trip to the feed mill

Here's another one of those great memories stemming from horses and small towns. The feed mill-or grain elevator. Gramps would ask if I wanted to go with him to pick up feed for the horses, which he got from our small town's grain elevator. If it was cold, I'd ride in the front cab of the truck soaking up his cigar smoke. If it was warm enough, I got to ride in the back of the truck along the country roads. I remember the trip being an adventure in manhood. I got to stand around with the old farmer types who talked politics and local goings on with their tall thermos of coffee in one hand and the screw off cup in the other. The old place had wide, worn wood plank floors and smelled of sweet oats and tobacco. I even kept Gramp's hat he got from the elevator (see post below).

A few years back, my dad asked if I could pick up birdseed at the elevator in the town I live now. Sure. I walked in the door and overheard someone from the back ask "Barry, did you want a cappuchino". I grinned thinking-I guess some things have changed.

These icons of our agricultural roots are disappearing quickly. They provide a place for community to happen within our rural farming towns, that would be sorely missed. Their forms are simple, but rugged against the skyline of Indiana. We should hope that at least a few of these come along with us into the future. I know the one from my boyhood still exists. I think I'd like to go there again, just to soak it up.


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