Farm Visit

The newspaper had it listed as a working farm with walking trails. Appeared an enjoyable place to visit; we decided to investigate.
After a short drive, we found ourselves searching for signs that would indicate this farm and its walking trails. Several trips along the same road didn't help much; we decided to ask the postman and he sent us back to where we had passed twice already.
Along the side of the road stood a pole with a huge sheet of plywood, upon which were spray painted the numbers 144-146. "This must be it" ,I stated.
We entered upon a very (very) narrow dirt road. My city-loving husband remarked "What do we do if there's traffic?" Laughing I replied "There will be no traffic; no one will come here, just drive."
We passed cows that were more intelligent than ourselves, for they hugged the shade of ample trees. They were too warm to even moo as we drove by.
The road opened to a turn around with house, barn and visible piles of half finished chores.
A rooster welcomed us, his voice filled the passive air.
Again, no sign of markings that would help us locate the mentioned walking trails. We felt like trespassers.
Disappointed we turned to leave, my husband searching for another exit road. Again I laughed and said, "We are here alone."
What a sad commentary on our working farms. America does not visit them. As citizens, we rarely think about the difficult work and long days of inclement weather that these men, women and children brave. These unvisited farms supply our city grocery chains!

written by Pauline
copyright July, 2006