Rural Missouri Farmhouse
This authentic Missouri farmhouse is just a little way up the road from our house. We pass by often. Each time, I glance over and dream a little dream.
One year, when J was in grade school, at Sacred Heart, the church burned. The boys walked three miles to town and caught a school bus to the small village up the road, where they attended classes, until the new church building was constructed. He glanced over towards this house, each day, as the bus went by.
Funny, after all these years, he still looks over at this old farmhouse.
We each fell in love with the house, without knowing the other’s thoughts.
Our admiration lingers, even though we know it will never be ours.
“What a wonderful word to describe your husband. . . you are making lots of women very jealous. :)
I love your rural Missouri photos....the old tin roof is one that stirs my heart. My granny used to live in a house with a tin roof when I was growing up. She lived in Arkansas. I recall how much I loved snuggling in one of her feather beds (which she made herself!!) when it rained. The sound of the rain hitting the tin roof is like no other.”
Have a great Sunday.
Dana’s comment brought back memories of my Granny and her homemade feather beds. J’s family also used these old timey homemade beds.
Just imagine the sound of rain, falling on a tin roof while you are snuggled up in a feather bed. Definitely, a cozy memory.
RURAL MISSOURI VIEWS
SPRING FED STREAM
WOVEN WIRE AND BARBED WIRE FENCE
Upon Further Reflection
I have known the joy and heartache of living the rural life.
I’ve washed clothes in a ringer washer, heated water on a stove for laundry and baths in the kitchen, hauled wood, hauled hay, mended fence, rounded up cattle (sometimes in my Sunday best).
I know the heat of a steamy summertime kitchen, putting up homegrown food. I’ve gone out to feed livestock, wondering if I can find my way back, in a blizzard.
I’ve picked blackberries along dusty roads.
A shallow creek was our swimming hole. I caught lightning bugs and put them in a quart jar.
I’ve been slapped in the head by a side of beef, while trying to hang it from rafters.
I learned to cook, beside my granny’s stove.
On very early winter mornings, I’ve chipped ice off windows beside my bed.
And yes, I have flipped and fluffed the above mentioned feather bed.
There are many more memories.
As I read these to J, I laughed out loud and so did he. These are joyful memories.
This is just a small part of my life. I have many stories.
I’ve left out the heartache. The Back Porch is a happy place. I like it that way.
Thanks to our dear friend, Pat, who left the following comment, on my previous post.
We love you, too!
“Thanks for taking me on this jaunt with you. It makes me a little "homesick", even though I have lived in Wisconsin longer than I did Missouri. Nothing is as beautiful as your pictures, it's just like the "real thing". Don't you and Jim ever change!! I love you both the way you are.”
All afternoon, as I’ve written this post, a delicious aroma has wafted into the hearth room, from the kitchen.
Around noon I put on a pot of fresh green beans and new potatoes, seasoned with a smoked pork chop; an authentic rural Summertime dish.
Try as I have, I’ve been unable to fit this post into a category, to fit any of the parties or events. This one is a stand alone post, from the Back Porch.
I thoroughly enjoyed putting this together. As I said, there are more stories to tell. Perhaps I will do this again sometime.
See you soon!