Farm photos are, perhaps, my favourites. I love the colours and the sky and the fields, and, in the case of some farms like ours, old wood and rust alongside shiny steel and modern equipment. This ramshackle garage is where Dad had his woodshop and where he created magic. I have very dear memories of time spent in there ... the smell of freshly cut wood, sawdust ... holding tools and wood bits for Dad, watching his skilled hands carefully run wood through the table saw, running his finger over a thin line of wood glue, a pencil hooked over his ear, a cigarette dangling from his lips (bad Dad) or whistling. *sigh* I remember watching him turn bowls or legs on the lathe, creating even, graceful shapes. There wasn't anything he couldn't make in there. It was a magical place ... with lots of whistling.
During this visit we arrived while Darrel was doing something ... I don't know what he was doing but whatever it was, it was important to the farm operation. That I do know. Lynn was cleaning a bin. Also important. I remember when we didn't ever wear masks to clean bins ... not that I actually did a lot of bin cleaning I should add. I was probably making cookies, reading, or walking to the cooley.
I do, do, DO love that farm.
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I always thought I would marry a farmer and spend my life on a farm. No regrets but a lot of nostalgia when I see these pictures.
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