Everyday Abundance 10/11/2020

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

The rural nature of my home is certainly not a secret if you have read my blog for any amount of time. I have written before about my life in a small town and have given you multiple accounts of rural happenings around my dwelling.  There is an aspect I have only mentioned briefly while telling you of the setting in which I live and I feel like it deserves more than a passing glance.  My home is a land of cultivation.  The earth bears fruit around these parts.  The more thought I give to the productivity here the more yield that comes to mind.  Yes, I suppose this is in fact, a farming town. I hadn’t really given it much thought until now but it’s true. I can’t say why it hasn’t been something I’ve considered.  I’ve seen the plantings and the harvestings as well as partaken of the offerings of the land. Even nearby schools have lauded agricultural programs.  I certainly shouldn’t be suddenly taken aback by the fact that I live in a farm town.  I see the bounty every day and apparently have taken it unintentionally for granted.

If you take a long look around my community there is a chance that you think these fields go on forever.  Even the land that just seems to be a sea of grassy nothingness isn’t fallow ground though.  These fields are all purposeful.  Those vast expanses of what often appears to be rolling fields of insignificant grass are producing crops.  Just a few days ago I drove by one of these plots to see what was once tall and verdant to find that now all that lushness now lay flat.  I have seen many a hayfield in my day.  This one was different though.  I have never seen sunlight do to simple drying grasses what was being done that day. I had to look repeatedly as I passed by from all the angles to be sure it was in fact a simple play of light. The warm wheat colored shafts had a sheen in the light like silk. Shadow and luster played over the surface of the ground making silvery white puddles glow where the sunbeams fell. These illuminated parcels shifted as I moved by them almost as if the iridescence was liquid and trickling from place to place.  I cannot say that I have ever been so struck by the beauty of a simple hayfield.  Perhaps I have never seen it in just the right light at just the right time of day but whatever it was, all the factors came together to make something absolutely exquisite.

We have our share of rolling hayfields but they aren’t the only thing growing that beautify the landscape here.  There are expansive cotton fields with darkening leaves that are beginning to let their white treasure peek through.  Before too much longer those leaves will be gone leaving a sprawling stretch of what seems to be snow gone to sprout.  There are even forests of pecan trees with intertwined canopies that make dark and moody corridors of shade.  I regularly eat the products of these local trees and their flavor superiority to anything grown from distant groves is quite noteworthy. They shame any prepackaged similarity you can purchase at a supermarket to the point that you wonder if the ones from the store weren’t grown in a lab.  The quality of the yield of our soil of this tiny town might surprise even the highest agricultural connoisseur but even as they sit growing before producing anything at all they add a certain sense of scenic abundance to the surroundings.

It certainly isn’t just the soil that creates livelihoods here either. Often those never-ending fields are dotted with specks often of gleaming black.  Black Angus cattle are a common sight grazing.  You occasionally see a white or red bovine but more often than not the warm sun glints of rounded black creatures casually chewing their cud.  Heartwarming scenes of jumping and playing calves are not uncommon.  The deep bellows from herds often intermingle with everyday sounds.  But lowing of cattle certainly aren’t the only livestock adding their notes to the soundscape that one is privy to in these parts.  You’ll find many a home be it farm or simple dwelling with feathered residents casually meandering about their yards.  They come in every size and shade from white to a striking iridescent black and everything in between.  Fresh eggs are not a rarity for us.  Neither is the endearing call of the rooster. Perhaps it is memories of my grandparents having chickens but said crowing fills me with a comfortable nostalgia. I daresay if said crowing were at an ungodly hour I might feel differently but luckily the roosters nearest me are on a reasonable schedule.  There are even more specimens of livestock whose presence are not out of the question in my neighborhood. Goats and horses are possibilities and even the occasional braying of a donkey not to mention the classic cat and dog without which most rural homes and or farms would be incomplete.  The more I consider what I see on a day to day basis the larger the agricultural aura of this place becomes.

This place is a very fertile land. I was thinking about the deep purple-blue of the morning glories that have overwhelmed the fence of the nearby cotton field.  Then there are the huge mounds of the yellow plumes of goldenrods in every meadow and ditch.  Even other wildflowers like asters and even those of unknown names are currently speckling every shade of color across any patch of soil that can hold roots. Even the wilds are teaming with every bird and beast in their stock.  We are blessed to be beset with natural riches of every kind.   It makes sense that a strong farming community would take root here. Pun accidental but intentionally left.

Growing up I wouldn’t have wanted to live in such a setting I don’t think. I suppose once you get a certain age what you want in life becomes quite different than what you felt you needed in your youth.  The thought of being surrounded by farms did not appeal to me when fun and things to do were my priority but now, while I don’t think of myself as old, maturity has born other things in me.  Farmers are the kind of people we really should probably strive to be around and be like.  They are diligent in their toil and they are truly providers.  There are easier jobs to produce an end result.  There are tasks that are less time consuming and back breaking but these are the paths they have chosen.  The people that bring forth these crops and tend these herds are of as much value as their product.  Instead of growing impatient when I get behind a tractor on the highway or venting frustration when a cotton truck litters fuzzy white bits along the road I should be grateful.  They’re doing all this for us.  Yes, at my age, the thought of being encompassed by salt of the earth people who work hard to produce sustenance from the very soil seems like a very good place to be indeed. I live in a farming town and I am thankful for it.