our son has sold the place.
We attended the auction sale of the machinery and miscellaneous.
The big old house saw many children of three generations grow up. It saw hard times and wonderful times. And it’s getting weary. I hope it receives more children and the noise of another young family.
It was nice to see how green and lush the prairie was and to again be able to see three days in every direction. There’s nothing to compare with the wide-open spaces of the prairies. It seems to me the wideness causes one’s heart and mind to expand in an attempt to reach the horizon.
The windmill has stood through all those years. Oh the stories it could tell—of boys learning to shoot a gun, of girls learning to drive a tractor, of moms and dads standing arm and arm on the doorstep watching the fields turn green, or admiring the baby calves running about.
We are taking one memento home to park by our barn. Every time we look at it, in our minds we will be back on the hill staring out at the prairie and remembering.
Yes, it’s sad to say goodbye.
And yet, just as when I come to the end of a story and begin a new one, we look forward to a new beginning.