Thanksgiving at the Farm

A warm fire, good food, and not a single comfortable chair in the entire house– welcome to Thanksgiving at The Farm.

The Farm is exactly what you might picture when thinking of a rural, country-themed lifestyle. Located at the top of a hill in quite literally the middle of nowhere Wisconsin, you have to drive 30 minutes outside of town just to get to the first back road off the highway to get to the driveway. The drive isn’t something you can just fly through either. Once you turn off Highway 14, there are potholes to dodge, deer, squirrels, and rabbits that make a game of how close to the car they can get, and, of course, the bridge farm always has some animal that has broken through its fencing and is hanging out in the middle of the road.

But once you get to the top of the hill and turn a corner, there it is. An 80-acre horse farm that, while retired from keeping horses, still holds all the structures and equipment to do so. The barn is visible from the second ridge, a huge structure that dwarfs the few horses living next to it.

You can’t see the house from the entrance to the gravel driveway. In fact, you can’t see anything at all until you get further down, except, of course, the big rock the farm was named after. Turning up the driveway, drivers enter a thick tunnel of trees that make you feel like you’re entering another world. On the left-hand side stands a massive piece of stone, left by some ancient glacier. Once, it was maintained regularly to let everyone see it. Since The Farm's retirement, weeds, vines, and moss have covered the stone, leaving its existence there only for the few who know to look for it.

Making it through the tunnel, the driveway is lined with oak trees on the left side, and pines on the right. If one were to look closely at the right side, one might catch a glimpse of a couple of horses still existing out in the fields. On the right, what was once a massive pasture is now a cornfield, but if you look at the ground closely, you can still see the holes where old fence posts used to be.

Halfway down the driveway is where the real sites begin. The oak trees on the right side stop, giving way to a massive wooden and metal structure. The barn stands tall, frozen in time looking exactly how it did 20 years ago. A small pasture starts on the front side and wraps around the back of it. Two horses live in that pasture, another two on the other side of the driveway.

The farmhouse is an old log cabin. Built entirely by my grandfather's hands, every log is carved into the perfect shape. The huge wrap-around porch is fenced in with twisted branches. The pathway to the front door was covered in stone and plants. An old steer stull used to sit on the path, but it disappeared one night and was never seen since. Soft orange light emanates from the house. Its high ceilings and open-concept kept lit and warm by an old wood stove that most people today wouldn’t understand how to work. Everything about this place has a story of how and why it was built. Its history is rooted in two people who searched half the United States for the right place to settle down and raise a family.

Holidays at the farm are warm, welcoming, and incredibly uncomfortable for your butt. The family will sit around the dining table for hours talking, on chairs with seats that are too small because they are from another century at a table that is huge, but just barely big enough to fit everyone comfortably.

Someone will dish dessert as we all talk but, oftentimes, eating is a second thought. Good conversation is instead the hallmark of what makes a successful holiday. If one were to view Thanksgiving at The Farm as an outsider, it could be compared more to a dwarven party from Lord of the Rings. That means that everyone is excited, yelling, and arguing about something.

The latest topic of conversation that has everyone up in arms is the seating, specifically the living room situation and dining chairs. Aunt Emily is threatening to buy Grandma and Grandpa a new couch. Mom is yelling that we need new dining chairs, and Grandpa says, “If you don’t want to be uncomfortable then don’t come here!” It sounds aggressive, but it's said with a twinkle in the eye, meaning that he doesn’t mean it.

“There are 11 of us here, and you have nowhere for anyone to sit comfortably! What happens when the family grows even more Dad? We need a new couch, you pick one out and I'll have it delivered for you,” Emily shot back. She had the same twinkle in her eye as Grandpa. A look that said, I'm right, but please challenge me.

Grandma put out the mini pumpkin pies. There were nine in total. Made from traditional pumpkin pie filling with graham cracker crust and decorated with fall-themed cupcake wrappers. A small bowl of whipped cream was laid out beside them and I watched as no one moved to take one. I felt a little sting that The Farm's seating took more importance than my first-ever contribution to Thanksgiving.

For two more hours, we all raged on about chairs, couches, beanbags, and other types of seating. The whipped cream had melted. It was decided that Grandma and Grandpa were going to build a new couch, and Grandma would sew padding for the dining chairs.

The battle of seating was decided, and the family settled down to finally finish Thanksgiving dinner. The mini pumpkin pies were a hit and the next heated discussion ensued. The topic this time, what holiday movie to watch.