The Optimism of a Child

The Optimism of a Child.

We could hear the sound of car tires crunching along the farmyard road. Desperate to hide -my heart and head felt a shock of reality.

I had recently read a book by Jan Brett called “Town Mouse, Country Mouse.” I’m 6 years old and my cousins had come for a short visit from London.I lived in the heart of the Wiltshire countryside in England.
Jenny was five months older than me and Christopher was nine. My parents impressed upon me that I should show them around, explore with them and enjoy ourselves.
We set out across the fields. Over streams with our rubber boots slapping through the wet woods and the muddy hollows. We wandered the outer limits of my knowledge in directions I’d never explored on previous walks. We walked as far as I had ever gone before.

I took my responsibilities very seriously, expounding generously about all the many benefits of the country lifestyle. Being conscious of my ignorance of town life and with the story of “Town Mouse, Country Mouse” in my mind I worked hard and emphatically to convince my cousins of all the benefits and boundless joys of farming life. There was an obvious abundance of advantages and I pointed them out as we walked. All the great pleasures to be had were there within easy reach.
Somehow the sense of ownership slowly took hold of my imagination. At some point what followed can only be explained by understanding the expansive condition of my mental state.
Someone said they were thirsty and that set off a chain of decisions.

I had known, from some source, that people who lived in the country sometimes, when under pressure of need, would knock on a door to ask for a glass of water. It was common practise. A courtesy the countryside offered unlike that in the towns and cities of the nation. Or had I read that in one of my Enid Blyton books?
Past the long laneway and you could just see the outline of a tiled roof between the gap of trees in the distance. When we reached it I opened the little iron gate in the wall that surrounded the house and walked straight to the farmhouse door. I noted that it was painted in a very pretty pale green but was quite faded in the sun. I realized there were no boots or shoes or any signs of people living there. It was all very pleasant and tidy. There were no signs of personal possessions and it looked like it was abandoned..
I knocked a friendly tat-tat-tat and stood back as I had seen others do. No sounds from inside so I tapped again and waited thirstily on the doorstep.
Jenny said “there’s no one here.” We waited about two more minutes and then Christopher, who was standing at the gate, said “Hey look, there’s a basket full of eggs!” He took a few steps over to the basket that was just inside the gate and picked one of them up in his hand. His small fist surrounded that smooth egg shape. Before I could say anything he threw the egg high towards the roof of the house. I felt quite shocked but decided that I couldn’t point out to him that this isn’t good manners, not a thing to do. I pushed aside the thoughts that started to cram into my brain. Let’s just say then that a large part of me, at that moment, entered an alternate reality.
I replaced those other thoughts in my mind with the memory of learning how to throw balls with my older brother. He had spent time teaching me to throw overhand and my thoughts then went to how I could show Christopher my skills. My competitive spirit overwhelmed any other thoughts of self control at this point. I grabbed an egg and took aim and threw it higher up the wall than his egg had gone. Even with all my might I only flung the egg part way but not high enough. Somehow these aren’t just eggs anymore they are missiles for throwing as high as possible like little wet bombs. His egg is higher up the wall than mine but not by much.
We then throw all the eggs- one after the other until they are all gone. Our attention came back to the fact that there is no one around- not anywhere. A door in my mind opens that none of this even matters if there’s no one there.
I could just feel the emptiness of the little house- no sounds- near or far. We were in strange territory and in this new state of being a country mouse I am fully engaged in the belief that this is how it is. Just to be sure we peek into the little kitchen window. There is no sign at all of any inhabitants. No boots, no slippers, no dogs. Every farm has a dog. Where are they? They must have abandoned the farm. That is the only explanation we can understand.
Together we decide that they have left for good. Moved away to another place leaving behind this little farm.
Somewhere in my memory I’ve heard about this happening before. I can’t remember right now but I’m sure it happens. The three of us make the magical discovery that THIS COULD BE OUR FARM!
The concept was perfectly fitting for me and my cousins who were beginning to see the powerful pull of living in the countryside. Excitedly, we hatched some plans. Images came to my mind that to have a real farm meant the freedom to live the life of a farmer. It enveloped me completely in a reality of my own imagination from all the stories I’d read that I could do this. It was what I really wanted. That was my focus.
We decided to set off and explore OUR farm. I had boots, work clothes. I even had old tools that dad would give us. We would share it and they would come and move here with me even though I quickly decided I would never actually live in the farmhouse. I’d have to walk over early in the morning and late at night. Maybe I wouldn’t even go to school anymore.

As we talked about this we found our way to a large metal building. Right inside the doorway there was a neat row of rabbit hutches with soft rabbits looking at us from their wire windows. We decided we would need to feed them just in case nobody had given them food for a while. We didn’t know and we knew it was our duty.
Christopher reached up and opened two of the hutches and let the rabbits come forward to pick them up. Jenny took one and he took another. I immediately saw that there were babies inside. There were quite a few tiny hairless ones scrabbling to come out. I was delighted and tried to hold them in my hands but as I was cradling two of them already another one (or two) had slipped behind the hutch falling down out of view - out of sight, impossible to reach. Reality poked its head and we quickly put all the rabbits back inside, securely re-latching the cages behind them. It was a shock but we also realized there was nothing we could do about it.
Christopher was already ahead of us saying something about chickens over his shoulder as he disappeared around a bend. We entered another large metal building with two caged areas divided by a walkway in between. It was hard to take in what we were seeing because my eyes were darting back and forth, here and there trying to make sense of it. Dozens of chickens, grey metal water and food containers on the ground stuck in the middle. The commotion was deafening with their squawking, clucking, cackling. It was chaotic and overwhelming all at once. Christopher hit upon a great idea to help us manage. He shouted “let’s put them all together in one cage so it won’t be so much work!”
It struck me forcefully then that I would be left on my own to do this when they go back to London! My thoughts entirely focused on extracting from them the promise that they would definitely come back to help me. I would need a lot of help but not once did I think I wouldn’t be able to do it all alone. I knew it would be hard but I knew I could do it.

I remember seeing Christopher waving his arms to make them run away from him and thought how clever he was. But they were flying in all directions by now and none of them came out of the cage to go anywhere near the other one. We decided to give up for the time being and move along to explore further. We knew there were many more things to see.

We closed the door of the building behind us and to another part of the yard. Across from the building was a short stone wall with a row of barrels lined up in front of it. Once we got to the wall and looked over we were delighted to see the massive black back of the largest pig I’d ever seen. The pig was knee deep in black mud and I thought how nice that must feel. The barrels were more than half full of pellets and we each took a good handful and threw them in the direction of the pig. It crossed my mind that it was easy to feed pigs. In my head I started to notch up all the required jobs; rabbits, chickens, pigs.
As we left the pig stye behind we caught sight of a large barn at the far end of the yard. The giant doors were wide open. I knew about how enjoyable it was to play in barns and excitedly said “Let’s go!” Usually, in a barn, there is hay to climb, piles to jump into and down onto. You can build little houses and tunnel into them.
We started out for the barn at a run because we could hardly wait to see inside. It was very dark in there, especially to the back with stacks of wood leaning against one wall. We could play hide and seek - any number of games. As we’re about to discuss which game we wanted to play we could hear the sound of tires on gravel. Slowly but undeniably coming towards us.
Without a second thought or delay we ran into the barn and hid behind the stacks of wood. My heart was racing in a panic at the thought that ran through my mind.

Is it at all possible that this is NOT our farm?