We’d watch the guys going in and coming out, and we knew one that’d be us. Out here in Funk’s Grove, those silos ain’t just a job. No, siloings a legacy.
It wasn’t easy work, running those silos, but my grandad had done it and my father had done it. There wasn’t much else to do round here, just farming and siloing, and I was born and bred to be a siloer.
But I remember one Christmas when I was growing up more then any other. All I wanted for Christmas that year was a tree, my very own apple tree. Dad said it would take up too much land though, that we didn’t have the room and that it wouldn’t produce enough for the family.
Sure enough though, when I came downstairs on Christmas morning there underneath the tree… was another tree.
Dad made me pick those apples all summer, and that was the happiest I ever remember being.