Relative Something

I uncovered some additional writing I did years ago, describing my memories of the years I was on the farm, Intervale Ranch, or ‘the Hays farm’ as it was referred to at the time. In reality, my years there are better described as ‘after the farm’, 1959 to 1968. Since these were written at different times, there may be some overlap of detail that I hope you will find acceptable.

During the time I was on the farm, most of the tractors and machinery were already gone. My dad had built a milking parlor. Gone. There were no more animals, except for the one, or briefly two, horses that we boarded for a neighbor. The chicken coop had been turned into a clubhouse, complete with curtains on the windows. There was a rope swing in the barn hayloft, and plenty of left over hay as I recall. Other barn space seemed to be filled with junk. More of my time was spent in the house than in the outbuildings; there, and the grounds around the house and barns, …climbing trees, playing ball, swinging, running, exploring.

Far beyond the innocence of my young perspective, there were deals being made. Before I was even born, the majority of acreage had been sold to the city of Edina and earmarked for parkland, an eventual golf course. A freeway had been built right behind two of the main barns, which cut off the house and closely associated buildings from the rest of the property that had been sold. The property I grew up on was a fraction of what was once Intervale Ranch.

It seemed like we just woke up one day and there was a line of earthmovers facing the house, parked side by side on a huge square of freshly leveled ground. It was kind of scary. They looked so menacing. My little brother and I went down to get a closer look. I’d never been so close I could touch a piece of machinery this size. We climbed on ‘em, because we could. It was a way to act defiant, even though it so wasn’t. We were as harmless as ants on these monsters, the coming task a foregone conclusion.

I don’t remember the duration of days we were still there while those machines waited. It felt like they were rushing us. I have no recollection of the move, except for the first night in the new house with just my younger brother and two oldest sisters and no furniture. There was a storm that night, fiercer than I had ever experienced. This house was much more prominently exposed than the farmhouse, which was protected by surrounding hills and many trees. That night one of the crank-out windows in the new house didn’t get closed and the wind caught it and pulled it off. That made an impression.