On The Farm

I want to write a little piece of the story my Uncle gave me, when I asked him to write about how it was when he grew up. And this is it.


He wrote:  On the farm where we grew up we were considered poor.  We didn't have much money, but we had plenty to eat.  All kinds of trucks patches, we grew at our farm, such as corn, potatoes, peas and beans.  And we made our own Sorghum Molasses.  It was made by grinding up the sorghum cane with a pair of mules pulling the grinding.  We raised hogs, cows, goats, turkeys, chickens, ducks, geese and genies.

So we were happy sitting around the fire place at night baking sweet potatoes, popping corn and reading books by the lamp light, also cracking jokes.  We were never lonely, we was always surrounded by neighbors who would come by and spice things up with stories, jokes, laughter and gadgets.  We would listen to the radio played by batteries.  At night sometimes we would go outside and stay for hours, like midnight or to one in the morning.  We be catching lighten-bugs, june- bugs and toad frogs.  Just having a lot of fun with stuff like that. We also played with tires and the game of hop-scots.

So very different then now and even how I grew up. Seems to me they had more people time. Time to be with each other. I am sure he misses it some times.  I hope he don't mind me telling some of his story.