After two winters on the Elseneter Place, including a near-death experience for the entire family when Daddy incorrectly vented a gas heater upstairs where we slept, (and hadn’t he gone to plumbing and heating school?) Grandad Mares got fed up with our living situation. He generously bought an old farm, about two miles out of Maple Lake, to provide us a safer living situation.
It was a rundown, 30-acre farm that everyone called the Sykora Farm. Grandad told Daddy he could pay him back as he was able to.
The farm was located on County Road 37 (paved! Unlike the dirt road we lived on at the Elsenpeter Place) and had a long dirt driveway that slightly curved up and around the back of the dirty, white two-story farmhouse with rotting shingles. There was an old barn, leaning precariously to one side, which was literally falling down. An abandoned granary stood behind the house on the other side of the driveway and at the end of the path was a garage that stood about 25 feet from the back door. Convenient. There was also an old corn crib and a stable on the edge of the woods, which lay beyond.
We were told not to play in the ruins of the barn because it was dangerous, and for once we obeyed! It swayed and creaked in the wind and that was enough for us to actually mind for a change. Grandad and Daddy tore it down and built a garage there, somewhat more convenient, even though still far from the back door. Gravel was put on the driveway, which now ended at the back door of the house. We only used the garage in dead winter.
Butting up against the highway, either side of the driveway was flanked by two alfalfa fields which gave way to huge front and side yards. The front yard was home to giant oak, maple and elm trees and a huge lilac grove that looked like a good place to hide from Andrea or visiting cousins we didn’t like.
The granary was a tall building intended for loading and unloading bales of hay and sacks of grain, so its floor was maybe six feet off the ground. Double-wide doors accommodated its utility. Cindy and I found many treasures inside that granary, including boxes of vintage clothes, which we used to play dress-up. They smelled funny and sometimes fell apart when we handled them, but scraps of worn velvet and antique crocheted lace also make fun disguises. Eventually the granary was torn down to make a large kitchen garden plot for Mother to plant and do her magic. Behind these buildings –beyond the corncrib, stable and a ramshackle outhouse—there was a lush, overgrown woods, some succulent pasture for grazing, and endless opportunities for creative play. We couldn’t wait to explore!
There was a giant apple tree near the end of the driveway, next to the alfalfa field, and an orchard with apple and plum trees. Plenty of trees to climb (and fall out of). We loved sitting up in the apple trees in spring. The tree would be full of blossoms and smelled good enough to eat.
We always entered the house itself by the back door, because that’s where the driveway ended, I guess. An enclosed back porch became home to the washer and dryer (when we eventually got them) and a freezer for harvested produce. It had an old, dirty linoleum floor, as did the kitchen, which came next. It wasn’t exactly a gourmet’s delight, let’s put it that way. Off the kitchen were two small rooms – one had apparently been a pantry and storage room, which was turned into an indoor bathroom after year or so, and the other was a small bedroom to which Daddy, being the plumber that he was, added a small sink for washing up when he came home from work. Through the kitchen was a formal dining room with a beautiful built-in china cabinet, then another small bedroom and finally a living room with a staircase leading upstairs to three more bedrooms off a hallway.
One of the bedrooms had a small walk-in closet and a balcony, which was so rotted, Daddy tore it off before we could do something dangerous on it (which we most certainly would have!). Andrea got the room with the big closet. There was a small pass-through closet between her room and the one across the hall – which Cindy and I shared – and it opened on both sides. Unluckily for Andrea, because as we filled our side full of our treasures, they started spilling out onto the floor beside her bed. The third bedroom went to Dale, who was still quite small.
Peeling wallpaper, scuffed paint and rough floors all screamed: WORK TO BE DONE.
Mother fell in love with this farm at first sight. From day one, we never called it the Sykora Farm. It was HERS. She called it The Place (or occasionally, The Farm) because to her it was the place she had been looking for all her life. It was hers to shape and color and craft into something beautiful. Which she did. It became a showplace worthy of a garden magazine and she loved every minute she toiled. Lucky us, to benefit from all that love and energy, not to mention the warm apple pies, crisp sweet corn, fresh garden peas and ripe tomatoes. It didn’t take us long to forget that vegetables also came in a can (sometimes without labels).
EPILOGUE: The adventures Cindy and I had living on The Place until we both left for college were some of the most precious moments of our lives.
Eventually, after all of us kids had left home, Mother and Daddy would sell The Place and move to a smaller home on Maple Lake. Fortunately, for all of us, Dale bought a section of the woods and built a home, and a life, there so a small piece of those wonderful years has been kept intact.
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