B.Y.O.M. ~ A trip to the farm

 Note: for privacy purposes all posts containing my family use altered names for each of them.  I chose to use the same aliases that I used in the Stanton Sisters series.  If you are interested in those books, they can be found here.   

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Not far from where we live here in central Ohio there is a little “Living Historical Farm” open to the general public for free.  Six days a week a full staff shows up dressed in 1880’s apparel, and runs the farm as it would have operated 150 years ago.  From plowing with draft horses to making their own brooms and churning their butter, everything is done, right there on the farm, as it would’ve been.  Often they will hold classes that allow guests of all ages to try their hand at things like making rope or tending the garden.  It’s a great way to educate kids on what farm life was like in that era.  

I also figured, when my kids were little, that it was a great way to get them some fresh air and wear them out, so that they would need to rest and I could get things done.   Unfortunately, after several failed attempts, I learned that *I* was always the one who left that place most in need of a nap.

That said, we would go visit the farm often.  The girls loved to watch the chickens, pet the horses, see the new lambs and calves in the spring, find cats in the barn, climb up to the hayloft, and play with all of the old fashioned games and toys in and around the old farmhouse.  

The toys were all era-appropriate, and therefore much different from anything in our toy box at home.  There were wooden blocks, hand-stitched dolls, cup and ball games, and a fantastic old wooden marble run that was the favorite of my second-born, Ellie.  She would look forward to that toy more than anything else at the farm, and sit and play with it for as long as I would let her; rolling dozens of marbles down the wooden track as fast as the she could drop them up top, watching them shoot out the bottom and pile up in the catch-box at the end.  

On one particularly sunny spring day shortly after Ellie’s third birthday we packed up lunches and the stroller and headed to the farm for a visit.  The entire 40 minute drive was filled with Ellie talking about all of the different colors of marbles, and the sound that they made rolling in the wooden troughs, and the way they crashed into one another and ‘clicked’ at the bottom.  She even knew how many she could hold in each hand before she had to grab more from the box.   My oldest, Tessa, was excited to see the lambs, and I just wanted to enjoy some sunshine, but both of us had to hear all about the marble run for much longer than we would’ve liked to.  Only baby Charlie seemed to not lose - or gain - any interest in the one-sided conversation.  

We arrived in the gravel parking lot in the late morning, and loaded the stroller down with a diaper bag, lunch and bodies; Charlie strapped in the front, and Ellie the marble-lover in the back. Tess walked along with me. 

We figured the toys would be in the house as usual, but I knew there would be trouble tearing her away from them, so I explained that we had to do the rest of the farm first before we went into the house.  I didn’t SAY that it was a rule (I don’t openly lie to my kids), but I may have implied it just a little.  This is the type of borderline dishonest that keeps mothers alive, cut me some slack.  

Ellie accepted this truth, bailed out of the stroller and climbed up on the fence next to Tess to watch the chickens for a moment.  I may have caught her with her mouth on the wooden rail before we were through there.  🤢  So, so gross.

When we left the chickens we walked around the garden, tried out the stilts and outdoor games and spent a few minutes enjoying the old swing and hammock.  I could see my marble-lover glancing through the windows as we walked past the house, but she remained patient and obedient.  We wandered through the outdoor “summer” kitchen where there was a potato stamping craft in progress.  After trying that out we washed up at the hand-pump and had a picnic lunch in the grass. 

After eating, we made our way across the creek to the big barn to pet horses and cows.  The back area of the farm was less stroller-friendly, so we parked ours next to the barn and I strapped Charlie into the front-pack and wore her instead.  In hind-sight I do see the error here, and I did eventually regret this.  

Behind the barn were a few coops of ducklings, and then the pig sty.  There were piglets, so despite the fact that the whole area smelled putrid, the kids had to pet them.  🤢  Tess was smart, and the only one sneaky enough to do so successfully.  Both of the older girls got plenty dirty trying, though; darting in and out of the hut and all around the fence trying to reach the grubby little runners.  They were covered in “mud” that I was certain wasn’t entirely mud, and squealed and squalled non-stop.  Kinda like my kids sometimes… 🤔😬

After pigs we ventured to the back pasture and found the lambs.  While squatting down and reaching through the rails to help Ellie pet one of them I looked down and noticed that Charlie was licking a sheep.  🤢  A little dirt - and lamb grime - is part of a healthy diet for a kid, right?  Please God let that be the case.  

Turkeys came next, and so much “gobbling” from both human and feathered creatures.  This time it was Charlie would taste a nasty old wooden fence, when she was close enough to try.  Drat that front-pack!  I forget how much of a radius my front needs with it on, and, apparently, my kids are all disgusting barbarians!  

We left the turkeys through the shed where the corn-shucking tools were.  The girls took their turns stripping a few cobs, and I’m pretty sure experimentally ingesting some corn.  🤢  It cannot have been fit for human consumption, but nobody died… maybe that means they’re actually animals in disguise… Also, strike three for the front pack.  That girls’ arms were just way too long.

We headed back across the creek, took a whiff in the smokehouse, and made for the house.  This is when I realized that I had forgotten the stroller parked by the barn, so we had to back-track to retrieve it.  Mom-brain is real, people.  Back by the summer-kitchen we washed up at the hand-pump near the house.  There was more splashing and drinking than there was washing, but we were finally ready to head into the house.  The back door was guarded by a grubby, attention-seeking, old tom cat.  Naturally, we had to stop and pet him first.  So much for clean hands.  Once inside the girls immediately made for the old dining room, and the toys.

Only, they weren’t there.  👀  This was not a positive development.  I could see the tears welling up.

One hot second before Ellie went into full nuclear meltdown a kind worker strolled through the kitchen and informed us that the toys had been cleaned, and were out drying in the sun in front of the house.  Hallelujah, things were about to get real there.  Phew.  And clean?!?!  Bonus!

We exited through the front door and found the toys, as promised, on a bench by the trellis.  Charlie was nearly asleep by this point.  Tessa found a whole basket of wooden blocks to keep busy with, and Ellie made tracks for the marble run on the bench.  I sat down next to it, ready to rest and supervise.  After all, they’d already eaten enough things today, marbles were not about to be another one.  And I was pretty fried by this point.  

Right away I saw Ellie’s little face fall.  The sorrow was immediately evident, but it took me a second to realize the cause for it.  There was only one lone marble sitting in the catch-box.  In the moments that followed we found a second in the grass, but a thorough search of the area yielded no more.  So, with a single marble in each hand, Ellie tried her best to enjoy the much-anticipated toy.  It was a valiant effort, but I could tell that she really was disappointed.  As we packed up to leave she looked back at the toys with an adorable little shrug and declared, 

“This place has a whole lot of animals, and not enough marbles.”  

It was at that moment that I realized just how much the farm and I had in common. 😅

So, moms of Substack and Blogger, if you ever suspect that your children might be more closely related to livestock than to you, and they have a habit of driving you out of your mind, then just know you’re not alone.  And if you ever find yourself visiting Slate Run, you should probably BRING YOUR OWN MARBLES… just in case.

In all honestly, this post is a tribute to a beloved destination that has given us so many wonderful memories throughout my children’s early years. If you happen to live in, or visit, central Ohio, please stop by and check out Slate Run Farm at Slate Run Park, located at

1375 OH-674, Canal Winchester, OH 43110

It’s a fantastic experience, and I highly recommend it!