At a very early age I acquired a skill that would serve me well. Even at a year and a half, I could stir and bake and cook with the best of the pre-schoolers.
In this picture, a batch of home made bread is being prepared for baking. To this day, I still enjoy baking bread. As a matter of fact, currently my little apartment was filled with the sweet scent of cinnamon apple oatmeal bread; my own recipe.
Yes. Yes, indeed I was a farm boy
On the left is a pic of me on a path that I learned well. To the left is a pond that my dad built. To the right was the house and farm buildings.
On the right is a picture of me holding tight to my brother, making sure he doesn't fall off. The pony we were on was named Windmill. He and I have history. I learned to saddle and bridle and ride on old Windmill. Then on one fateful spring day, he and I were out surveying my domain, or as much domain an eight year old can have. A neighbor horse runs up in her pasture and commences whinnying and making a horse version of a challenge. Windmill bucked me off and charged over to the horse.
Within a week, Dad traded Windmill for a cow.
Heavy equipment and farm machinery were as common to me as a video games are to modern kids. At ten or so I could drive a John Deere Model A and Model B tractor, and reasonably, for a ten year old, drive a Caterpillar D-21 bulldozer. Well, I think it was a D-21, maybe a D-25. It has indeed been a while.
The smell of burning diesel and fresh soil and fresh air, the sound of the birds singing and a chugging engine, the clear sky, the green trees and grass and underbrush; these things are embedded in my being. They are close friends; ones I hope to visit soon.
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