I have mixed feelings about growing up on a farm. I had my own pony or horse. I loved the animals, actually enjoyed miling cows and goats. I was the only child so I played with the goats especially the kids and got knocked around by the nannys for misbehaving.
One of our horses was blind and the seetest, most loving crature
In the 40s many of the smaller farms still used horses. Tractors were for the bigger farms.
I didn't mind the gardening although my favorite was picking string beans. We made tents of the beens and because I was small I could crawl into the tent out of the hot sun and pick the inner beans. I hated hoeing corn. All that stuff got under my clothes and itched. There was no way to get out of the sun. I may have produced plenty of vitamin D but the discomfort negated it.
In the winter the creek that ran through our farm turned into a winter wonderland. We were on a hill with a wide terrace and stream bubbled and raced down small waterfalls which in the winter became ice castles.
Because I had my own personal means of transportation I had a good deal of freedom. The neighbors all knew me for a good ways around. I knew which ones I could go to and which ones to stay away from. I could visit the small town five miles from us and visit or take in the Saturday movies. I picked blackberries to sell and saved up my money. Would even lend to the adults from time to time. I was usurer (sp?) though I demanded 10 cents interest on the dollar. Got it too.
I feel sorry for those who grew up in cities and didn't even have the chance to spend summers on a farm.
Blind faith is a liability: Skepticism a necessity.