My Favourite Farm
By Belinda
Tonight I was telling a group of friends about a farm I pass each day on the way to and from work. It is old, not fancy, but I never tire of how it looks in different lights and seasons.
These are some photos of my favourite farm. Look carefully and you will see they are the same trees, but God dresses them so beautifully in the light and atmosphere, that you would hardly guess it.
In this house lives a recluse. The driveway is overgrown with weeds and a chain blocks entrance to visitors. A sign is hammered to a fence post, "No Trespassing." All alone he lives--I sometimes wonder about his story, and what he does in his house, all alone.
Tonight I was telling a group of friends about a farm I pass each day on the way to and from work. It is old, not fancy, but I never tire of how it looks in different lights and seasons.
These are some photos of my favourite farm. Look carefully and you will see they are the same trees, but God dresses them so beautifully in the light and atmosphere, that you would hardly guess it.
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In this house lives a recluse. The driveway is overgrown with weeds and a chain blocks entrance to visitors. A sign is hammered to a fence post, "No Trespassing." All alone he lives--I sometimes wonder about his story, and what he does in his house, all alone.
Comments
I'm captured every time I pass it. Funny--I miss people on the road who are waving at me from passing cars, and many other things that my hubby notices--but I never miss a breathtaking display of beauty!
I have a tree... Or I had a tree. A big old maple - near the corner of the 15th Line and the 15th Sideroad. I have watched that tree for 30 years or more and wondered every time that it could be still standing. Even 30 years ago, it was clearly in its "declining" years. I knew it was just a matter of time, and yet.. I still watched for it. Still stubbornly bearing old scars - evidence of its character and integral to its awkward beauty.
Last time I passed there, just this past Saturday, I was with Ron. I looked for the tree, but the long delayed inevitable had finally come. The stump, which was all that was left, stark and cold. One day I'm going to stop there and count the rings. And then I'll be able to tell my grandchildren. "See that old stump? That tree stood there guarding this corner for all those many years... I loved that old tree."
I wonder if Ron thought I was a little crazy when he caught me wiping away a few tears.
I'm glad you've been taking photos of your reclusive farm. I don't think I have any of my tree... Maybe one, but I wouldn't know where to find it anymore in my archive boxes full of jumbled photos. But the memory of it, through all the seasons, through all the years, is firmly etched in my mind, and no woodcutter can ever take that away or burn it in a woodstove...
Thanks for posting these breathtaking photos. And to think, I practically live behind what I thought was deserted house.
Have a wonderful time away. :-)