Dusty Treasures

Where century old houses once dotted the landscape and small communities once thrived, the fields of dirt left lonely in their absence have become home to countless dusty treasures. Shards of past lives sparkle in the light of the setting sun each day. Pieces of pottery, glass and metal shine like diamonds stirred into the soil by the hands of mother nature and the many farmers' plows. Marbles, bottles, horseshoes, and arrowheads, stumbled upon at random, whisper stories of past lives lived on the same piece of Earth in completely different moments of time.

Once ordinary objects lost in the past become precious prizes....presents wrapped in dirt and history.

Winding Down

Hot dogs hiss and sizzle. Fire pops and crackles. Laughter dances on the cool breeze of late Spring in the South. The faint aroma of cooking meat is nearly lost amid the bonfire's pungent warmth. After a long day of manual labor in the hot sun the farm family winds down with the setting sun and rising flames. Melted Hershey's chocolate, perfectly toasted marshmallows, and crunchy graham crackers serve as country currency -- payment for a hard day's work in the minds of farm raised country boys. Daylight has burned out. Night has fallen. Sleep will come easily.

Tomorrow will bring another day of seemingly unending chores, but the sweet rewards of the quiet country life are uniquely priceless treasures.

Breaking Through

The perfect storm of rain and the radiance of the late Spring sunshine have spoken life into the Southeast Missouri ground. A mere four days after the planter marked the field, the first seeds are coming to life. Tiny plants are throwing off their blankets of dirt and breaking through the soil in search of the sun. Basking in the early morning light, the tiny seedlings glow with the promise of harvest.

The Son has smiled down on the farmer once again granting the miracle of life in the wake of Spring storms.

Planting

Through the Spring the fields have evolved from winter graveyards to nearly pristine piles of dirt. The remnants of last year's cotton plants and winter's weeds have disappeared into the landscape. The rows of soil have been broken far beneath the surface, piled high again, and slightly flattened to make the perfect bed. Finally, the time for planting has arrived. The sleeping seeds are gently laid in a fitted furrow just beneath the surface of the row. Two small wheels, like a mother's gentle hands, tightly tuck the midnight blue kernels into the dirt beds. The planter leaves his own distinct mark in the field. The trained eye of the farmer can tell in an instant that seeds are sleeping just beneath the surface. But, he checks each bed by hand to make sure that the seeds are not so deep that they will suffocate under the blanket of dirt, and not so shallow that they will roll out of bed with a pounding rain and rise up out of place.


The farmer will now wait patiently for morning to dawn. For tiny plants to awaken beneath the brilliant light of the sun and the last of Spring's showers.

Quick Fix

The tractor, rolling steady since daybreak, is forced to make a sudden stop shortly after noon. Equipment dropped unceremoniously in the middle of six rows. Rows only half complete and unintentionally spread so flat they nearly run together. A solid bed of dirt rather than a half-dozen three foot flattened hills. Urgency demands a quick fix. The tractor flies to the shop alone. A hammer. A chain. A return trip. A bit of time, and a little grease -- elbow and otherwise. A quick trip to the shop over undone dirt. A torch. A wrench. A new bearing attached. The do-all is back in one piece.

The tractor speeds back out to the field. There are rows to be shaped. Beds to be completed. Cotton to plant.

Clean Up

The stormy spring has left a miniature dirt replica of the Grand Canyon on the far end of the freshly leveled field. A single tree, broken by the wind, lies across the turning row. It's time to clean up, so the planting season can continue. The roar of the chainsaw fills the quiet country setting. The tractor seemingly effortlessly pulls away the sawn off limbs. Green leaves that haven't yet learned they're already dead sweep the earth in one final tribute to their cleansing role in nature. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air as the diesel fueled fire begins to blaze. In time, only ashes remain. But beauty often rises from the ashes of life.

Soon the farmer will smooth the dirt. The beds will once again take shape. And new life will be placed in the soil....

Progress

The sunlight teases with brilliant beams blasting through the looming grey sky. Storm clouds threaten with faint rolls of thunder and distant displays of streams falling from the heavens. But progress is made in dirt barely dry enough to crumble beneath the sharp blades of the plow. The farmer farms. With steps a little more hurried than his usual molasses-like pace. Determined to put seeds into the ground before the final days of May close the open window of the planting season.

The farmer wins a battle, but the war rages on as rain begins to fall and the faintest rainbow of colors shines through the darkness...

Searching the Skies

Rain pours on land already soaked. Fertile fields become water-logged mud puddles. April showers and winter-like temperatures have invaded the month of May. We can choose to look at the fields in despair, or to fix our gaze on the sky hoping for a glimpse of the sun we know is still blazing there. Waiting for the brilliant sunlight to shine through the moist clouds at just the right angle to create a bow of vivid colors.

We're searching the skies for the rainbow we believe is coming soon....the promise that reminds us all will be well.