Backroads of Morrow County Update:
It has begun. The farmer's reward and risk. The winter wheat is
several inches high. Still green--not enough time and sun yet for
"amber waves of grain." But it can't be too long. I'm sure I can hear
the wheat singing in the wind. "O, beautiful for spacious skies . . ."
Most of the other fields show evidence of crops too. I say "most"
because a few fields are still not
plowed--notably, the one across the way from me. The agricultural
engineer who plows it usually does it "late" so I'm not worried. Last
year corn. This year I expect soy beans. Everywhere else--almost--the
long green lines of plants are racing toward the horizons. The corn is
distinctive. There's no doubt what it is. The soy beans not so much. I
assume that it's soy beans though now it merely looks like small green
patches of "weedy" stuff stretching off into the distance. They are not
yet big enough to "connect." They look like fields of green polka dots
at this point. But before you know it, they will be cords of green.
The only wild flowers along the roads are wild phlox, daisies, and
sweet pea. Pink and white borders nodding "welcome" as I drive past.
The "doormats" of dusty roads. The doves have already committed
themselves to wire sitting. The swallows are practicing their wind
skimming. No doubt already gathering lunch for the kids. The blue
birds grace the open meadows with an occasional meadowlark to add some
yellow and black--and a song. The red-wings are everywhere--the
neighborhood fussing crones. The red-headed woodpeckers are in their
usual haunts. Red, black, and silver-white they are always a feast for
my eyes. An occasional goldfinch will arc his way across the road, just
showing off I imagine--like most males. The bird life of Morrow County
is in full swing--or should I say full wing. Gorgeous, for sure.
Surprisingly, the wet spring has led to some early haying. I saw an
older man, a younger man, and a boy at work in the field down the road
from me. History at work. Grandpa, son, grandson making a team. The
boy was too small to be of much help, but the knowledge of generations
was, no doubt, being filtered down to him. Not much help, but probably
the most important person in the field. The knowledge of good farming
is being passed down, and the lad is our hope. May he see joy in the
labor and nourish a love for it. Grandpa--as this grandpa knows--is not
as strong as he once was at the work, but he has the "tricks and
resolution" to pass on Santiago-like to the "boy" that he loves.
Dad--son--is the evidence that grandpa knows what he's doing and is
worthy of emulation in this labor of love for the land, the animals who
will feast on the hay, and the farmers who earn their living--and
ours--in the historical story of mankind's relationship to his "place on
earth" as Wendell would call it. As I watch them, a favorite quote
comes to mind: "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." Not to
mention lovely in its generational way.
Yep, it has begun. Rural
America, Adam-like, facing the hardships of life, at the mercy of the
weather, learning the beauty and character building of hard work--and
the joy of family.
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