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5trip a hundred times. You were always alone, by yourself in the cab of the truck. Meanwhile, in the mill room and the waiting area below, there was often significant activity. As long as there was grinding and sacking to be done, two or three able-bodied men were kept busy toting sacks. There were also usually some farmers gathered about to pick up the latest gossip. If the weather was bad, or a big rain the night before had kept the farmers out of the fields, there could be a dozen or more, all participating in the conversation. There were three or four dilapidated chairs to sit on and several bales of straw which were less risky. The conversations were continuous, often several men were speaking at the same time. The subjects were as diverse as one%u2019s imagination. Who had the latest baby? Who was getting a divorce or getting back together. How were the crops? What was the yield? Was the new variety of wheat worth the extra seed cost? Who was hurt in the corn picker? Had anyone seen Everett Funkhauser%u2019s new Chevy pickup? Whose hound won the fox chase last night? Often a housewife would drive by and ask, %u201cHas anyone seen Jack?%u201d Someone always had a new joke. I%u2019m sure that some of them were not intended for young years but everyone laughed, so I did too%u2014although I often wasn%u2019t sure why I was laughing. Sometimes there were political arguments, usually intense, but not lengthy, because no one%u2019s mind was going to change. One morning two brothers got into a fist fight that ended with one of them out cold on the dusty floor. Then there were those alwayspresent black flies buzzing around searching for an exposed neck or arm. The mill had a number of items for sale. In addition to grain, straw, and hay, there was a limited variety of feed supplements, Purina Hog Chow or Chicken Chow, soybean-oil meal, some firstgeneration antibiotics. There was a Coke cooler (no such thing as a Diet Coke), usually with a block of ice, but it was often melted into water. Just outside, there was a hand pump with cold water and an old cup which everyone used. Baby Ruths, Butterfingers, Camels, Marlboroughs and, oh yes, Mail Pouch%u2014plus fly swatters. If there had been a church social the night before, there could be some leftovers, but they didn%u2019t last long.Libertyville%u2019s grain elevator has been gone for years and, I%u2019m afraid, the same can be said for many of those good souls that traded and relaxed in its mill room. Yes, gone but not forgotten! I shall always remember those wonderful friends I grew up with in Fayette Township. I can swear it is true, %u201cYou can take the boy off the farm but you can%u2019t take the farm out of the boy.%u201d If you don%u2019t believe me, ask my wonderful wife Kitty. She will tell you I still want to grow my own tomatoes.There was so much in common, whether joking around at the grain elevator, or visiting at 4-H or Farm Bureau meetings, the rural youth square dances, or the county fair. There were no airs, no %u201ckeeping up with the Joneses.%u201d You were what you were. What was on your back was not important, it was what was in your heart that mattered. There is something about living on a farm that makes one appreciate the basics of life. Following the life cycle from seed to plant to crop, and being surrounded by piglets, newborn calves and chicks, and seeing them grow to maturity, reminds one of the fundamental elements of life, the satisfaction of hard work and a job well done, the importance of friends, a sense of openness, honesty, trustworthiness, faithfulness, love of country, and the blessings of the Almighty. All of these are as important today as when I was a lad in jeans with no shirt on, trying my best to grow up in the shadow of that grain elevator. Yes, the elevator is gone, but the lessons learned there live on.Birch BayhWashington, DCOctober 2006