FUN ON THE FAMILY FARM
-- By Sylvia B. Buttars 
There is a nice healthy American ring to the words, "Family Farm" This kind of life grew out of our nation's beginning and early in history people realized that the happiest people are those that live close to nature and where can one live closer to nature than on a farm? 
The early settlers of Clarkston were a sturdy people eager to make good in 
a new frontier. To them the possession of land was a means of security, and land was something almost sacred. Seeing the possibilities in little things, they were anxious to succeed and were not afraid of hard work. 
Thus it was that Peter Sheffield Barson acquired 160 acres of land located one and one-half miles east and a little north of Cla~kston. Here he carefully laid out a well-planned farm including a beautiful grove of trees known as "The Timber Culture," or "Barson's Grove." To any child and most grown-ups, this was an enchanted spot of a big, busy wor ld. 
There were no road signs leading to it. It was free and bewitching, and the "welcome" sign was always out. One almost felt there were unwritten welcome notes posted here and there on the trees that read: "The time to be happy is now. The place to be happy is here. The way to be happy is to make others happy." So-o-o, if trees could only talk, what interesting stories could be told. 
At any unexpected time, the members of the Barson family would receive this kind of a notice: "Hey, folks, it's party time again." It could mean a picnic, a family reunion, birthday party, a hurriedly prepared social in honor of relatives from Missouri, or maybe just a peaceful quiet afternoon at the grove in the cool shade for the women folk and children. 
Many times during the summer season one would see many horse-drawn wagons wending their way up the dusty lane to the grove. These wagons were filled with men, women, and children, anxiously anticipating another fun day at the grove with Grandpa and Grandma Barson. 
When all had assembled, and the teams were tied a safe distance from the picnic area, the fun began. The happy group both young and old were cordially and warmly welcomed; yet, cautioned to all mind their manners. Namely, the family rule (always clean up your plate). Seems Grandpa always wanted his grandchildren to become durable grown-ups and believed this training should start early. 
The warm noonday sun and soft breeze brought the tantalizing odor of wellcooked vegetables, roast beef, tempting salads, and fresh baked pies, cakes, and rolls. Old fashioned lemonade as a tangy thirst quencher was enjoyed by all -- even though the chill had been taken off by the long wagon ride in the sun. 

Oh, for the preparation of these socials. The women had gone to endless bother to make these events a big celebration. The food was prepared by all the women who came and only sickness kept any family a way. 
The children were everywhere and into everything, their squealing and laughter shooting up all over like little rockets. 
A t last the call "Dinner is being servedl! saved the day. Hungry-eyed children were served first. One can it imagine how many good laughs are in store when guests from 21 days to 80 years go on a picnic together. Somehow amid the laughter and talking and occasional crying of the babies the lovely picnic dinner was over. 
After that, the men sat around and talked big about the moneyed boys in Wall Street. They talked politics. They almost forgot their own troubles because everyone was in the same boat. 
The children played nDrop the Handkerchief, " "Blind Man's Bluff, " "Hide and Seek, n while others enjoyed the newly installed rope swings. 
The women cleared away the dishes and talked about a new gelatin fruit salad one of the nieces home from college had introduced that day. Every woman was burning with envy wondering how to get the recipe. 
The afternoon wore on and the children had about played themselves out and were wearily dropping on the quilts and grass to rest when one of the aunts called, IIIce cream -~ come and get it. il There was a noisy scramble for places, a little pushing and a few cross words. 
It seems homemade ice cream and cake has always been the most delicious party refreshment. Each family with an ice cream freezer had made a gallon or two so there would be plenty. The men brought ice from town as most everyone's ice houses had been sawdust bins for weeks. 
After the refreshments had been enjoyed, a short spicy program was given. 
There were recitations and short pieces by the younger people, a few off-key songs by the school children, stories or funny jokes by the adults. Then Grandmas I favorite songs were sung -- she especially liked "In The Good Old Summertime, " and "Red Wing. !I 
As the final clearing up of the picnic grounds was in process, one father said to his wife in a relaxed tone, "This surely was a good party." His wife tactfully replied, "It's another of those good old Barson get-togethers, and the children certainly enjoyed it. IY 
Oh, for the dozens and dozens of family parties held in that grove. If an unanticipated grumbling thunder storm unexpectedly made its appearance, those assembled quickly loaded lunch boxes, table cloths, quilts, and families into the wagons and dashed the two blocks to the Barson home. Here everyone was welcome and there was always room for all, and the program was continued. This time with the aid of musical instruments and gifted musicians. 
As families we learned to love and honor our grandparents and as children we were happy to know our parents I parents. 
Now time and old age have touched with decay the "Timber Culture" or "Barson Grove" and it is just a fond memory. As with all cherished by abandoned spots, those who knew it at its best are sad, not only because a famous landmark has deteriorated, but because the pleasures and romance of a fine recreational area can no longer be enjoyed by those now growing up in this pleasant little village which is "Our Town. " 
Hardly anything in the entertainment world today can really compare with my memories of the many pleasant, homey, friendly family gatherings at "The Grove. "