Chronicles of The Farm Woman: boy in the field 


The hum of tractors accompanies the evening symphony of the cicadas, crickets and the late bird call.  Farmers are impatient to get the plowing done.  On moonlight nights, many worked the night through.  Now, unless they have lights, they must stop soon after dark.  Do you see no beauty in a freshly plowed field? Oh, but beauty abounds! This mellow black dirt is the background of the farmer’s dream.  His hopes are always high at plowing time.

There is no need to worry about America going Fascist or Communist as long as the younger generation craves freedom as they do.  They want the privilege to say what they please, to call what belongs to them their own and they bring many problems for mother to solve.  Farm kids have been earning money through harvest.  It is spent over and over mentally.  Watches, bicycles or bicycle repairs, new suits and new hats can be seen on parade. Farm lads have not yet joined the college boys’ hatless promenade.  A neighbor girl had every intention of buying silk hose, but the cosmetic counter held alluring attractions.  She decided she could do without hose in this hot weather anyway.

The farm boy is growing up.  His voice has changed, a slight fuzz has appeared on his chin.  For years he has taken out his dad’s safety razor and gazed at it longingly.  Now he has need for it occasionally.  He is permitted to take a team and rack in the trashing crew this summer.  Another goal of every farm boy.  His folks are proud of him, of course, but they somehow cannot sever that knot on the apron strings.  When the heavy black cloud appeared at the end of the day and lightening flashed, the family felt compelled to start out and find the lad.  They met him on the way home whistling and enjoying the thundering clouds.

As he related this incident he commented he didn’t see why the folks could not have done his milking for him instead of coming out long the road to find him.


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