The road I drive is blacktop now. No dust cloud on this summer day. The farm is gone, no ground to plow, No cattle left, no fields to hay.
And cars can pass now, two abreast, And travel on without a hitch. Where years ago, they’d be hard pressed With one pulled over in the ditch.
Back then while driving down this road, That barnyard smell was in the air, You now see lawns, all neatly mowed Where farmland pastures once were there.
And as I cross that old stone bridge, I think of Mom and Dad who gave Their lives out on this windswept ridge, Now turning over in their grave.
The old cow barn is caving in Its rock foundation in decay. For when they died, their next of kin Had all moved out and gone away.
The neighbor’s farm is also gone. No calloused hands or arms, well-tanned, To crank the tractor up at dawn To venture out and work the land.
That thirty acre field out back That winter fed a herd of cows Will see no more the old hay rack Deliver to those big hay mows.
The woods, once held behind rock wall, Are pushing now into that field, And alders and the gray birch sprawl. A hundred years of work concealed.
And as I walk that grown up path That leads to my old swimming hole, I easily can do the math That sent these lives out of control.
The tax bill on this dormant farm Was more than country folk could stand. But city folk saw rustic charm, So they came here and bought this land.
But now they spend their time in town; The farm work that they do is rare. The livestock fences all came down; The barns all left in disrepair.
No garden plot to plant in spring; No wood to split with ax and maul. No back porch poems or songs to sing; No crops to harvest in the fall.
I turn and leave my childhood place; A teardrop forming in my eye; A look of guilt upon my face Because I’m here, just passing by.