Uncle Bernie; The Old Family Farm; Memories.

Late this afternoon, I was looking through one of my notebooks, of April 1994. It was near my Uncle Bernie's birthday and I was sending him a card; he would be sixty years old. I was also writing some things down in my notebook, so I wrote about this: I was writing in the card, and then I wrote him a letter, talking about their old farm in Nicholson. 


I really loved that farm, enjoyed so much going there. There was a huge cable swing in a very large old tree, when I was young, in 1939 -- through the 1940s. I think they moved off the farm in the mid-fifties. In 1994, the old swing was just a very thick rusty old cable. The house was caved in; that simply broke my heart. 

There was so much about that farm that I truly loved. One thing I liked a lot was the number of hickory nut trees out in the pasture, it was so lovely, a sort of rolling hill, and I can see it right now, in my mind's eye. The old ice house with sawdust and large cubes of ice, and you had to keep the door shut. 

So many little camomile flowers on very small plants, over a large area along the flagstone or stone walk down to the house. I always looked for them, and would take one of the little flowers off and smell it. If you crush the little flower, it smells so pretty. Those camomile flowers were one of my favorites. 

There were a few apple trees and a cherry tree very close to the house, and I enjoyed seeing the apples with their distinctive color pattern. It was a very old kind of apple.

We children would hurry down the stone path to the house, to see who would be first to sit on the porch swing! There was room for all three of us, so there was no need to hurry, but we probably got a thrill out of being the first to reach it.

The outhouse several feet away from the back door of the house. The old shed full of 'junk', parts of machinery, all kinds of tools, so many different items. Some parts of the contents were all jumbled up, some were neatly arranged. The spring house next to the barn, for cooling the milk in large milk cans, in the very cold water. The large stepping stone or very thick flagstone outside of the big door that you had to go through so you could see the cows lined up in their stanchions. Whitewashed walls and ceiling of the large ground floor area where the cows were. 

The second floor was reached by a man-made ramp. You could lead the horses or drive them, to pull the hay wagon up there to get the hay unloaded into the barn. The huge silo for chopped corn and cornstalks, in preparation for the winter season.  

The long row of elderberry bushes along the driveway down onto the farm from the public dirt road, all the way up from Nicholson itself. Those elderberry bushes always looked so beautiful when they were in bloom with elderberry blossoms. When the tiny maroon, purple, black umbels of berries were almost ready to pick, we would look very closely at them, eager to pick them. Finally the time came! You had to take the umbel off the bush and put it in your basket, bucket, or small pail, and take them into the house or home with you. You would sit and very gently pull or roll the tiny berries from the umbels, into large bowls. Elderberry jam or jelly was simply divine to have in the winter. For those who like elderberry wine, the wine made from the elderberries was even better than the jam or jelly! 

So on that day in 1994, I was sitting in the car writing a letter to Uncle Bernie, telling him how we all loved his happy smiles and laughter. He really loved his siblings and parents. The reason I was sitting in the car was that my Mom was in the hospital, and could have visitors  for fifteen minutes only, every two hours. She had had surgery for colon cancer, and this third time, the cancer was terminal. 

I am eighteen months older than Uncle Bernie, my baby brother was born four days after Uncle Bernie, so long ago. My Grandma was having babies when my Mom was having babies! Aunt Lillian was born two years later, and then my sister two years after Aunt Lil. I've always sort of felt that they were also my 'brothers and sisters'; Uncle Al is one year older 

than I. 

Uncle Bernie's birthday is coming up soon, so I think I shall write him a letter about the old farm and my many memories of it. Happy Birthday, Uncle Bernie. Happy Birthday, brother Joe! 

I'll see you at the Corner Post...