Golden Sea Farm
Golden Sea Farm Golden Sea Farm Have you ever wondered how two brothers can grow up in the same family and turn out completely different? It happens all the time. My younger brother Eric and I both grew up on the same farm in Iowa and are only two years apart in age. We both moved to St. Louis, Missouri, after college. We even both volunteer at the same youth group, taking kids on field trips. So here is how you can tell us apart: we have totally different personalities. Eric is the one who ta
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Golden Sea Farm
Golden Sea Farm
Have you ever wondered how two brothers can grow up in the same family and turn out completely different?It happens all the time.My younger brother Eric and I both grew up on the same farm in Iowa and are only two years apart in age.We both moved to St. Louis, Missouri, after college.We even both volunteer at the same youth group, taking kids on field trips.
So here is how you can tell us apart: we have totally different personalities.Eric is the one who takes the youth group kids on the roller coaster.After a day with Eric, they are giggling and throwing their arms around his neck.They call him "Uncle Eric." Me? I'm Mr. Torgersen. No friendly "Uncle Luther" for me.I take the kids to the museum, after which they thank me politely. You probably understand the difference.
From our neighborhood in St. Louis, it is less than 200 miles to "Golden Sea."Golden Sea is the name of our old farm in Iowa.According to family memories, my great grandmother Signe named iton a gorgeous autumn day during her first year on the farm.
As soon as Signe and my great grandfather Torger Torgersen arrived from Sweden in 1858,they planted about two acres of wheat in a field.The field was right in front of where they wanted to build their cabin.
Later that autumn, they finished building the cabin that would shelter them during the first winter.Signe looked at her little golden wheat field, waving in the wind.She planned to bake bread with that wheat all winter.They would survive on milk, bread, cheese, turnips, and the kindness of their Swedish American neighbors.But for now, she forgot all the worries.
Signe rocked gently in her rocking chair and felt the cool breeze and warm sun on her face.She was watching the golden grain moving like waves on the sea."Golden Sea," she said, using two English words she had recently learned.Our family has called the farm 'Golden Sea Farm' ever since.
When Eric and I grew up, we moved away from the farm, and our family later sold the farmhouse and land.Not long ago, Eric called me up with an idea for the youth group field trip."Let's take the kids out to Golden Sea for the day!They can run around, breathe some clean air-it'll be great!"
There were so many reasons I thought this was a bad idea. I didn't know where to start."First of all," I said, "We haven't been back there in a long time.We don't even know who lives there now.And besides, we can't just show up on somebody's doorstep with a dozen twelve-year-olds. It's just not done."
Well, you probably can guess who won that argument.Two weeks later we were loading the kids into the vans and heading north to Golden Sea, our beloved boyhood home.
