Troy Township. The land of my birth and growing up years. A fairyland kind of place where fathers worked hard on the farm, mothers worked in the home and kids ran around outside and had fun. Neighbors were close by and visiting them was commonplace. Everyone knew everyone and seeing each other brought a smile to your face. When hard times came, there wasn't anybody who didn't pitch in and help. It's just the way it was.
Over the past week, my thoughts have returned often to this place, not far from where I now reside. Just a few miles away, it is still home to my oldest brother and packed with more memories than I can count. Precious memories! What brought them to light was the passing of Arthur Holm, our closest neighbor to the west for the first ten years of my life.
At 92, he had been living in his own home until just a few weeks prior to his death. Twenty two years ago he had turned the "home place" over to his son and daughter-in-law. This farm was originally occupied by his parents and was where he grew up. Although he moved from this farm to become part of our small town life, they never were able to keep him away from farming and it was an active part of his life, even as he aged.
Random things come to mind when I think about visiting in the home of Art and his wife, Marie. First was the confusion about his name. Everyone called him "Bud" and as a child it made no sense. What WAS his name anyway? Art or Bud? Their son was two years older than me and had two older sisters who where in high school at the time I was starting school. (They were so beautiful and I dreamed of someday being like them!) The toys at their house were always WAY cooler than the ones we had. We had the standard eight color paint case, but I think the one at their house had about fifty choices. I also remember lots of little plastic animal figures, fences and I think cowboys and Indians you could take on and off horses. Later on, when they built a new house, there were roller skates you attached to your shoes and the open concrete floor of the basement became a great skating rink. Yes, precious memories!
When I was in the second grade, my mother was expecting my little sister. At the age of 42, she required several months of hospitalization before the baby arrived due to thrombosis in her legs. I remember very little about this time of my life, however there are faint memories of my dad bringing me to the Holm farm to get my long hair braided. Like I said, if there was a problem, neighbors pitched in to help!
As I attended Art's funeral, it was sad to look around the small, country church and realize there were very few of my dad's generation left. In most cases, sons have taken over the family farm and are now the patriarchs of their families. Driving to the church I found myself saying the names as I drove past the farms. Something was different, with all the oil wells and new electrical lines, but still there was an element of "familiar" which brought peace to my heart. Afterwards, I made my way past the farm which became our home at the time I was ten. Even it has a "new look" with much bigger grain bins and farm buildings than when I was growing up.
Yes, time marches on. Things change. But the passing of a dear neighbor has done much to dust the cobwebs out of the corners of my brain and make me pause, reflect and realize I really did grow up in a wonderful place and time. Something tells me they're probably still celebrating the latest Troy Township homecoming in heaven, and it helps to picture my parents right there with Jesus as he welcomed Art with a hearty, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant!"
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