Son of the Wind by Leanne Eshleman Benner

1 a vintage birth he tiny town of Vintage, Pennsylvania cared little that life in urban cities was gearing up for the rampant change that would characterize the Roaring Twenties or that people were moving in droves away from provincial towns like theirs to the excitement and prosperity of big cities. The town’s name spoke volumes about its values—rural traditions, classic beauty, quiet simplicity, steady optimism, hard work. The winds of change blew hard against Vintage as trains barreled into town for the mail drop that was a mere hiccup on its mission to bigger cities. Their whale-like locomotives, as if to mock the up-and-coming cars poking along Route 30, spewed haughty plumes of soot and steam before thundering on their way.

Just on the other side of the high railroad bank from Vintage, the Eshleman farm stood proud and embodied the best that Vintage had to offer. Stately and clean, the house surveyed the unpaved, country road that streamed out from under the stone railroad bridge. Straight fences lined the road and partitioned off the grazing meadows where a few patches of clumpy, green grass stood strong like a chosen remnant amidst the fading browns of autumn.

Cows and sheep in the near meadows took time to watch the sparse Black willow trees bordering the Eshleman lane.

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