ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
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| Rice Field, Tate Farms, Northeast Arkansas |
“Why does no one speak of the cultural advantages of the country? For example, is a well groomed, ecologically kept, sustainably fertile farm any less cultural, any less artful, than paintings of fat angels on church ceilings?”
― Gene Logsdon
Grace Grits & Gardening
In the next field beyond the ditch, a crop duster hums and glides like a dragonfly. Two lemony butterflies flit and dart between soybean plants, keeping pace with my morning walk. Kildeer spring from the rice field then circle overhead warbling a high-pitched tune.
The road is rough and uneven, clotted with chunks of earth mixed with stalks as dry as autumn wheat. I smell the musty aroma of our soil, the great bridge between past and future, life and death, the place where all living things return.
Although the sun has only begun to peep through the trees lining the far ditch bank, a sultry day builds.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
