Throughout the spring and summer they send up silent prayers. These rough, hardworking, strong farmers ask for very little else other than ideal growing conditions. Not too hot. Perfect rainfall.
Just one more good crop.
Self-taught, yet like highly educated scientists, they control weeds and pests and test soil for nutrients, constantly patrolling the fields, sensing the slightest alteration in the landscape. They hear the wind change direction and feel the days get shorter.
The rice grows. Flat green blades, heading and flowering, ripening into a milky stage. Finally golden brown, heavy, dry. Ready for harvest they pray once again for late summer storms to scatter, to blow over the county, leaving them at peace to work into the night.
Combines, massive and roaring, move into the fields, threshing and cutting, churning up dust and debris, leaving jagged stalks and stubble behind. Leaving duck blinds, partially revealed.
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| Duck blind pit mid-field… |
Thick flocks of black birds circle at a safe distance, curious, panicked. They watch their summer food vanish. Winter is not far behind.
talya
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Love this time of the year. Enjoying your pictures. Your dad would be proud that you are “becoming a farmer”. MOM
We’ve always been farmers:)
Except for the Johnson grass thing. Talya I think I’m a follower now.Mark
Great, thanks Mark!!! And I will be taking care of that Johnsongrass as soon as I return to Fayetteville. Just the idea is driving me crazy…
Harvest is always kind of melancholy to me. Another good one!
Great blog! It gave me chills! I really enjoyed watching the video to see how it is done. Not a Thomas Tate field with those weeds though. 🙂 Tom said, “I don’t think that is daddy’s field.”