I was 8 years old, and Christmas morning had arrived. Like most children my age, I hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Instead, I tossed and turned in anticipation, wondering what brightly colored presents would surround our Christmas tree come daybreak.
It wasn’t yet daybreak on our farm, but Mom and Dad were already stirring. So was I. Being the youngest child, I was by far the most eager of the siblings to rise and shine, especially on Christmas morning. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and the festive sound of Christmas music originating from the large record player just outside my bedroom door filled the air as I darted out from under the covers and into the living room.
The Christmas tree was already lit, and there, nestled around its base, were packages and boxes of every size and shape. My eyes swelled as I took it all in, kneeling beside the tree while scanning the notes affixed to every present.
But wait. What was that? I peered even further under the tree, and there, situated way in the back, was an item too large to wrap. It was a splendid wooden barn, painted red, with two large sliding doors in front and a green roof that opened from the top. And although it didn’t have my name on it, I knew it was for me! Later that same morning, after all the gifts had been unwrapped, I had a John Deere disk and a six-bottom I-H plow that, as luck would have it, fit perfectly inside.
In all the world that Christmas Day, there wasn’t a more perfect gift. The barn, hand-crafted with care by my dad, soon became the centerpiece of my “farm,” which covered a large portion of our basement floor. Over the next few years, it got a lot of use and, despite constant wear and tear, held up extraordinarily well.
Over time, however, my big, red barn grew increasingly lonely. The farm toys stockpiled inside sat idle, and the haymow, once home to an assortment of farm animals, was used to store books and miscellaneous clutter. Soon, more than 20 years had passed since it had received a child’s attention.
All that changed two years ago, when my 3-year-old son Garrett awoke Christmas morning. His soft footsteps and muffled giggles could be heard as he made his way slowly down the stairs and into the living room, where our family Christmas tree stood. It was already lit as he appeared from around the corner to inspect the brightly colored presents nestled around its base. All but one was wrapped.
There, situated way toward the back of the tree, without paper or bow, was the same big red barn that I had awakened to find 25 years earlier. Somehow, my favorite childhood Christmas present had made its way from West Bend to West Des Moines - and received a fresh coat of paint along the way. Garrett immediately pounced on it and put it to good use. Today, he and his 2-year-old brother, Grant, have made it the centerpiece of their “farm,” an expansive, bustling enterprise that covers a large section of our basement floor.
The story of the big, red barn is not unique. Members of each generation desire to pass along to the next those things that are important to them. For Iowa’s farm families, these include the land, air and water.
Stories detailing such efforts are few and far between. Yet a short conversation with Iowa farmers will quickly yield insight into how much they care about being stewards of the resources they’ve been blessed with. In the end, their most sincere goal is to pass along to the next generation the land and a way of life that’s in even better condition than when it was entrusted to them.
You won’t find a better gift than that … except for maybe a big red barn.
AARON PUTZE of West Des Moines is executive director of the Coalition to Support Iowa’s Farmers. This was originally written as a Feedyards & Backyards essay, commentaries on issues and people important to livestock farming. For more information, go to www.supportfarmers.com
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