So That Was the Farm

Fond memories flow to homey simple things,
boiled dinner or oven roasted stew prepared,
there in the oven of wood stove, slow cooked,
for those who do chores on family farm.

Slimy, acrid, the alley of the barn,
before the scraper left it merely moist,
exposed to drying air restoring its coarse plane,
abrasive, aid to sureness of the foot .

Commencing chores, rear of stalls scraped clear,
receive fluffed-up tawny straw, absorbs,
the damp remains, invites milker's work .
Bringers of neatness dispel grossness there.

We bring to the freshened area, sweet hay,
the pungent scent of silage, fermented feed,
oil meal, scent of anise, wholesome grain,
to top it off, the clang of pails, milk stools.

The clean scent of the sanitizer, cleaned,
the equipment, winding up the chores,
then the warmth of wood fires, water, soap.
Soon the aroma's tempting is satisfied.

Around the big oak table, the family,
gathers to enjoy the end of the farm day,
Except, of course as in every age,
young people often have an evening out.