VIRTUAL FARM

THE VIRTUAL FARM
R. D. Ice

In 1931 the house on Refugee Road
became the home of K. C. Ice
and Joseph Roberts,
brother of his mother.
This began what was to be
many years at the Ice Farm.

Years have rolled by.
K.C., Rosa, and now McGarvey,
for many years the patriarch
of the Family, have gone on
to their reward.

Change is part of this life,
and change has come to us.
The "Farm" is no more.
Someone else lives
in the house, things
are not the same.

The old house has been
refreshed
with a new roof,
a new foundation,
restored to its pristine glory,
a country farm
in the middle of
Columbus, Ohio,
but no longer ours.

We are the Family, tied
by many memories
of the past we shared together.
Online we keep in touch,
celebrating who we are.

The Farm is still our home,
and through virtual reality
we have our memories.
We have pictures from
the outside and the inside
of this Farm
as it once was when it
was alive with our presence.

Kodak and the CD-ROM
they are now producing,
can keep alive pictures
and thoughts of our past,
to be easily called up.

We click My Pictures
and select scenes we wish
to view to place ourselves
in never to be forgotten
times of old.

We try to pass on this
sense of Family to
children, grandchildren,
future generations who
are still to come.

We hope to provide a virtual Farm,
to create new memories,
to preserve this Tree of Life
which centers around us,
we - the Family.
Other families have
pages on the Internet
monuments to their own
personal Tree of Life.

As we are getting older, family
becomes more important to us.
Old days are treasured,
memories cherished,
even when they exist no more -
only in days long faded and gone.


VIRTUAL FARM, PAGE 2
R. D. ICE

We take the Brice Road exit
from the Interstate, and
turn toward the village of
Brice, which still exists.

We turn down Refugee Road,
just past the Electric Company,
and turn in the driveway
under spreading trees.

Mom stops our car in
the driveway, I step out
to take a good look,
drinking in the aroma
of familiar loved things.

The barn is straight ahead,
across the parking area.
A row of sheds
is along one side.
The house is behind us,
to our right.

This is country! - even though
the huge Metropolis
is surrounding us
on all sides.
Pull off your shoes and
run barefoot through
luxurious green grass!

To the left of the barn
are the remains of an orchard,
what is left of the chicken-house,
where White Leghorns once lived,
and a shed that housed
a family of ducks, bought to eat,
but kept as pets until
they grew old and died.

Behind the barn, what was
once a pasture is now
overgrown with spindly
trees and bushes.
Behind that is now a swamp,
since drainage tiles
were damaged
by the Electric Company
in some of their digging.

We walk toward the house
to the back porch,
go in the screen door
which bangs shut behind us.
We go down a hallway
with peeling linoleum
on the floor. Turn
the door knob and
step into the kitchen.

Ella May looks up.
She is chopping carrots.
She gives us a hug,
then goes back
to chopping again.
She is dressed in a
faded denim jacket
with her boots on.

Two kerosene heaters
provide the heat in
winter, and even though
summer seems to be here,
she still wears them.
McGarvey is sitting in
his chair, watching TV
with a book in his hand.

Behind the television
a dysfunctional door
leads onto a time-ravaged,
broken front porch.
The living room is dark,
but rich in tone.
The door-frames
are original wood,
dark, intricately carved,
crooked. In the place
of doors hang heavy,
musty curtains.

McGarvey puts the coffee on,
placing just one spoonful
in the pot and boiling it
until it looks black enough.

In the downstairs bedroom
Western paperbacks line
three of the walls.
The bed was removed
some time ago.

There still is a cot in
my old room, where
R.D. slept forty years ago.
When the doctor came to
examine McGarvey the
day before he died,
he placed him on that cot.

I enter the "family room,"
used for special occasions,
always chilly because of
broken, airy windows.

An old stove -
which I have never seen used -
stands tall and black,
a pipe issuing from its top
that leads into a wall
and away to some
unknown someplace.

Sheet-draped chairs
face each other across
the room.
A dusty green couch
stands guard over
fragile games from
my mother's childhood.

An elderly piano, out of tune,
with broken strings and
clunking pedals stands
before a water-stained wall.

Old Mad magazines
and paperback books
line two walls.
The window-glass is
held together with
duct tape.

As my sister picks out tunes
on the old piano, I pick up
a MAD magazine from
September '66, sit down
in a sheet-preserved chair,
and begin to read.

But this is the Farm!
It's character is given
by the people who
live here - lived here -
even though they
are now gone.

It is an oasis of "folk culture"
breathing the years of
four generations or more
of Ices and their families
and "in-laws" and "out-laws."

Ices have been many things:
doctors, teachers, preachers,
writers, workers,
often in a supporting role,
but people who have made
a difference in the world
in which they lived.

We are all human beings,
given talents of many kinds,
but talents that we must use
to be a blessing
to others in our world.

Thank God for memories,
for families and
good times and bad,
times we can hold
and cherish
and take out
and reexamine.

The Virtual Farm can
still be real to us
even though it
has become home to
another family
not known to us.
[adapted from The Farm 1991]


VIRTUAL FARM, PAGE 3
R. D. ICE

The country is a great place
for children to grow up.
Being close to nature
brings an appreciation
of life.

Animals smell, they
sometimes bite or scratch,
and they require
constant care.

Chores are
never done it seems.
Chickens need to be fed,
cows always require milking,
weeds grow in the garden,
but the rewards are great!

Money was in short supply,
food was not, and
the land was good to us
as we reaped its benefits.
I did a lot of cooking for
the other children. It was
natural to fry large skillets
of potatoes and onions,
all in bacon grease, of course,
as we had no concern for
cholesterol then.

Pinto beans were also
a favorite, with dumplings
made of white flour.
Lots of milk and cream,
provided by a Jersey cow.

But the most important
item was that we were
a church-family. This
was our "folk-way"
and was integral to
our normal way of life.

Our family were heirs of
The Restoration, although
we didn't think of it that
way then. For much of
the depression years we
attended the 5th Avenue
Church of Christ in
the edge of Columbus.

Mostly factory workers,
transplanted from rural
areas and keeping
the rural flavor.
We accepted each other
and helped each other
in spite of cultural
differences.

The Ices were education
oriented, with my mother
and father both schoolteachers,
granddad a medical doctor,
grandmother a teacher also.

I learned to read before
I went to school.
Books were cherished
and thoroughly read.

Church was our way of life,
and The Christian Standard
was a weekly visitor
in the mail.

Sunday mornings we
were up early
to drive into town
to worship God
with our loving church family.

In later years the people
of Project Italy made
the Farm a place to
visit frequently.
Twenty or thirty might
sleep on the floor in
the "family room."

Before TV, meals were
more formal, a time to be
together, yet not really a
time of communication.
We were not that talkative.
But, grab your plate
and run to the TV
became the way.

The radio ran on batteries
in depression years,
and electricity had not yet
come to the Farm.
Listening to the radio
was a treat, seldom done.
Batteries cost money!

But around WWII
wires were strung and
Rural Electrification
became the order of the day.

Now radios play on and on
with no one really listening.
TVs are turned on in
the morning and
off at night - but
is anyone watching?

Yet life is about people
and families. Relationships
exist. Old people said,
"Blood is thicker than water."
Each of us is woven into
the tapestry of life, each
relating to and touching
those who are part of us
as we are part of them.

Perhaps some of us are
halfway around the world
in a foreign country. Yet
we are still "family" and
our love and concern
will always exist.


VIRTUAL FARM, PAGE 4
R. D. ICE

We look to the future!
New days lie ahead
and our children and
their children and
new generations will
build new memories
as they seize the
opportunities which
come their way.

I grew up with Space,
which was fantastic
then, but what will be
the new reality?

New generations are
growing up, and
future doctors, teachers,
preachers, and others
will come from our roots.
We are part of what God
is doing here. He
created us and
gave us life!

When Jesus Comes,
the Church will be waiting
as we who are alive
are caught up together
with Him!

Until then life will go on
with much more of the same,
yet for those who live
it is all new and fresh.
Thank You Lord!
You give us so much!
How will You surprise us today!?