5/23/19
Today, we went to Carriage Hill Farm, a park in Dayton. This park has houses dating back to the 1880’s, belonging to the Arnold Family. With the Arnold family no longer living there, it was converted into a park/museum. There were a multiple attractions: a pond, cemetery, gift shop, museum and the barn.
My group first went out to the pond, where there was not much to see other than a windmill. We then ventured to the stream. The stream was cool, and surprisingly fast. We decided to take our shoes off, because we did not want to get our shoes muddy. This turned out to be painful, as the base of the river was layered with rocks. It was painful to navigate the stream, but we made it to the banks where there were stones to skip. After doing that for a while, we retreated to the bridge from which we lowered into the water, and dried out feet off. We then proceeded to walk to the cemetery. The cemetery was four stone walls, short enough to see over, encompassing 9 gravestones. The gravestones looked to be of the same family, the Arnolds. There were many weeds growing in the walls of the cemetery, which gave it a very eerie look. Not waiting any longer, we went back to the gift shop area to have lunch.
The museum had a lot artifacts from the Arnolds’ house from centuries ago. I got the impression that life back then was very simple; it was mostly an agrarian society. Their farming was called “subsistence farming”. This means that their harvest was all consumed by the family, and none of it was sold. Most other families did this, so there was no demand for the farmers to produce a surplus. These farmers probably lived more deliberately than we do, as they had quiet and peace in their home. They also had to work for their food, which is something we take for granted today. The farmers did the bare minimum, and looked just as happy.
Narrative from Windmill:
I am alone, yet you can see me from miles. I am a windmill, high upon the hills to harness the wind’s energy. It is a lot of energy, in fact. I wish I could reach out and harness all the wind that my short arms are not able to reach. I do have a great view, though. I can see the whole village, and everything that happens in it. The green farms, the wooden shacks, and the flower fields. I have seen everything there is to see. Countless sunrises, sunsets, seasons, and years. I can see the clamor of the markets, but I cannot hear a single voice.
I occasionally have some visitors, who always look tired after making their way up the hill. However, I am happy to be at their service; my job is to mill grain. When the wind spins my arms, I can spin the mill. I can do this in great quantities, which is convenient for the people down in the village. They can only use their dainty arms to mill a percent of what I mill. Nevertheless, the visitor has procured the grain that I have worked so hard to mill. Another visitor brings grain to fill up the mill. I am hard at work again, wind permitting.
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