Congratulations Alison Paige on the winning contribution.
Visit Margaret over at Art Happens 365
(photography & poetry) to be inspired.
Betty knew she should sell the place; her kids told her so every time they bothered to visit. No one in her family farmed anymore. There were no tractors to store, no fields to plow. There were no horses left to ride, no cows left to milk.
But she'd grown up on this farm. She'd fallen in love with Joe on this farm, taking him lunch when he started working for her father. She'd married Joe beside her mom's flower garden.
When the children came along, her parents sold the house to Betty & Joe. The kids, all six of them, had played in the yard. They'd explored the fields. They'd had fun growing up there. Until they were old enough to do chores, that is.
The kids had long since gone to college and gotten married and found jobs far beyond the farm. Yet she remained, even after Joe's death seventeen years prior.
She was stubborn. No one was going to remove her from her farm before she was ready. She would be there until the end.
Just like her old companion: the weathered, crooked creaky old barn.
But she'd grown up on this farm. She'd fallen in love with Joe on this farm, taking him lunch when he started working for her father. She'd married Joe beside her mom's flower garden.
When the children came along, her parents sold the house to Betty & Joe. The kids, all six of them, had played in the yard. They'd explored the fields. They'd had fun growing up there. Until they were old enough to do chores, that is.
The kids had long since gone to college and gotten married and found jobs far beyond the farm. Yet she remained, even after Joe's death seventeen years prior.
She was stubborn. No one was going to remove her from her farm before she was ready. She would be there until the end.
Just like her old companion: the weathered, crooked creaky old barn.
Visit Margaret over at Art Happens 365(photography & poetry) to be inspired.
