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Good Farm Neighbors

Writer's picture: Kerry HoffschneiderKerry Hoffschneider

Updated: Jan 29



This story is about the joy and appreciation I have for the love I felt growing up knowing Jane and Virgil Thorne. 


Jane and Virgil Thorne lived on a farm and dairy on Road P in York County, Nebraska, just south of the farm where I grew up. 


You see, kids know when they feel love and when they don’t. Jane Thorne made kids feel loved. You could just tell. It was safe at the Thorne dairy and life was pretty darn good. It was the early 1980s and I had a loving neighbor. What more could one ask for? 


Yesterday we said good bye to Jane. It was hard, but sitting next to my sister Jenny at the funeral service made it easier. Before the funeral, we started to swap stories about going to Jane’s throughout our formative years. Jane and Virgil were literally a second set of grandparents to us growing up. 


Taking food to the farmers in an old, Volkswagen Beetle or a big conversion van are some of the hundreds of Jane adventures that stand out to me. Then there was feeding bottle calves, chasing kittens, and riding the pedal tractor around their house. The whole farm smelled like fresh milk. If you have ever skipped around a dairy, you know what I mean. 


I could not get enough of that John Deere pedal tractor I rode around the farmyard at Jane’s. I didn’t ever get one for myself. That was perfectly fine too, because Jane acted like it belonged to every kid who rode it. So you could say we all just shared ownership and life with the pedal tractor was great. 


One time I did get my very own, small toy Case International tractor from Jane and Virgil. I was so proud of it. It was a perfect, cab less, old school bright red addition to the John Deere green tractors my dad farmed with. I remember Virgil laughing so hard about how proud I was of that red tractor when my dad only drove green ones. It became a lifelong joke. 


I loved the different colored tractor. But more so, I loved the way conversations felt at Jane’s. They felt different, and got real and comfortable right when you entered the door. Jane loved us, really loved and accepted us, so we could talk freely. If you know what I mean, you know what I mean. Everyone needs just one unconditional and accepting kitchen table conversation like that and your life will change for the better forever. 


When I was young, I spent many hours talking to Jane at the counter looking into the kitchen as she baked, cooked, and imparted her wisdom. I drank iced tea and ate cinnamon rolls, cookies, (or both), while she listened, laughed, and added her thoughts to the subjects at hand. She always had cut-to-the-chase thoughts. Loving, accepting, (but not afraid to say how it really is) words of wisdom. 


Jane wore pants with flour on them when she wasn’t dressed up to go out. She smelled like dough and lovely, deep, flowery musk perfume. She was all things homemade and farm raised. A pragmatic woman of the land. 


Time passed and life presented its challenges and opportunities. After I graduated I hightailed it away from Road P. I should have stopped at Jane’s more. I should have kept telling her how it really was going like I did when I was a little girl riding my bike down to her house from our farm for refuge. But I grew worn out. I wanted to forget. I wanted to move on. But I never moved on from the love I felt from Jane. 


There are so many things I want to say about farms, and neighbors, and what I have seen come and go. So I will try and just say it like this: what is rapidly leaving the farm or gone forever are moments like we had at Jane’s. Moments when we shared homemade beef and noodles, ate pie, and laughed and cried. 


Jane had plenty and then some to give. She would tell you what she thought, like it or not. But there was something comforting in that strength in a woman on the farm. It’s a strength that had a big impression on me. Jane just knew. She picked up lots of broken pieces in her life. She welcomed anyone that was hungry at her door and she filled them up with her desire to serve. 


Jane is in Heaven now with her sweet daughter Sally and Virgil who had a stroke that he worked through for a large part of his life. It wasn’t easy for Virgil because the stroke effects made communicating hard for several years of their marriage. But they stuck it out and worked hard together. Forgiving, forgetting, and smiling over a lot of good pie. 


That’s just what you did on the farm when I was growing up. You stuck it out. You were forced to. There were really hard days and really good days. Time in Jane’s kitchen were the good days. The hard days, well, I hope they continue to fade like flour does when you shake it out of your pants long enough. 


I am so glad I was sitting beside my sister Jenny at Jane’s funeral. It gave us a chance to express with each other the genuine joy we have that we knew such a full of life and loving soul.


After we lost our mom, my sister and I quickly learned how people flee the situation. We were left with just a few (you could count on one hand) family members who actually really cared and watched out for us. Jane Thorne was not blood relation, but I assure you, she was on that one hand who truly loved us and tried to help us. She knew we had to be tough gals. She had tough situations to face herself. She cared. She wanted to help. She couldn’t help in every way, but knowing she wanted to truly help. Well, that helped a lot too. 

So that’s what you did on the Thorne farm. You whipped up some dinner, invited the neighbors over, and you did what you had to do. 


Thank you Jane for modeling love. You weren’t perfect, but you always said you weren’t perfect. We learned to say we aren’t perfect from you. We learned a lot. Mostly, we learned so very much about what home should feel like from you. For that, we’re forever grateful. 

See you in Heaven Jane, for homemade ice cream, beef and noodles, and an eternity of perfect peace, love, and of course, pie. 

Love you! 

From left: my brother Kelvin, Virgil and Jane (holding their granddaughter Sarah), my sister Jenny, and my dad Dean, celebrating a birthday. I am leaning in excited for angel food cake. My stepmom, Kathy Jo, is taking the photo and my brother Russell is not born yet.

Copyright© 2025 All Rights Reserved, Kerry Hoffschneider

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