Hardscrabble Salvation

In 1974 my mother, my father, and I moved from a trailer park in Cleveland to a 97-acre farm in Liberty, West Virginia. I was 13, a city brat, an only child, and I thought I’d died and gone to hell. The world I left was coated in concrete, which led to shopping centers and movie theaters. The world to which I was banished was covered in corn, beans, potatoes, and squash, which led to blisters.

A wise child would have been grateful. He would have seen that so much land, so much freedom, is worth a little blood. He would have thanked his mother for this second birth, and his father for teaching him how to care for land.

I was not that child. I fought against the land, against the work. I doubt that I passed up many opportunities to complain to my mother, and I’m sure all my grievances could be summed up as “You did this to me. You’re working me to death. You’re killing me.”

My father, who was once a tree surgeon, died of a heart attack four months after we moved, age 40, sitting in his Chevy pickup in the parking lot of an auto-repair shop, waiting to fill out a job application. My mother’s voice was hoarse when she told me. I’d woken to the sound of crying to find strangers from the funeral home sitting in our living room. She assured me that everything would be all right. It was not all right.

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This article had quite a few parallels to our own little adventure. Fortunately, it does not mirror us in much of it's struggle but more than a few of it's other points are quite familiar. My youngest daughter is a gifted photographer (I have shown some of her work in the photography forum)and writer and will likely end up pursuing this as a career one day. My husband works in auto repair. My middle daughter is somewhat torn between her love of the ease of our old incarnation and her love of us, her family.

I am glad you posted this. It is wonderful to see through the eyes of the child grown.

One of the reasons we made this move was to teach our children a different way to live. We wanted them to learn to appreciate the deeper things. I am constantly thrilled when i see them discover a new (to them) truth about the nature of things. It is inwardly noted and amusing that my middle daughter, in spite of her will, has fallen quite in love with our new goats. I have noticed that she spends an increasing amount of time quietly watching the chickens that she once ignored with respectful disdain. My oldest, now living elsewhere, breathes a sigh of relief when she comes home to us. My little photographer has learned to see and document the smallest level of things. Details, usually overlooked are the landscape of her perspective. This was not the case before our life became quieter, slower and more deliberate. Now, she has learned a patience that is rare in a kid her age. My boy, my two year old, is a wild man. He rolls down hills, helps me feed the animals, chases chickens and carries pebbles alongside while his daddy carries stones to build with. I often wonder how they will view us in the years to come. Will there will be resentment or understanding. The article gives me hope.

As a parent with grown children (3) who were raised in the city, I think it's very difficult to predict how our children will view how and where they were raised.
Any serious change of locale is bound to be challenging for most children.
I divorced my then wife when our youngest was 5, and that decision on my part certainly had a number of negative consequences. I lived 350 miles from them, seeing them once a month for a weekend and having them for a full month in the summer. They were city kids who liked video games and watching t.v. But I made it a point to take them outdoors for hiking and camping as much as possible. Early on, they would complain about going into the mountains for a hike. But it didn't take long and they were begging to go on a hike or camping. Fortunately, they still have that appreciation for being out doors.

Good luck with the farming life!

Thank you for sharing her with us. You write beautifully.