MY SITE
  • BLOG
  • ABOUT DONNA
  • CONTACT

​​FUN

WITH
​
HEIRLOOMS





THE SURPRISE IN THE AERIAL PHOTO...

10/2/2021

14 Comments

 
Picture
In the pony lot on our farm, (formerly known as the chicken yard for previous livestock residents), I'm with my beloved Ginger, her foal, Frisky, and my nieces' pony, Snowball. Dad built our trash burner (in the background), and placed my handprint in the cement. The photo is well over a half-century old.
​If a picture speaks volumes, the one I'm about to show you below is the library of my childhood.

Recently my niece, Marlene, told me about finding old pictures of our farm, and of her family’s farm. She sent the business link: https://vintageaerial.com.

The company’s mission is “collecting and presenting aerial photos of rural America in a way that evokes personal, family, and community memories and encourages the sharing of our common history.”

The total collection encompasses 16,562,569 photos taken of U.S. farms and homesteads from the air from the 1960s through early 2000s. In Indiana alone, there are 1,124,058 photos.

Even though the archived collection is huge, modern technology makes finding a property that interests you easy. GIS technology identifies where the photos were taken, and places them in the proper time frame. I went to Union County, Indiana on the website and used a map to point to the area where our farm is located.

And there it was.  
Picture
Our farm in spring 1972. I was in seventh grade. Used with permission from Vintage Aerial photographs, https://vintageaerial.com.
​I consumed every inch of the landscape.

For starters, I looked east of the house, at one of our smaller fields bordered by an east-west county road. On winter nights when the trees were bare, I gazed out beyond that road coming home toward our house to see if I could see a light on the back porch or in a window. Whenever I hear “Back Home Again in Indiana,” when the song speaks of “The gleaming candlelight still shining bright through the sycamores for me,” the tears stream and my throat locks with emotion. I picture that road. It’s personal.

But for the grace of God, I came close to dying in that small field. My hands still break out in a sweat when I think about it too hard. Two springs after this picture was photographed, I rode along with another teenager while he plowed that field. He drove too fast over the bumpy land and I went airborne toward the blades of the plow. It happened fast, as accidents do.

I saw the blades coming toward my face but somehow, and I can only credit divine intervention, I landed on the ground, unharmed, except for the shock of what could have been, and purple bruises that dramatically covered the width of my thighs before they turned the colors in a Mood ring in the weeks that followed. (Try explaining THAT to your gym teacher.)

When I see our home, where my paternal grandparents lived before us, I think first of my late mother who would be 107 now. It is a strange feeling to think of one’s parent being on the brink of too old to any longer even be alive statistically, and to have zero remaining age peers.

Home and my mother are one and the same. And again, it’s the music that gets me, this time from “On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away.” Only for us, the farm bordered the banks of the Whitewater River, nearby.

I try to look through the photo's house windows, into the kitchen and living room. I’m sure she’s in there, but I don’t see her…

My focus then goes to the barn where I fell out of that haymow once, but again, angels were watching over me … I broke nothing.

So many memories there, of feeding the cattle in the barn stalls on winter afternoons after school, of heirlooms in the attic, now dispersed throughout the family; of Dad spending so much time there, and the glow of the barn light on the pond when he worked inside the barn after dark.
I think of him welding at his work bench, and how small farmers had to be jacks of all trades. My father was that.

Outside the barn is that Hoosier classic, a basketball rim where my father and his younger farmhands would shoot a few hoops. Dad was a Brownsville Lion basketball player and he and I loved to discuss his glory days of old.

Still. It’s the slightly opened barn door that gets me. Dad never left the barn yard with the doors open, so I knew: he was there, inside. Seeing this picture 49 years later, something in me wanted to jump out of today and into yesterday; into that 1972 barn yard and see my dad.

But it wasn’t until the larger picture arrived, that I got a real surprise, one you can’t see in the online proof, and you have to look hard to find it in the large print.

As my eyes fell carefully on the old Ford tractor, I realized that between the tractor and plows stands a person. He’s almost more stick figure than man unless you know who you’re looking for and I was looking for my dad.

It’s him! My father is looking up at the plane flying low and slow over his farm. Did he know its purpose was for a photographer on board to take photos? I doubt it. Could he have even dreamt that nearly half a century later, his only daughter would be looking down at him, inside a photo captured against all odds in that moment? Of course not.

While my mother was the heart of our home, my dad was the heart of our farm, and the irony doesn’t escape me that he is shown at nearly the center of this landscape, his domain, inside our shared world.
​
Indeed, it was my world. I know every inch of that space, from the grain bin where in the fall I’d climb the ladder with my nieces and nephew and then descend inside where we used rakes to even out the mountains of corn to better help it dry.

I think of that practice, and surely how dangerous it must have been without any of us thinking of it then. What if we had fallen into an air pocket and suffocated? More sweaty palms.

And the pond. There Dad taught me to swim and my friends and family members had endless summer afternoons on that country body of water where we tucked ourselves into innertubes and floated around or dove off the diving board on our little pier. Both were no doubt made by my dad.
Picture
Grandpa Roscoe Jobe with my brother (Roscoe's first grandchild) David on his pony. My dad, brothers, and I all had our own ponies growing up. The summer kitchen, which still stands today next to the house, is in the background. From the early 1940s.
​There’s more, so much more, from the summer kitchen behind the house that served as our storage shed to Dad’s school bus parked out front, to the driveway to the barn lot where once I rode on the back of a friend’s bicycle and we went flying down that drive, not realizing there was an electric fence straight ahead to keep the cattle corralled. Yes, we plowed right into it and my whole body got quite the jolt as indeed, the electricity was turned on!
​
You’ll never define domestic bliss as a home with a white picket fence if you’ve ever painted one, as I did ours. There’s a glimpse of our front sidewalk and porch where my nieces and I put on “shows” for the neighbor kids featuring singing, tap dancing, and crowning annual queens!
Picture
Grandma Jobe in hog heaven ... or something like that, behind the barn. The summer kitchen (right, background) remains as does the barn. This photo was probably taken in the 1950s.
We had names for all kinds of parts of our farm. There was the North Farm, some acreage Dad bought in the 1960s to add to his parents’ original purchase. There was the chicken yard, later defined as the pony lot, where the outhouse is shown. There was the croquet yard, south of the house.

See the tree at the south end of the open space? I fell out of that one a couple years before this photo was taken. I’m sure it resulted in a concussion because I was briefly blinded, or remember it that way, until the sight returned while I still sat on the ground.

The country road on the west part of the picture bears our family name.

Brian asked where I’ll display the enlarged picture. I can’t decide. But I made him promise to one day hang it inside my nursing home room.

Note: The photo is used with permission of Vintage Aerial. Find your own farm roots at the website, https://vintageaerial.com. I’d love to hear about the surprises you find.
14 Comments
Elizabeth Wilson
10/2/2021 10:37:40 am

This brought tears to my eyes, Donna. I can not think of a better childhood, than in the country. Thank for this!

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/2/2021 10:42:59 am

Awww Beth, you know the area so well. I remember going sledding on your farm with Cheryl.

Reply
Sandy Mooore
10/2/2021 02:09:19 pm

This is such a wonderful blessing to read and I know you were on top of the world when you got this treasure. I love the farm too.

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/2/2021 02:46:17 pm

Thanks, Sandy. Once a farm girl, always one.

Reply
Colleen Klingman
10/3/2021 05:28:06 pm

Thanks for sharing!! I still remember the summer day Cheryl took me to your house to swim and as we were walking to the pond, me feet almost met a snake snd your dad seen it and chopped its head off!!! Such good childhood memories growing u in the country❤️

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/3/2021 08:25:43 pm

Colleen,
Wow! I don't remember that but that would be my dad. He HATED SNAKES!

Reply
Gay Kirkton
10/3/2021 05:57:40 pm

Donna,this is beautiful? Makes me cry!

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/3/2021 08:28:25 pm

Gay,
Thank you! Such a flood of memories from that photo. The company did this in Illinois too. I bet there are photos of yours and Rick's farm homesteads.

Reply
John Estridge
10/4/2021 01:44:03 am

Donna, you have such a gift for writing. You evoke such emotion -- my tears attest to that. I am so happy you get to ply your trade, and we get to enjoy it. Thank you very much.

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/5/2021 05:12:18 am

Oh John, I remember when I was about 14 or 15, and you 16 or 17 and we sat in Cheryl's kitchen in Philomath and talked about how we wanted to become writers.

We're living the dream! We get to do what we love, and have for a long time now.

Reply
Rex Bell
10/4/2021 04:49:03 am

Love this! Most of my childhood memories happened on 100 acres in Henry County.

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/5/2021 05:22:01 am

Rex, we're blessed to have grown up on small Hoosier farms.

Reply
JoAnna (Isaac) Hann
10/4/2021 04:28:33 pm

I always enjoy whatever you write. I loved this. I didn't realize that your pony was Ginger. I am assuming this is the same Ginger that was passed to our family when we were renting from your Dad? I haven't seen a picture of Ginger or snowball ever(I used to ride snowball alot). I always wondered where Ginger came from, where she went to. Sad now to know she was yours.
I also remember the trip that you Marlene, me and my sister took, and maybe Sue Hess but I can't quite remember if she went or not- we road the ponies to Brownsville and back.

Reply
Donna R Cronk link
10/5/2021 05:28:44 am

Joanna,
Such memories! YES, it was the same Ginger but don't be sad. I enjoyed her from second grade on until about junior high when dad literally "horse-traded" something with Clyde Abrams who lived in the house where you lived before you did. Dad got me a small horse named Buck.
Once I rode him down by where you lived and you guys had a dog, I think a German shepard, that came out and spooked him. He reared up and I fell off. In another near-miss injury that could have been really bad, I can still see his hooves coming down toward my face and I rolled away. Your mom came out of the house and found me on the ground. It really scared her and I remember her hugging and cradling me for a few moments. I always loved her for that. She was such a nice lady, always had a big smile.
Once I started driving, that pretty much ended my desire to ride Buck and ride around the "neighborhood." Now what I wouldn't give for one more nostalgic ride on those back roads of Rural Route 1, Brownsville.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    DONNA CRONK

    FUN WITH HEIRLOOMS
    is my most popular program for 2023, inspired by my memoir There's a Clydesdale in the Attic: Reflections on Keeping and Letting Go. Contact me to hear about my programs for your event.

    CONTACT: Let's talk about it. Call me at 317-224-7028. Email:
    newsgirl.1958@gmail.
    com.  



    Archives

    January 2023
    December 2022
    November 2022
    October 2022
    September 2022
    August 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    March 2022
    February 2022
    January 2022
    December 2021
    November 2021
    October 2021
    September 2021
    August 2021
    July 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015

    Categories

    All
    Age Thing
    Aging
    Author Journey
    Christmas
    Clydesdale In The Attic
    Cooking
    Cooties
    Crafts
    Creepy!
    Decor
    Faith
    Family
    Farm
    Fashion
    Friendships
    Gardening
    God Bless America
    Gratitude
    Guest Posts
    Hair!
    Halloween
    Holidays
    Home
    Indiana
    Indiana Bicentennial
    Keeping The Peace
    Life Connections
    Mail Call
    Newspapers
    Next Chapter
    Pen Women
    Photography
    Poison Ivy!
    Quilting Club
    Reggie
    Retirement
    Sadness
    Seasons
    Seller's Cabinet
    Shopping
    Sleep
    Snow Day
    Tourism
    Travel
    Union County
    Weird Food
    What We Keep
    Writer Chicks Society
    Writing

Proudly powered by Weebly
Photos used under Creative Commons from Lise1011, Simone Ramella, StarsApart, Biblioteca General Antonio Machado, kennethkonica, roseannadana: Thank you for 3 million views, GotCredit, chuck4x5, besnette, nielskliim, James E. Petts, jeffdjevdet, rumolay, kkmarais, tgrauros, susivinh, Larry1732
  • BLOG
  • ABOUT DONNA
  • CONTACT