Back to the Prairie: The Little Farm Atop the Hill

   Just 'up the road a piece' from my grandparents' big farm was my uncle's little farm. I recall a right turn and a steep gravel road. Much debate always came over whether that could be considered a hill, but if you ever tried to petal a bicycle up it you knew it was a hill. Cattle grazed in the land leading up to the top where his home sat in a clearing. Woods surrounded his place making it an unusual sight- most had flat prairie grasses or fields..he had woods.
   Dogs always greeted you when you arrived; he liked them big and rowdy.kinda like himself. He was tall, real tall, with blond wavy hair that reached his shoulders. A bushy long mustache playfully hid his smile, but his laughter was so fun. You could be a real 'get dirty' farm girl at his place.
   His house was were cards were played and wild stories were told; velvet Elvis hung everywhere and Batman ruled...the fridge always had koolaide and messes were rather well tolerated. We never spent much time inside though, he knew that out in the summer sun and prairie wind where dirt nestled between your toes was where I loved to roam.
   Guns were something you learned to use and respect; targets were always available for practice. He'd line cans across a fence and let you knock off a few. In 'his woods' nature was full of life; mushrooms and trees, snakes and other wriggly things. Afternoon swims in the water trough were encouraged and most food was grilled outdoors. He was an outdoor person too.
   We got along well, my uncle and me. He called me 'Micky' because I reminded him of a mouse..small and into everything and constantly 'squeaking'. On the front steps of his place we sipped 'pop' and munched chips in the sunshine watching the cattle munch in the fields. Sometimes we went to movies together; a big sci-fi fan to this day. Once in a while we rode in his 442- I 'd never seen such a car, Old farm trucks were my favorite though. Bumping along in the big bench seat made me giggle as my hair whipped in the wind.
  
    My uncle no longer lives at his little farm atop the hill; he's in town now and works for the city. Elvis is still king, and Batman rules, but the cattle and water trough are gone; those gravel roads are traveled by someone else these days. Every once and a while, in my memory, I travel the long way up...to the little farm...for a visit.