Just back from the field just down the road, where Scott is cultivating. The air is scorchingly dry.
I warmed up a couple cans of mushroom soup and made two bunwiches with last night’s leftover steak, thinking he’d come in for lunch since he was close by. By 1:30 I knew he’d be starving and thought I might as well take the sandwiches out, and a cold beer. I considered biking as it’s so close, but decided it’s too hot.
When I parked on the approach the tractor was a quarter-mile away, halfway across the field, but he spotted the car and came rumbling toward me right away. Hungry, I knew.
The car doors were open so a breeze could blow through, but he didn’t sit. He stood and gobbled down the food, then poured the beer down his throat.
“Thanks, that was nice,” he said, turning to go.
“Glad I could help,” I replied, watching his shirt flap in the wind as he struck out across the freshly turned chunks of black dirt.
Farming is hard work! I grew up on a farm. As children we were virtually field hands, worked long hours in the fields, right alongside my mother. Scott is a lucky man!
ReplyDeleteHe would be lucky if I was a "good farm wife" and accepted food service as my duty. I'm not and I don't, so it's hit-and-miss; he's an adult, so I expect him to take care of his own needs and he's perfectly capable of doing so. I help out when I can and, because I consider it a kindness on my part and not my responsibility, I feel pretty good about it when I do. It certainly makes a big difference to a farmer in the busy seasons of spring and fall; but farmers who are single manage just fine, so I don't see why the married ones can't, as well.
Deletewhen you mention Scott, the song "she thinks my tractor is sexy" always comes to mind. The only country western CD I've ever purchased
DeleteSharyn
And god help me, Sharon, he does look sexy on that tractor!
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