The Old Farmhouse

–Stories from The Dirt Road

It was a warm April morning, and the skies were dark in the distance.  A low rumble could be heard, a reminder that storms came without warning this time of year.  The road was full of ruts and potholes and the going was slow.  The years were kind to me and yet my most memorable memories were of this farm, the field, barns, and the old farmhouse.  I grew up here and walked these fields and swam in the creek now dried up and dusty.  It was a place that I would always call home.

The fields were overgrown, unplowed, and dusty trails cut across the land in all directions, revealing deep paths where deer walked in the night and early mornings looking for food and water.  The land slowly reverted back to a time before my granddaddy walked the acres seeing in his eyes a home to live in, crops ripe in the fields, and livestock roaming toward the distant creek.

It had been a place where family and friends gathered together at harvest time reaping the bounty that grew in the good soil, the rich moist dirt.  Daddy and my uncles built long tables and filled them with food from our land and we rejoiced in our blessings.  The children played and the sounds of laughter echoed across the fields and old men sat together remembering a life well-lived.

Mom was in her element sharing recipes passed down from generations and the grandmas were quilting on the porch telling tales, the folklore of our generations to the older children so that they would know why we farmed the land.  It was a time of abundance, of love, community, and blessings.

The farmhouse was the center of our life, the place where we shared meals and said grace.  We talked about what needed doing over a morning breakfast and prepared for the coming day.  We believed in our way of living, we cherished family, sat in church on Sunday, and said our prayers at night.

I walked under the pecan tree that was in our front yard and a sadness came to my heart, the old farmhouse was gone.  Even when I became quiet and listened, I could only hear the wind blowing across our farm and crows cawing in the distance.  There were no whispers heard, no ghost in the distance only the quiet of something that was abandoned, left behind and only the memories remain.


Larry Tyler
Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

DO YOU HAVE THE "WRITE" STUFF? If you’re ready to share your wisdom of experience, we’re ready to share it with our massive global audience – by giving you the opportunity to become a published Contributor on our award-winning Site with (your own byline). And who knows? – it may be your first step in discovering your “hidden Hemmingway”. LEARN MORE HERE


  1. Thank you my friend. Since I have retired I never think like a business man anymore. There are very little memories of that time. I live in a totally different mindset. I write from my memories of a different time, a simple time, the best of time. I leave these stories for my sons and my grandchildren so they will know who I was and what I did in life. Unfortunately the way I grew up will be gone and only the memories will live on as stories. Write your stories now my friend. You will find a new writer that has been waiting for you to embrace