Here Is Some Explaination

I have been asked a few times about what I have and how I do things. I think I will try to explain just the bare bone facts about our place.

At present what I am working with is a 7 acre parcel of history (to me) because this land has been in the name of my family since the 1700s. At one time the family name owned all of the area that I can see from the top of this mountain.

Where I am the whole hillside was worked by horse and manpower and I still to this day find broken singletrees and hand tools that were once held by either ancestors or workers of this place.

I can say that when I do find these "treasures" it takes me back to those days only in my mind. It had to be hard. It had to be sustainable. So I figured why cant I do that now.

Thus, Here I am. Been here for 41 years and hope to be here until I croak. Virginia law is lax on burial stuff so I elect to have my worthless carcass thrown in a hole here and maybe something can grow on top. The important part, soul, is gone the split second you die so hey, Why not? My perfect idea.

I was raised here. Somewhere there were pictures of me crawling through the wall studs in this house. Somewhere there is a picture of me holding a yellow cat at the base of a International Tractor. Somewhere there is a picture of my Dad pulling stumps off this place with that tractor. Somewhere there is a picture of my Mom when I had to be a toddler smiling off the front porch (which is gone since she fell down the stairs when I was maybe 8 and the scar is huge where she busted her elbow up going under the house to get some potatoes for supper.

Wonder why this place means so much to me?? I remember raising pigs as a child. I didnt my Dad did. I remember the old horse Nelly that was a worker and a rider. I remember laying down in between her front and rear legs and we lay together. Just taking in what a horse and a kid think about. I remember Daisy the milk cow. I remember Dads broken hand when he thought a punch to the face would solve her attitude. The dip in the wood is still visible where she swung her head and hit the house after Dad punched her. Attitude didnt get solved but Dads anger did. hehehe I remember the hogs we raised here. Dont remember no names but remember the first piglet litter. Cute as a button but we knew what they were for. I remember being scared to death because I was playing above the hog pen when I was a child and the steel barrell I was rolling made a bad turn down hill and squashed a piglet dead. That hurt me. Mom didnt know what to say but Dad was understanding and instructive. Never happened again. I remember selling the pigs that was raised that year. An older feller I have no idea who it was came up with a two tone chevy truck with cattle racks on and bought them. I remember loading them. I remember also Dad getting a call from the feller later and Dad repeated the conversation. "Them is the clamingist (climbing) hogs I ever saw" The pigs he bought climbed over the cattle racks somewhere.

What do you think is this worth reading? Let me know on your comment. Thanks for the followers that I have.