Old farmsteads have history. They tell stories. And, whether you believe in them or not, if you listen and pay attention, you can hear ghosts.
The wind sweeps through the ancient pine tree, blowing ephemeral tales of older, simpler times. As you walk down the grassy lane, the ghosts will follow. But don’t be afraid. They have yarns to tell. Continue onward.
Force open the gate, rusted and ensnared in weeds. Brittle hinges moan in protest. Walk on a little further. Dry twigs crunch with each footfall. You arrive at the barn, where a wraithlike howl rustles through the hay loft. Walk down by the pond, and a specter breezes through the cat tails.
On your way back to the farmhouse, listen carefully. The phantoms of field and garden will tell you their chronicles of hard work and toil. Once you’ve reached the house, the rasping spirit of the screened porch offers a welcoming cackle as you come inside.
Once within, scarred and unfinished, wooden floors cry out as you saunter through the rooms. Walk up the stairs. The fifth step groans under foot. Sit in the rocker on the landing, and the apparitions will tell you more stories: ones of tears and fears, of babies born and joyful celebrations.
If you listen, you will hear. If you ask, the ghosts will answer. All you need do is be a willing vessel and they will fill your imaginations.
