The Farm

When you're driving out across the country, you often pass by some old building setting all alone out in some pasture or farm field. It may have been an old barn, farm house, or some other abandon building, maybe almost ready to fall down from years of weathering and neglect. At one time, it was part of someones farm yard, maybe with some chickens, cows, or horses in pens near by. Maybe there were trucks, tractors, and machinery parked around the various buildings. Probably a little house with a garden near by, and maybe a bicycle or two around as well. This was someones home, their family's source of income, and their familiar place of existence, possibly for several generations. As the years go by, the little farm or ranch was sold, became a part of a much larger farming enterprise, and most of the original buildings torn down, the equipment sold off, until all that's left is one old weathered structure.
For years, when I pass some such site, I wonder what it might have looked like in it's prime. What kind of people lived there, grew up there, and where did they end up. That place was there whole life at one time, and now nothing remains.
I grew up on a farm / ranch in Southwestern South Dakota, that my Grandfather had started in about 1925. He started purchasing the land as it became available, built the buildings, accumulated the necessary tractors and machinery, and raised his family there, and worked it the rest of his life. My Dad made his life there as well, working the land and raising his family. It became an operation of about 2000 acres, half farm land, and half cattle pastures.
My brothers and I grew up exploring the wilderness, riding our bikes, and building forts in the trees. Farm kids also work doing chores, and even driving trucks and tractors, from about 12 years old. As a teenager, I rebuilt my first car engine in one of the buildings on the farm.
Family situations change, my Mom left that life when I was 17, and I went with her, eventually starting a military career in the US Air Force. I returned with my own family after I got out of the Air Force, but that was only for a few months, and I moved on to other pursuits.
My brother stayed, and eventually took over the farming operation, and built a life there. A few years ago, a large land owner came along, made him an offer he couldn't refuse, and the place was sold. I went out there for a last look around as he was getting ready for his equipment auction. All the buildings were there as when I was young, and the memories seemed like a lifetime ago.
Now, all the old buildings are removed, the left over junk cleaned up, and the only thing remaining from our past is the old farm house. It has become one of those places you see along the road, just a symbol of someones memories.

The farm as it appeared in the 1950's.

Today is 7/17/17 - My Kind of Day

Maybe it's just another day to most of the world, but I love it. I've always had kind of a "thing" for the number seven. I'm not sure when it first started, but I have noticed it in my thoughts more and more as the years go by. I don't usually mention it to anyone, I don't need my friends and family thinking I'm any stranger than they already do.
I think I first started being aware of it when I was 17 years old, the year was 1967, and the new 67 model cars awoke a passion in me for performance cars. The top performance engine in the Fords I loved was the 427 V8. I became a life long Mustang fan with my first look at the 67 Shelby GT500, and it has been my favorite Mustang model ever since.
My fascination with the number seven extends to all areas of my life, not just my car hobby. I'm happy when random chance puts a 7 in anything that comes my way. The area of town I live in is called "The Seven Hills Area". When we built this house, the only lot left was lot 27,  and the elevation on this lot is 2770 ft. above sea level. The street number we live on has a 7 in it. The thermostat in our house is set at 77 degrees.  My favorite steak sauce is 57 Sauce.
Ok, I think you get the idea, I like the number seven. Oh, by the way, I turn 67 this year.

My favorite Mustang of all time is the 1967 Shelby GT500.

We've Come A Long Way

We've come a long way in the last 50 years. For me, I was a 17 year old teenager, deep in the task of learning who I was, and who I wanted to become. It seems that my whole life has happened since then. Everything that happened before that point in time seems like a whole different life. What if that first 17 years was all I got? What if the last 50 years never happened?
A recent family situation has me thinking a lot about these things in the last few weeks. I almost can't imagine all the things I have done, and places I have been, and the twists and turns of life that have happened to me in the past 50 years, since I turned 17. Most people reading this blog can relate their own life events in a similar context, many with less years involved, and some will have way more years to include than I do.
Since we were young, we can all remember the older people talking about "the good old days", and looking back on past events in their life that happened many, many years ago. Some of us are approaching that time when it's us who's doing the looking back and telling the younger folks about the life we've lived, and the years and years that have gone by.
There are many who won't get any more than those first 16 or 17 years, and many who will get even less. We can only hope and pray that the time they do get is of the best quality possible.

This is me at 17 years old in 1967, admiring my Mom's 66 Mustang.