My Great Grandparents were farmers and owned a sizable amount of acreage in the Sacramento Valley. They grew everything from tomatoes to lima beans (yuck on the lima bean crops). Summers as a kid and teenager on the farm were unbelievably boring. I longed for my friends, movies, shopping anything but sitting and looking out at the Buttes across a field of whatever. My day would consist of getting up sometime around noon, take a swim in the irrigation ditch, watch one of three channels of t.v. which I swear news was on two of the three 24 hours a day, eat, and read. For “fun” my grandmother would have me take things out of her china cabinet to dust and she would tell me where each heirloom came from. “Great Grandma Julia gave us this little plate for our first camping trailer.” “Great Grandma Neva gave us this sugar and creamer” etc. etc. I wish I would of paid closer attention to my Grandmother as she was sharing the stories. I can still remember a handful but it would of been nice to have had a video recorder back then. I can’t say enough about how much I wish I would of allowed myself to enjoy the peacefulness of that place and the freedom from life’s responsibilities. I would love to hear my Grandparents stories of their childhood. I had one of the funniest Grandpa’s on the planet. He would completely go out of his way to embarrass me beyond belief. I was the type of kid that was not keen on drawing attention to myself so at the time it made me miserable but looking back now it makes me laugh. Like the time we were in the library and he kept pretend sneezing loud enough to rattle the books. He was one of a kind that’s for sure. My Grandma Florence taught me that if I was bored I could always read. She along with my Great Grandmother Neva gave birth to my love for reading and journaling. Something interesting about my Great Grandmother Neva is she wrote articles in a couple of newspapers. She had a reputation around town as a “tough old lady”. She definitely said it like it was. She died when I was 7 years old so I’m happy to say that I can remember her. If I close my eyes and think of her I can still hear her voice. I have a lot of respect for her. She had a rough time of it. Someday perhaps I’ll write her story as I recall it. Our family still owns 40 acres of farmland. They don’t actually do the farming any longer. It’s contracted out. My parents live on the farm currently. This year there is a crop of organic wheat and it is the most beautiful thing ever. I don’t know how many people have heard the sound of a wheat field blowing in the breeze but it is MAGICAL. It’s natures windchimes. This tinkling of the wheat in the husks. I could listen to it forever. I don’t get there often but when I do I find that like most things we take for granted in our youth, I miss it dearly. For today I’m grateful for the visit. It’s a place of peace.