Yesterday I took my class on a field trip to a living history museum called Missouri Town 1855. There were three different people there that helped the kids learn about what life in 1855 in Missouri would have been like. We met the mercantile owner, the woman who trained the oxen, and the blacksmith. The blacksmith was my favorite, since that was the profession of some of my ancestors, the most recent being Grandpa Finke. I could just imagine him in his shop; the hot fire, the anvil, all the tools surrounding him, and the hot iron coming out of the fire, him working to shape it from a piece of iron into a useful tool.
There were also many things that reminded me of home on the farm. When I left home for college, I didn’t think I would miss farm life a whole lot, but as I’ve gotten older, I miss it more and more. I miss being able to sit outside and hear nothing but nature. I miss seeing the wide open sky, full of stars at night. I miss the old buildings, full of such amazing history.
Even though though I didn’t move to the farm until the 1990s, after it had been established for over 100 years, there were always remnants of our ancestors around. I think that’s what fascinates me so much now about the farm. I feel the need to go and take pictures, to preserve what I can of what seems like a foreign world, to walk and explore and imagine what it would have been like to fully live off the land before all the modern conveniences and distractions of this world took hold.