Down on the Farm

Down on the Farm

On a certain Sunday long ago (The Browns were still competitive, so a VERY long time ago indeed), Dad announced: “Get ready; we're going to your grandparents' house.” In just a few words he had destroyed my well-laid plans. That afternoon my beloved Cleveland Browns were meeting the Green Bay Packers to determine who would be NFL champions, and I had planned to watch the game.

Thinking quickly, I hastily replied: “Gee, that would be great, Dad, but I have to study for tomorrow's big math test.”

“You can do that when we get back,” said Dad, thus effectively ending the conversation.

From a young person's point of view, visiting Grandpa and Grandma on their farm was a total bore, unless by sheer luck a cousin also was visiting. During our younger years, cousin Dave and I had a blast roaming the farm's hillsides while dressed in our homemade superhero outfits. Cousins Ron and Rick were great to talk to about sports.

Unfortunately, no one else showed up that day, so I was on my own. One could “borrow” a few ears of corn from the crib to feed the hogs or climb the steep hill behind the house to reach the tasty apples hanging from a large tree. Then there was the pond, where one could burn some time by skipping rocks.

For many years Grandpa had no TV set, and when he finally did get one, the picture was fuzzy and the channel selection was limited. He did, however, subscribe to a magazine I believe was called “True Detective.” The stories were fairly interesting,but from the point of view of a young boy, the pictures of scantily-clad young ladies was the best part.

On this particular day, I was mad as a wet hen because Dad had denied me the opportunity to watch my beloved Browns battle the Packers. Then something gave me hope that not all was lost. While looking around the parlor I discovered a transistor radio. Surprisingly, it worked, so while sitting on the sofa, I began turning the dial, searching for the game..

Quite clearly several stations played music or talked politics, but I could not find a station covering the game. Then, at the very end of the dial, I heard the announcer say, “And the Packers have the ball.”

Unfortunately, the game reception was atrocious. Two or three words were followed by noises usually associated with a breakfast cereal: “Fumble by SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!” I knew this was the game, but I had no idea what the score was.

In desperation, I raced from one room to another in a vain effort to gain better reception. Standing in the stairwell did no good; neither did hanging out an upstairs window. Leaving the house, I found no improvement listening from the hayloft or even halfway up the aforementioned apple tree. All I knew was that the field was muddy and a player on one of the teams had fumbled.

After we arrived home I discovered that the Browns had lost, so in a way, I didn't feel so bad about missing the game. Unfortunately, due to my fib earlier in the day, in an attempt to stay home, I had to pretend to be studying for a math test.

Looking back all those years ago, I realize that my attitude had been totally wrong. My grandfather, who was born in 1896, could have been a source of historical information about which I can only read.

A few weeks ago we took a tour of President William McKinley's home in Canton, Ohio. In the eighth grade, our history teacher assigned each student a president to research. Each research paper was to be four or five pages in length, but I became so interested in McKinley that my report stretched to 50 pages or so.

At that time my grandfather was still living. Moreover, he had been alive when McKinley took office! What a first-hand source of knowledge he could have been.

If I could once more visit my grandparents on their farm, I'd pick their brains about their early lives and their interpretations of important events. As an adult, I certainly wouldn't be bored, especially if my cousin was there with his superhero outfit (Does it still fit?)