Thoughts from a wannabe old timer.
In the rolling hills of a tiny town called Terrace (population 19), an old grain mill stands tall. Back in its prime the waterwheel, powered by the steady flow from the mill pond, was a marvel of mechanical ingenuity that harmonized with the surrounding environment. Each turn of the wheel was a testament to the delicate balance between human ingenuity and the natural forces that drove it. The mill was a living, breathing entity, with every creak and groan of its wooden structure resonating with the heartbeat of the natural world. Stepping into this building I can feel the stories that need to be told (how I wish I could tell them) its beams and walls weathered by countless seasons.
What I do know is that back in its prime it was a hive of activity. The Terrace Mill, as well as many others in the rural communities of MN, were more than just a place where grain was turned into flour; it was where the community came together. Farmers would arrive with freshly harvested sacks of grain. I can picture the warmth of this place, filled with laughter and stories over the soft grinding of the stones. Golden sunlight pouring into paned windows, highlighting the flour particles in the air accompanying the aroma of freshly ground flour.
Today, the old grain mill stands as a historical landmark, the silent waterwheel resting in its underbelly, serves as a poignant reminder of the balance between human creativity and the natural world, and of the intangible loss that accompanies the relentless march of progress. I often think about how modern technology has replaced the skill of working with natural forces. The days when working with nature was more than a mechanical task; it was an art form. I wish I could know the stories of the millers who had once worked with the waterwheel, their lives intertwined with the rhythms of the pond, it’s ebb and flow coinciding with the changing seasons.
Last weekend we had the pleasure of being vendors at the Bluegrass Festival at the Mill. Seeing the bustling and joy of community around this special relic had me feeling a certain way. I’m not even an old timer but I really miss the intentionality of the way things used to be, and by doing things the old-fashioned way (like growing, milling, and baking bread here on the farm) I feel like we’re tapping into something much deeper. Tapping into the roots of our ancestors who were in direct relationship with the elements, no separation from nature, community, and the food they consumed daily. Because of this relationship, I can imagine they had a deep reverence for it all.
