As the present now will later be past
Yesterday, with some out-of-town relatives, we went on a drive around the county.
They wanted to see Amish, without being obnoxious, and after we'd seen our fill of buggies and fields (to quote my four-year-old cousin, who was narrating our trip while looking out the window: "Corn corn corn corn corn corn corn"), they started asking my dad where exactly he'd grown up. He loves to tell and show people things, even more than I do, and so he took them through the part of the county where he spent his childhood and adolescence.
My dad doesn't spontaneously talk about his growing up years, although occasionally he'll come out with a story about something. That could be because I rarely ask about those things, and if I do, I want to know about feelings, not facts. He deals much better with facts. But yesterday we got a narrated tour . . . we drove over those farm-lined roads, and Dad could talk about who used to own each farm, and how they were related to him. Apparently, back then, all these farms were filled with Mennonites, all related to each other in some way. They all knew each other, mostly, and went to church together.
My dad was the ninth generation of his family to grow up in that area. It's where my ancestors settled, fresh off the boat, to farm in the early 1700s. So for 250 years or so, people with the same history and family background lived in the same place and farmed. They did keep up with the times, and got cars and electricity and stuff, but they were still there, secluded in their community, in their school and their churches. (Of course people came and went, but it was pretty consistent, especially in terms of occupation).
And then, in the 1960s, something happened. Things changed enough, the modern world broke in (or something), and people left the farms, and the church, and decided to go to college or try something else. And I know this happened all over the US, it's not just limited to my dad's world, but it's strange to think that I'm part of the first generation of my family who DIDN'T grow up on a farm, in that world.
I grew up in Florida, in the suburbs, with a TV and Nintendo, and I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I'm just marking the end of an era here, I guess. Because there's no going back. Whatever existed has vanished. Choices that were made, by my dad and his contemporaries, changed everything. And those choices and cultural changes have resulted in a million more choices and freedom for me, so I can't say I'm upset about it. It's just weird to think about. I'm pretty sure that when my dad left the farm he wasn't thinking much past the next year or so.
And look at the results. You can't go home again. Amish own the farms now, and I'm not going back to get one.
They wanted to see Amish, without being obnoxious, and after we'd seen our fill of buggies and fields (to quote my four-year-old cousin, who was narrating our trip while looking out the window: "Corn corn corn corn corn corn corn"), they started asking my dad where exactly he'd grown up. He loves to tell and show people things, even more than I do, and so he took them through the part of the county where he spent his childhood and adolescence.
My dad doesn't spontaneously talk about his growing up years, although occasionally he'll come out with a story about something. That could be because I rarely ask about those things, and if I do, I want to know about feelings, not facts. He deals much better with facts. But yesterday we got a narrated tour . . . we drove over those farm-lined roads, and Dad could talk about who used to own each farm, and how they were related to him. Apparently, back then, all these farms were filled with Mennonites, all related to each other in some way. They all knew each other, mostly, and went to church together.
My dad was the ninth generation of his family to grow up in that area. It's where my ancestors settled, fresh off the boat, to farm in the early 1700s. So for 250 years or so, people with the same history and family background lived in the same place and farmed. They did keep up with the times, and got cars and electricity and stuff, but they were still there, secluded in their community, in their school and their churches. (Of course people came and went, but it was pretty consistent, especially in terms of occupation).
And then, in the 1960s, something happened. Things changed enough, the modern world broke in (or something), and people left the farms, and the church, and decided to go to college or try something else. And I know this happened all over the US, it's not just limited to my dad's world, but it's strange to think that I'm part of the first generation of my family who DIDN'T grow up on a farm, in that world.
I grew up in Florida, in the suburbs, with a TV and Nintendo, and I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I'm just marking the end of an era here, I guess. Because there's no going back. Whatever existed has vanished. Choices that were made, by my dad and his contemporaries, changed everything. And those choices and cultural changes have resulted in a million more choices and freedom for me, so I can't say I'm upset about it. It's just weird to think about. I'm pretty sure that when my dad left the farm he wasn't thinking much past the next year or so.
And look at the results. You can't go home again. Amish own the farms now, and I'm not going back to get one.
posted by Melanie at 9:30 PM
