My Papa's great grandpa had come from Germany.
All the way from Germany, on a big boat, to buy farmland.
The story was that he had traveled around the country with two oxen hauling a wagon filled with his furniture and tools. All the way from New York State, looking for the perfect piece of land.
He had finally found it here in Michigan and he and his wife cleared the land all by themselves.
There was a woods where they wanted to build their house and barns so he and great grandma cut down trees and hauled them to the nearest saw mill with a team of horses.
With the wood, they had built a large farmhouse and barns. My great grandpa, my grandpa and my Papa had been born in the house, the house we now lived in. My big brother Davey and I had been born here too.
Indians had lived on the land long before. My Papa knew that because he had found arrowheads made from stone, while he was plowing the back fields.
"The Indians were very good people," Papa said when he gave the arrowheads to Davey and me.
"They were just like we are now. They took good care of the land."
Our farm was the first one in the area to get electricity. Papa said he could remember, when he was a very little boy. The men came in with teams of horses and set the big poles and pulled the wire through the poles and up to the house and barns.