Sometimes, You Actually Get to Live in History

March 25, 2014

No, this is not about my Civil War reenacting. Read on.

We had no idea that those summers on my grandparents’ farm were as special as they were. All we knew was that we were out of school, away from the watchful eyes of our parents and ready for adventure. It seemed like we spent most of the summer at the farms. I say farms because both sets of grandparents lived within a few miles of each other in Southern Ohio. We would literally switch back and forth between my brother and I and our two cousins of about the same age. It was my father’s parents’ place that intrigued me most. They live on top of a large range of hills that had this feeling of isolation from the world. A feeling of bluer skies, cleaner air and just more space.

We worked hard on the farm. Rising early, we would accompany our grandfather to the barn to help milk the cow. After breakfast, any number of chores had to be done. But, after lunch, we usually had the afternoon free to do whatever we wanted. That often meant wondering across the hills exploring. For a 10-12 year-old boy used to the city and streets and houses and cars, it was magical. We found things like the site of an old log cabin. The logs long gone, the chimney now lying on the ground and the depression from the old cellar. Or maybe we would come upon a box turtle, the skin shed by a snake or the remnants of something unidentifiable.

Those were the moments we remembered for years of those summers. We didn’t give much thought to what was actually going on with the farm. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t sinking in. Today, some 40+ years later, what strikes me most about that farm was that my grandparents were happy, content and enjoying life at what many would consider poverty level. They grew most of what they needed, only going in to town once a month for staples. They had fields for vegetables and corn for the livestock. Raised chickens and hogs, plus a milk cow for butter and milk. My grandfather had two beehives, so fresh honey came in the summer. There was the raspberry patch, the blueberry patch and fruit scattered around the barn yard. No car, neither had a driver’s license, but didn’t really need one. They used a wagon pulled by the plow mule around the farm until it wore out. I remember it sitting alongside the road gradually rotting away. Instead of spending the money on a new wagon, my grandfather made a farm sled, cutting the timber himself. I remember riding in that sled to the fields to work and harvest.

As I think back on those days, I now realize that spending summers on my grandparents’ farm was an incredible opportunity to live for a few weeks each summer much as people did in an earlier time. No running water, no telephone, poor TV reception and living mostly off the land. Take away the TV and the electricity and their lives were no different than early in the century or even before then. Today, as a history professional, I spend much of my time researching and reading about the past. How people lived their lives, what mattered to them and what their environment was like. I realize that my childhood days on that farm were a glimpse in to history that few get a chance to see.