My Generational Journey
Born. Raised. Living. Dying. Leaving. Staying.
I was born and raised on this property. Purchased in the late 1950s by my grandparents, John and Lois, this land is my legacy, my life force. It shapes who I am, how I think, feel, and move forward. Life decisions are based around keeping this land and its magic alive for generations to come.
Families gather here to celebrate, to mourn, to escape, to create, to seek solace and hope, and to experience the power this land offers.
My childhood was amazing.
My days were filled with family, friends, animals, the outdoors, adventure, and exploration. Here is where I became me. The influences of those around me, the experiences, the adventures, all shaped my soul, and became the foundation of who and where I am today.
As early as I recall, amazing people have passed through our land. In the 70s and 80s rustic, down-to-earth camping was in full swing. This property had characters from all walks of life pitching their tents, sipping their little Millers, laughing, loving, sharing, and living life to the fullest.
Mud pies in the rain. Soaring off jump ramps for my pink, Huffy bike. One-match fires. Gathering clay from the ditch and crafting pottery. Climbing to the top of the hickory tree, to test my mother’s patience and faith. Riding my horse bareback. Swinging on the rope swing across the pond. Catching bull frogs with friends. Riding mini bikes faster than necessary. Sleeping under the stars. That’s childhood.
This was the life I was determined to give my girls. So, I did! My husband and I planted our feet on this property. It is a way of life that speaks to us and makes us whole. It makes us tired some days, and happy, thankful, and blessed the rest. Hard work, sweat, tears, manure, mud, grass, weeds, snow, ice, rain, drought–you name it, we have it! And love and respect it!
This land teaches the family the meaning of trust and perseverance. I now trust the land (and more and more myself) when I am in need of a soul-searching answer. This land has offered up so many rewards and opportunities over the years. As long as we are courageous enough to lean in and listen and take action, the land provides.
My first business venture was selling Fool’s Golds to visitors of our property. The rock business was a “hard” sell, but who could pass up a little girl running her own business at the age of 5? I made life-long customers and friends during this venture. Who knew 40+ years later I’d be on this land preaching its power and sharing it with others?
Life on the property is by no means perfect. We choose to find ways to persevere and prosper. There is always a way, and failure is never an option. Death, however, is inevitable.
The death of my grandfather haunts the soul of my father.
I feel his presence, he and I would not meet–at least, not in this world. Stories are reluctantly told, with tears, by my father. I try my best to piece together a timeline and form a persona based on photos, narrative, different perspectives, and my own speculation. I picture a strong, quiet man, with a mind and heart full of ideas and aspirations. I hear of his many endeavors and can relate to the constant thought of “what do we try next?”. I feel he and I would have connected well, for I keep searching for the “what next”. May the soul of my father find peace.
The living and passing of my grandmother, Lois.
This one is hard for me to write. My grandmother was a strong Finnish woman, who lived with my family until her passing in 2013. Grandma Lois had a profound impact on my life and many others’. Memories of seeing her chopping firewood and me aspiring to wanting to have the same ax/maul skills, led to my wielding a chainsaw to clear and maintain this land. Spending time in the blueberry patch, by her side, learning her berry-picking technique, are times I’d give anything to relive, times I wanted my children to know. She’d be proud to know David (my husband) and I have mastered the technique. Homemade breads, pies, doughnuts and other treats were staples throughout the years. Lois taught me to bake, which I need to return to doing. Her anise bread and carob cake still linger on my taste buds.
She did, however, “cheat” at cards and Yahtzee! I would tease her about her uncanny ability to always win, damn her! (laughter).
On what would ultimately become her death bed, I prayed by her side. I prayed for a peaceful passing, I prayed for no more pain, I prayed for this all to be over. Selfishly, I was tired (and pregnant). Selfishly, I couldn’t watch my father struggle losing another parent–even though it was decades later–I still saw the pain of a young man hanging onto his father. Then, she was gone.
John Eisbach Jr. – My Father
My father, is a gentle man with a sick sense of humor. I mean, let’s be honest, anyone that feeds the dog my scrambled eggs, from my plate, with my fork, then puts my fork back, for me to use, is a sick man! I suppose I should thank him for my killer immune system.
My father owns and operates a sawmill on our property. His passion is timber and land. I inherited his love of nature and this property. John put me on the end of the wood planer at an early age. I learned to sticker lumber (place narrow strips of wood, typically 1”x1”, between the layers of lumber to allow adequate air flow for drying) with the best of them. He put a maul in my hand and pointed me to the wood pile (we burned firewood as heat), then taught me to stack and haul. He gifted me with a mini bike for good grades and hard work. We planted trees and gardens together, hung bird houses, and pruned berries – instilling a work ethic and appreciation for our blessing – this property. If you have the opportunity to spend time with dad, I suggest you do.
Ginger Eisbach – My Mother
The love I have for my animals comes from my mother. As early as I can recall I was surrounded by creatures. I have very vivid memories of collecting eggs from the box-shed chicken coop, by my mother’s side. I have memories of the milk cow, Sassy, and her calf, the multitudes of ducks and geese (I’m not a fan of geese, they chased me and tried to bite me), and of course the many horses. Ginger’s heart has always been with her horses and I am grateful for that being passed to me.
Did I forget to mention the goats? Always goats! Goat milk, goat cheese, goats on the cars, goats in the yard, bouncing kids every season. Goats. Goats. Goats. How fitting, right? The goats always brought laughter (ask Butch Reynolds–sorry, inside joke that CAN’T be told here–this is a family show) and nourishment to our family. Today they are still bringing laughter and nourishing my/our soul. Thank you to my mother, Ginger, for teaching me so much about the animals and life, and thank you for sharing that with the next generation.
Kids – The Two-legged Kind
Their destiny, even without their knowledge. Their normal is not normal. Just as I believed, when I was a child, that all the world lived like me, my girls believed the same. Nothing is further from reality. What exists for my children, in this place, will walk with them through their life journey. The lessons of sacrifice and hard work have shaped them. The laughter and tears have transformed them. The gratitude bestowed upon them for sharing their gifts and knowledge are engrained in their souls. They will take what this land, and our path, has given them, and mold it into their own story. May the pull of this land always give them a place to come back to–a place they call home.
Not Blood – Still Family
So many personalities have passed through this land, you know who you are. Some have stayed for days, some for week, months, or years. All have left an impression on the land and our family. Whether you choose to spend an hour trekking with Hoof It, part of the day picking blueberries, hours in conversation with John–at the mill, or you simply drive in out of curiosity–this property, and its people have a way of leaving an impression. Welcome to the family!
Let us share our world with you. For an experience you won’t forget, Hoof It in Galena, IL
It’s Our Nature. It’s Our Goats.
SHARE WITH YOUR TRIBE, FLOCK, OR HERD
A group of goats is called: Herd, Flock, Trip, or Tribe.
Archived Blog Posts
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December 2019
- Dec 11, 2019 The Girls and I
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November 2019
- Nov 1, 2019 My Generational Journey
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October 2019
- Oct 2, 2019 My Driving Force - The Soul Search