This was their home until the crops were harvested and the farm was buttoned down for the season.
In 1949, a brief sighting on a Chicago street pulls Will Parlor back to the summer of 1917—the summer that defined him. At seventeen, he worked on the Helgeveld farm in Illinois, where he was welcomed into the Dutch-American family and fell quietly, deeply in love with Vlinder Helgeveld. There he also befriended Moses and Isaiah Butler, brothers who had journeyed north from Alabama in search of opportunity in a still-divided America.
But as the nation stood on the edge of World War I, the young men faced the weight of change, hardship, and a tragedy that threatened the farm’s future.
“One Summer at Helgeveld Farm” by John Blois is a touching coming-of-age story that is sure to resonate with readers. Engaging with this book feels less like following a straightforward narrative and more like wandering through a vivid memory shared by the characters and anyone who has experienced moments when time seems to pause and change.
From the opening pages, the narrative draws you in with an almost magnetic allure. The protagonist, Will, caught in the grip of a haunting memory, glimpses a familiar figure across the street, and in that instant, it takes him back to the long-ago summer. Blois handles this transition between the present (1949) and the past (1917) with remarkable finesse. Rather than jarring the reader with abrupt shifts, he creates a gentle slide into another era, where the creak of horse-drawn wagons competes with the rumble of early motor cars. This blend of sensory detail conjures a setting both richly nostalgic and remarkably immersive. It is a world poised between tradition and transformation.
What makes this historical environment so compelling is not merely the accuracy of its details but the emotional resonance beneath them. Blois invites the reader to feel the moment when rural life, once predictable and firmly rooted in generational rhythms, begins to tilt toward something new.
The novel’s strength lies not only in its landscape but also in its cast of characters. Each young man—Will, hesitant but eager; Owen, earnest and unworldly; Isaiah and Moses, resourceful siblings from a harsher South; Elmer, whose difference makes him vulnerable; and Roy, fiery and defiant—emerges with clarity. Blois gives them such nuance that they feel real, as if we’ve known them, their voices echoing long after the story ends.
These young men inhabit a period of life where possibility, uncertainty, and intensity collide. Blois captures those in-between years—when friendships can feel like they would last forever, and a single summer can shape the contours of a lifetime—with sensitivity and wisdom. The young men's interactions, whether teasing, competing, or confiding, form a rich emotional truth. Their differences enhance the narrative, but it is their shared longing—for belonging, for understanding, for a place in an often unforgiving world—that gives the story its heartbeat.
And yet it is not the main protagonist, but Moses, who captures the heart most fully. From the moment he appears, Moses exudes a liveliness that radiates across the page. His infectious singing, generous spirit, and uncanny ability to navigate Pastor Jannsen’s long, meandering sermons with humour and grace render him unforgettable.
The dialogue throughout the book shines effortlessly, revealing the voices of youth while hinting at the broader social tensions of a nation on the cusp of profound change. Conflict emerges with understated precision. Rivalries flare; loyalties are tested; the precariousness of farm life reveals itself in unexpected moments. Even a broken wagon wheel becomes a crucible for character, exposing courage, resilience, fear, and the bonds that deepen when hardship is shared. These moments never feel contrived; instead, they arise naturally from the characters’ circumstances, offering insight into the pressures and prejudices that shape their lives.
The Helgeveld farm is beautifully depicted, with its barns, fields, and the majestic sycamore, poplars and white oak trees whose branches stretch over decades of family labour, loss, and renewal. Vlinder Helgeveld’s family history deepens this sense of grounding, linking the personal story of the young men's summer to a larger narrative of immigration, settlement, and perseverance. The land becomes more than a backdrop—it is the connective tissue binding together past and present, memory and experience.
The novel’s greatest accomplishment lies in its ability to balance tenderness with tension. Blois does not shy away from the harsh realities of the era, including racial tension — such as Isaiah and Moses being unable to open a bank account where the other young men have — simply because of the colour of their skin. Despite this, the story maintains a sense of hope that is hard-earned rather than naïve. Moments of laughter, shared work, unexpected heroism, and quiet reflection serve as reminders that even in difficult times, especially grief, human connection can create pockets of grace.
“One Summer at Helgeveld Far,” by John Blois, with its vivid setting, complex characters, and attentive weaving of conflict and tenderness, is a novel that lingers in the mind long after the final page.
I Highly Recommend.
Review by Mary Anne Yarde
The Coffee Pot Book Club