I had an idea to try something I did when I was about thirteen, to climb the newer, taller silo. I wanted to see if I could, and I wanted to see really far.
It was daunting. I don't especially like heights, and my balance has never been the best. But I hung my Instamatic camera around my neck and climbed the metal rungs, sometimes pausing in the chute to rest.
My knees shook, but I climbed to the top and was rewarded with these views. It was haying time because I can see the elevator and piles of hay by the roof line of the barn.
The corn was tassled out, so it was probably July. The old silo is here too. It has a cement cap; the new one was open to the sky. My younger sister and I would play in the old silo in summer when it was empty, singing and shouting because we liked the echoes, making the pigeons fly up in protest.
I imagined that if I introduced myself and showed the people these photos, maybe they would invite me to Try again, see what the changes of 44 years look like. But it isn't going to happen. My knees would object, for one thing. There isn't enough ibuprofen and ice to soothe them after a climb like that. And of course the view would be memorable for what is missing, both barns, the milk house, the corn cribs, the outhouse. New things have been added, a garage, extra rooms on the house, but that view is for some new child to discover.