wordless Wednesday…
Mississippi County, Arkansas
talya
Soybeans
Farm Exercising
Exercising on the farm is a challenge. Turnrows replace smooth concrete sidewalks.
As kids we powered our John Deere 5-speeds up and down the chunky gravel driveway and traversed across the clumpy front yard while the pedals dug into our bare feet. Momma exercised by forcing the push mower through the overgrown dog pen and around every tree on the property. Underneath her cutoffs and t-shirt Momma wrapped her thighs and waist with Saran Wrap to wring every drop of water from her fat cells.
Now that the field behind our house has been leveled and irrigated, we have our own walking trail the size of the horse track at Oaklawn Park. Yesterday morning, with an unseasonably cool breeze, we set off for our morning hike around vivid green rice fields.
But a tractor got there first.
Disking the weeds along the far ditch corner and around the field, he kicked up a cloud of dirt and pollen. Shrill birds mocked our efforts, circling overhead like buzzards. We looped twice trekking through tractor ruts, dirt clods and brittle weeds.
When we returned home, our legs were coated in grime, but maybe we walked off a lake beer or two.
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Cottonwood Corner
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| J. Montrell-Stark Photography – Cottonwood Corner |
Once upon a time there was a race track on the corner. Only a mile from our home, the weekend racing noises filtered into our bedroom window making sleep difficult. Daddy and Arthur Bullion took me with them one muggy summer night. Seeing cars crash and smash was thrilling.
Across the street, an outdoor auction house hummed. People came from near and far to buy and sell junk. Buying and selling junk made folks hungry, so we peddled homemade chocolate cupcakes to raise money for the Halloween carnival. We always sold out.
One magical week a year, the Ferris wheel and bright carnival lights were visible across the field. We watched and waited and pleaded, listening to muffled laughter and music late after suppertime. At last we went. Momma puked as soon as the Tilt a Whirl stopped whirling.
We each have one of these places, a wide spot in the road unnoticed by most, a place vibrant only in our memories.
When the whistle blows, factory workers drive past, thankful another shift has ended. Farmers haul grain to the river without a glance to the rubble where the grocery story stood—the grocery store where Daddy sent me off driving, alone, to buy cartons of Camel, before I was old enough to have a license.
Wrong on so many levels…but oh so right.
Although there’s nothing much to look at now, the weary sign marking the empty spot is a historical marker to me.
talya
“This is what happened when one left one’s home – pieces of oneself scattered all over the world, no one place ever completely satisfied, always a nostalgia for the place left behind.” ― Tatjana Soli, The Lotus Eaters
Musical Pairing:
Hometown Glory, Adele
