Happiness Comes From Within :: Happiness Essays

Their farm was two hundred acres of corn fields, cows, pigs, and, of course, chickens. No farm would be complete without chickens. At the southeast corner of the farm, cigaret the smaller corn field, was the brook with clear cold water that reached past my knees. On most weekends my family would go to visit our friends, the Tailors, who had at one time seven boys to keep them company. All of them were grown with their own lives to attend to, except for Dan, who beared on at the farm to help keep up the crops. His younger brother Dave close up came choke to the farm, from the busy city, to visit and bring his children to see their grandparents. Even though they were about the same age as my brother and I, we did not play with them because they were rapacious and didnt suit our playing qualifications by continuously changing rules and cheating. It was rare that we encountered them anyhow, and that suited us fine. Most of the time we would stay the whole weekend. Our paren ts elected to sleep in a tent, while my brother and I slept in one of the some cozy bedrooms of the farmhouse. We loved it there and secretly both he and I wished that we could stay forever. There were separate reasons why we loved it there. My brother, Forest, had a choice of over a dozen different old cars and trucks. Forest was allowed under the hoods so that he could tinker with the engines and figure out how they functioned. He was a ten-year old mechanical genius. Everyone knew that he was going to grow up to be a mechanic. When he was five or six Forest found an old transmission behind the barn in two hours he had taken it apart and put it back together again without prior instruction. Old mister Tailor watched from a distance while Forest disassembled and methodically assembled the transmission to its original form.Our parents are proud and pacify equally impressed as the day it happened. They still brag and carry on about his genius endeavor, as they do with b oth of us for the many special encounters accumulated during our formative years. My reasons for loving that farm cannot be so simply expressed.