The Tattered Curtain

By Larry Tyler Columnists& Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360.com

It was a breezy April morning with a chill still in the air. I had driven up for a visit to the old farmhouse where I grew up. It is quiet here now, almost like time has passed this place by. I remember the farm as being an active place this time of year. The fields would have been plowed and the planting would have already started. Mom would have been in the kitchen filling the house with the amazing smells of hot biscuits and ham cooking, a fresh pie cooling on the windowsill.

It is not like that today. The quiet is almost unearthly like I am the last person on earth. I see the torn curtains flapping in the breeze. It seems odd that after so many years there would still be curtains on the window. I often remember the curtains blowing with the breeze. We always kept the windows open to cool the heat from the house. I loved looking out the window each morning and listening to all the sights and sounds of the new day. The tattered curtain reminds me that time had passed and all that remains are the memories and tattered curtains.

I have always cherished the way I grew up. I feel that I have never truly felt at home in the hustle and bustle of the city. There are few places to find the tranquility I so loved growing up.

The window has always held mystery for me. Its view told us many important things, what the weather was, seeing new flowers bloom each day or the dreary gray days of winter. It was a select view of our little part of the universe. To me, the farm seemed vast and everything seemed to be tuned to the cycles of the seasons. We could tell the weather by the way the air smelled, the time of day by seeing where the sun was in the sky and the seasons by where the sun rose and set. We knew when to plant as well as when to harvests the crops and even knew when the geese and ducks would come to winter and lay their eggs. It was always a sad time when they brought the babies to our front yard to say a final goodbye before heading north. We knew it was time to cut wood and put the hay in the barn when the cardinals, bluebirds and Baltimore Orioles showed up.

It was an unhurried time in my life, the world I lived in was vast and unspoiled.  Sitting down for our meals and talking about our day, realizing everyone had something important to say. Daddy was always teaching me the ways of the farm and our connection to nature. Not a day went by that I didn’t learn something useful. I can always close my eyes and always feel the calm silent vastness of the farm. It will always be a powerful guide to how I live my life and teach my children and their children. If I listen closely I can always hear the tattered curtain flapping in the breeze calling me home. The tattered curtain reminds me that time has passed and all that remains are the memories and tattered curtains.

Point Of View

I have always cherished the way I grew up. I feel that I have never truly felt at home in the hustle and bustle of the city. There are few places to find the tranquility I so loved growing up. We watch the weather channel to see if it is raining. We know the seasons by what clothing is in the store windows and if the garden center is open. There seems to be little mystery or magic in the world we live in. To be honest I have found success, happiness, and ways to give back to my community. It is fulfilling and rewarding what I do in life yet I long for the days I would reach down and hold the dirt in my hand and know it was good soil and things would grow well in it. Maybe one day I will go back and replace the tattered curtains and put new panes in the window, perhaps even a fresh coat of paint.

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