Tidgren 1

Ben Tidgren
Professor Polking
Composition II
19 May 2016
A Walk Through Time
Times change. Technologies change. Inhabitants change. The land remains.
Midwest America was once a vast, endless prairie, under the stewardship of the many
tribes of Native Americans. Most of them are gone now. The land that they once knew
faded away with them. The oceans of tall, golden prairie grass that once covered the
landscape has since been swallowed up by systematic grids of cities, farms, and roads.
When the European settlers arrived and moved west, driven by the prospect of land,
freedom, and a better life, they brought with them drastic changes. They fundamentally
changed the landscape of the Midwest. Like the Natives, the land was their livelihood. It
was just utilized in a much different way. The settlers and early farmers lived a difficult
life of hardship, trying to adapt to the conditions of the wilderness. Today, it is easy to
forget about the struggle in the lives of those who came before us. It is also hard to
imagine their lifestyles which are so different from ours today. We live very different lives
than the generations before us. This is nothing unnatural. Change is what drives
humanity forward. Every generation dreams to leave things in a better state for their
children. The United States is a place where these aspirations for the most part have
succeeded. Nothing demonstrates this like an old farm.

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--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The year is 1930. It is early. The sun is has not even risen yet, but young Kermit
Koenig is already on his way out the door. He walks down the driveway, and out to the
barn to milk the cows. He is accompanied by his brother Kenneth. The two dutifully
complete their task, and hurry back to the house for breakfast. The sun is now peeking
over the horizon. It wont be long before it is fully up to resume baking the parched land.
As they enter, they are greeted by the aroma of bacon and eggs. They wash up, and
enter the kitchen, where Ma is setting the table.
Your father went out early to work on the tractor She tells them.
Kermit knew there would be trouble if he couldnt get the tractor working.
He will be in later, I better get you boys fed, so you can get off to school.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Old farms that have existed throughout the making of America contain a unique
mix of the old and the new. They act much like the layered walls of a canyon. Each layer
was formed during a different time period and is visibly different from the next. There are
not many places of such stark and visible contrast left today. Farms are modernizing
and getting larger at such a rapid pace that very few left maintain the old along with the
new. One that does is a rare look at the progression and changes that have gone
underway throughout the years.
My grandparents own a century farm. This means it
has been in the same family for over 100 years. Over

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100 years of life has been spent living and working on this land, yet I am familiar with it
merely as a gathering place for my immediate family. That is all I have ever known it as.
I can fondly recall my own memories of bonfires, popsicles, and outdoor games on
warm summer evenings. Touch football games and pumpkin decorating in the crisp
autumn air. Christmas dinners, movies, and card games in the bright, cheerful house,
on cold, dark winter nights. Easter egg hunts and blooming flowers in the spring. That is
the farm as I know it, but that does not even scratch the surface of all the life that has
been lived on those grounds.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kermit and Kenneth are on horseback, on their way to school. To Kermit, school is
difficult and boring. What use did he have for reading and arithmetic when he would end
up farming? It did give him a brief break from hard work in the hot sun. At last, the
meandering, hard-packed dirt path brings the two boys to the small one room
schoolhouse where they tie up their horses and enter for school.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The farm came into the family many generations ago. My great, great
grandfather came to America from Germany and bought the plot of land. He built the
farmhouse using wood cut from a nearby timber and hauled to the construction site by
oxen. Since then, the house has been modified, modernized, and expanded. The boxshaped wooden structure my great- great grandfather built still stands today, but
appears to be a completely different house due to the several additions that have been

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made over the years. What was once the hand-built home
of German immigrants still stands today as a home
furnished with stainless steel appliances and flat-screen
televisions. However, hidden among the modern aspects
are clues to the past hidden throughout the homes
structure.
One example of this is the entrance to the
houses basement, which sits outside the house and
is extremely crude. When the door is opened, sunlight
pierces the musty darkness awaiting at the bottom of
a rickety staircase. Cobwebs and grime cover the
walls which resemble those of huts in a shanty town.
A thick, sooty coat of dust covers the creaky
floorboards. The stairway down is ridden with
irregularities and feels ready to collapse at its next
use. At the bottom is a damp, dimly lit concrete room
with exposed metal pipes and machinery for furnishings. The room is filled with the
sound of moving water. Down in this shoddy cellar, it is hard to
believe that above sits a house that is lived in.
That is case throughout the farm. Around one corner
may be an area that appears to be rotting with age, yet
around the next there could be an area that looks just like any
normal place. The grounds of the farm are full of other places

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that whisper of the past. Old machine sheds, workshops, and cattle barns long vacant
serve as treasure troves of history. In a barn converted into a machine shop, cattle
footprints remain imprinted in the concrete floor. Old, discarded objects sit in this old
dusty building, long forgotten. A treadmill from the 1970s sits in one corner. A
refrigerator that looks even older sits in another. Yet, in the same room sit state of the
art power tools.

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--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kermit is hard at work again. Pa had him putting up hay. It was tough work, and sweat
glistened on his on his face in the afternoon sun as he toiled away. His sweat and sore
muscles gave him satisfaction. Something he would never get from that schoolhouse.
His teacher had made him read aloud in front of the whole class. He was humiliated as
he struggled through the passage, showing the whole class how dumb he was. He
silently made a vow to quit as soon as possible.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The farm also has its share of hidden secrets and stories. One such secret I had
walked over top of countless times throughout my childhood. I learned of it one day
when my Grandma asked me:
Has your Grandpa told you about the hoofprints on the stairway?
What? I asked, unsure what Grandma was talking about. No.
Well, a long time ago, when your Grandpas dad was a boy, he had gotten a Shetland
Pony. One day, another boy stole the pony. Your great grandpa was devastated. When
they eventually got the pony back, he wanted to be sure his pony was safe.
I was beginning to understand where she was going with this.
He snuck the pony into the house, and led it up the stairs to his room, where he tried to
keep it.
This caught me off guard.

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To this day, you can see the imprints of the horseshoes on the stairs underneath the
carpet. I have seen it myself, when we replaced the carpet in the stairway.
A story like that sounds like it came straight from a book, and it serves as a reminder of
how old the house is. It has seen so much change, but from my young, limited
perspective it is easy to miss. However, there was one case where I witnessed firsthand
a big change of the place.
We used to spend hours out in the timbers near the house: exploring, building
forts, and enjoying the outdoors. The trees were beautiful. They
towered high above the surrounding fields, and in the autumn,
sparkled brilliantly with palettes of the brightest oranges and
yellows. In the winters, you could see their sheer age. Without
their leaves, they appeared old, scarred, and dead. Yet, every
year, the fresh, cool spring air would breathe life into them and
they would explode with green so that by summer, they were
once again dominant over the flat lands surrounding them. One
summer, that changed. My cousins and I, on one of our adventures, went to the site of
the timber, and in surprise, found it to be gone. What stood in its place was corn. Boring,
methodical rows of corn. Things were changing again. This was my first exposure to the
reality that nothing remains forever. I was experiencing for the first time what everyone
who had lived on this land for the past century had lived through first hand. The
relentless push onward of time, and its faithful companion; change.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Kermit drags his tired body into the house. His skin is deeply tanned from a life spent
working in the sun. His hands are calloused, and his fingernails filthy. He is slim, but
wiry and strong. He gathers with his family at the dinner table for a meal of meat, bread,
and boiled potatoes. The same as every night. Pa talks about the crop prices, the
economy, and local families losing their farms. Again. It has become an every night
discussion topic.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Nothing has changed the landscape of the rural Midwest more than changes in
agriculture. First it was a vast tract of prairie grasses converted into a patch quilt of
small, family farms. Small towns and schools popped up support these farms. Over the
years, farms have been getting bigger. Technology has made it possible for one farmer
to manage massive amounts of land. Bigger farms means fewer farmers. Fewer farm
families means fewer people attending small, rural schools. This means that as farming
has evolved, so has the countrys demographics. Small country schools have closed
across the Midwest. The small, family farms that remain in place serve as a reminder of
how things once were, and how small our part in the world is.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Kermit lays in his bed, unable to sleep. He cant help but wonder if things will ever
change. He knows that tomorrow will bring a day much like yesterday, and the day
before, and the day before. Rising early. Doing the chores. Breakfast. School. Chores.
Supper. Bed. Everyday felt like the previous. The economy always seemed to be bad.

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Rain never seemed to come. Work always needed to be done. He put the thought out of
his head. Tomorrow would arrive soon, and bring along its hardships.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Standing alone looking off into the never-ending horizon never fails to make you
feel small. The house and yard are the lone patch of green for a
long ways in all directions, like a lonely island surrounded by a sea
of cornfields. At this time of year, the fields are occupied by dry,
stubby cornhusks, which give
the field as a whole a brownish
yellow hue. If you pay attention,
you notice the constant
ambience of the restless winds. Even the large, hardy
oak trees in the yard bend and creak under the
constant barrage. If even the sturdy tree branches
give to the constant weathering, one can only imagine what the elements would do to
the farm if allowed to run their course.
On the farm, it is easy to feel insignificant. On
the walls, I see old black and white pictures.
Pictures of people. People like Kermit. The
moments captured by the old, faded photographs
are what little remains of them. Only Grandpa and
Grandma even know who most of these people were. Their names, professions, and

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passions began to fade when they died long ago. Eventually, they will be gone forever.
So will the farmhouse. So will all of us.
Some might say this old farm is a place frozen in time. I disagree. Such a place
simply does not exist. Time penetrates everything. An old farm is merely a place where
you can see time at work. A place we can confirm something we all know: that our time
on Earth is limited and valuable. In the end, material possessions are worthless. Once
we are gone, they are just left to the elements to wither away into nothingness. It is a
humbling reality that no one...not even the strongest of us can resist the effects of time.
It is the weakness we all share. Our common end. It is what makes our time here that
much more precious.