Family Farm

Photo by Dawn Rhodes Sander

Today I went to a place where history has been made.

Where it has been chiseled in granite, and marked by piles of stone.

Where it has been carved out in tree trunks, and written in the sand.

Where logs have been hewn into timbers and trees sawn into boards.

Where rocks were stacked to mark the corners and mortered together to lay the foundation.

Where lumber, hammers, and nails were used to frame generations.

Where is has been printed on paper and hung on the walls.

Where it has been plowed and plainted, grown and harvested.

Where the land gives life and the sky smiles down on it.

Where the stories are still heard in the wind whispering through the pines, the leaves rustling on the ground, and by the sound of water moving over rocks.

Where the sins that were committed have been washed away by the blood of Jesus and in the sacred waters below the rock bluff.

A place where work is done and rest is taken.

A place where legends have lived and still do.

Today I went to the place that shaped me, the family farm.

-Dawn Rhodes Sander


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