From the Tractor Seat



During April, I pictured farmers out in the fields preparing them for spring planting, and of course remembering working the land on our family farm. Now that it's May, planting will soon begin.

When I was old enough to learn, Dad taught me to drive the tractor, starting with the smallest Farmall, and from then I drove the tractor to bring a load of hay or straw to the driveshed and I'd driven it  to scuffle the fields, breaking up the soil into smaller chunks after the ploughing was done. Then one day, Dad asked if I'd like to try ploughing. That was with the bigger tractor, and I did. Dad rode on the tractor with me for a round or two to make sure I knew what to do at the headlands and along the rows.

Somewhat of a dreamer, I had to pay close attention to the driving and turning for a plough attached to a tractor is a curious thing and a tractor can tip if turned too tight. I made quite a few rounds until Dad checked on how I was doing, and  I decided that was enough for me.

Dad was always careful about those things and ploughed, scuffled, and planted the land for many years. He valued the land, and took care of it, rotating crops and letting some fields lie fallow.

As I remember this May, it's four years since Dad died (2016) and I remember him with this poem I wrote many years after the actual ploughing that I accomplished. Curious what you see from a tractor seat?




From the tractor seat


An April wind dries the land
splashing my sun-starved face with coolness

ridged tires   as tall as I
scatter clods of  earth
headland to headland
row after row
               two dozen silver spades
               slice grass-covered earth
                into wavy ribbon rows
exposing wriggling life
 to ragged screeching crows




© Carolyn Wilker 2011  Once Upon a Sandbox


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