Suppertime on a Small Farm in Eastern Oklahoma

In October, around suppertime, the sun, as it nears the western horizon, casts a golden glow over leaves and grass. As the day comes to a close, my thoughts turn backward a few decades to a small farm in eastern Oklahoma. I remember a mother and father, a girl and her brother, who lived there. And, the cows, horse, chickens, and pigs. The animals are what made our farm a farm. The people are what made it home.

When the shadows grew long, it was milking time. The cows knew the time of day as well as we did. They would amble from the pasture and down the long lane toward the barn. Old Blue wore the bell. The other cows, Boots and Goldie, followed. They stepped into the dark barn, stuck their heads through the stanchions and began munching the feed Dad had put there.

It was my brother’s and my job to gather eggs from the chicken house. We didn’t wait until dark to do this chore because it was hard to see in that dusky henhouse and after the sun went down, it was spooky! Added to that incentive for speed was the threat of a black snake coiled in a nest. We sure didn’t want to put our hands on one of those!

After the eggs had been gathered and the milk had been strained and put into the refrigerator, it was suppertime. Mom, Dad, Richard and I sat down at the table. At every meal except breakfast, Mom had two kinds of bread: cornbread and biscuits. It was all homemade. No matter what else we had, there was always plenty of milk, cream, and butter. Since we had our own eggs, Mom used these in pies and cookies. Television was no distraction from family discussion; we didn’t own one. And computers? We had never heard of them.

Several long years later, October still comes around with its flaming leaves, its golden glow and its memories. Times have changed considerably. Dad and Mom left us long ago. The farm, I hear, has become a housing development, and the cows and horses I once knew so well died years ago. My life now is completely different from what it was on that small farm. I’ll never be able to go back and re-live those days, but October is a nostaglic time, especially in the late afternoon, just before the sun goes down and the light on the trees and grass is golden. I borrow the farm and my family back for just a bit as I remember.