Never, ever would I wish that I had grown up somewhere else but the farm where I was raised. Some might say it would have been too isolated, but, to me it was more of a peaceful and innocent experience during the time I was growing up in the 1950's. No busy highways, no railroads, airplanes, or pollution.
There were places where I could think my thoughts in peace and solitude. I could walk the soft dirt lane west of our corn-crib. And, especially the feel running through my toes of the gentle and clean "mud" after a summer rain. I could climb up the elevator attached to the corn-crib and sit and look at nothing but open and beautiful sky for as far as you could see.
The same could be said for climbing up to the peak of the barn. I could reach it by crawling up on the wooden cattle loader parked on the east side of the barn. Then I would scoot up to the peak and straddle it like a saddle.
The shingles on the roof were wooden slats with an occasional nail sticking out here and there. You had to be careful of those nails especially coming down and a clump of moss also in the mix didn't make it any easier. The wrong move could spell disaster. Yes! You guessed it.
On one occasion, a nail bit me and down I went head first mind you, Just like I was sleding down a hill in the winter. Somebody up there was watching out for me that day, however. Just before I was ready to fall head first over the edge, another nail caught my pant leg of my jeans and in turn saved the day. You've heard the expression "saved by the bell" make that "saved by the "nail."
Who knows how that ten foot drop to the ground might have turned out? Living on the farm could be and most generally was peaceful but, danger lurked once in a while.
This story was published in the IOWA BARN FOUNDATION magazine --Spring of 2009 under article titled Vignettes From Rural Iowa by yours truly.
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