A Sketch of a Farm Girl, 1934

     It is hot and sticky on this August afternoon. The Wisconsin air is damp with humidity even in the shade of the porch as the afternoon sun is letting up a little bit. The breeze is gentle as the buzz of a bumble bee fills the quiet space. My hands are folded on my lap atop a light cotton dress splashed with tiny pink flowers. Here I sit on the swing. My bare toes pushing me forward and back to the high pitch chirp of the chain link hanging from the ceiling. My palms are wrinkly- I wish that they were smooth and soft like my cousin Coreen’s hands. She said the wrinkles come from living on the farm.

    I don’t mind the wrinkles on my hands. Living on the farm is my own little wonderland. I like flowers and running barefoot through the grass, but today I feel mad. Buddy isn’t speaking to me. Smugly, I have decided it is just fine with me. But rocking back and forth is starting to become dull- I glumly admit I’d rather enjoy laughter and barn games with him.

     In the distance, Grandpa Hagadorn is plowing with his yoke of oxen. The smell of fresh earth fills the air. Inside Mother is busy painting. Secretly, I wish to paint too but whenever I try the colors run together the wrong way. Grandma Matilda speaks German but is often quiet as she still mourns for Uncle Walter. I am proud that my grandpa Hagadorn is a good farmer. He knows how to take care of his animals. 

    I like to play with the chickens, they are such a noisy bunch.  Buddy and I enjoy making them go to sleep by tucking their heads’into their wing. Many summer days have been spent playing with the chickens. And the Barn is always filled with hay for the horses and cattle.

    But I remember…today I am mad at Buddy – He called me a "chicken." Sometimes I think he is a human monkey the way he climbs on everything. Coreen isn’t afraid. Her and Buddy are younger than me and apparently dumber. Maybe I am more cautious because of Mother. She won’t even allow us to buy a bicycle. She says it would be the death of us. "It’s alright with me if I go the whole day without talking to Buddy." With arms crossed I jump off the swing and run down the front steps.

    One of my favorite things to do is to walk next to the field where grandpa Hagadorn is planting beans, Today I run carelessly on the well-beaten path. Above the blue sky brilliantly accented with white puffy clouds greets me with a gentle breeze. Out of breath, I stop and lay myself down. The lowing of the cattle in the distance soothes my troubles away. Gazing up into the sky expanded above me like endless possibility, a smile finally appears on my lips. Sometimes I like to just sit on this hill outside the old white painted farmhouse and watch the breeze move the tall green leafy trees to the unseen rhythm of the wind. Here in the peaceful calm, all alone, dreams are born.