Sunday, October 3, 2010

farms

Often a thought comes to me on a ride that is meant for sharing. My post yesterday began with the flickering of light through the forest. As it was happening, I knew that was part of what I would write. On the way home, winding past farms of varying care and attention, I was aware, with certainty, of my musings. Each farm was such an expression of the owners within.

We passed many pastures littered with cars, or equipment, not quite finished what had been started. Others were pristine in red and white and matching flowers, fences and signs. I made a game of surmising the owners - their ages, nationality, and personality. I have nothing to confirm my hypothesis. It amused me to see the variations of orderly and disheveled. Orderly sometimes meant fresh paint and cut grass, and other times was just the knowing that it was cared for well. Outdated, perhaps, but tended to, loved. The farms strewn with wash tubs, rusting cars and deflated pools told another story. Often, beleaguered parents was my guess. Lots to do and kids to supervise. And others spoke of partying, clandestine operations, windows regaled in confederate flags, trucks and cars parked as close to the door as possible donning gun racks.

I never saw the humanity in any of the farms we passed. I looked, hoping to glimpse at a sweet little old lady in a checkered apron watering pansies, or a dad and kids playing football over the deflated pool. I saw a few machines threshing and a combine larger than the house in the field. For the most part, it was a day of rest out there, to leave me to my reflections.....

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