When we arrived at the farm, all of us were unsure of what
this new normal would look like. Grampy,
being a widower of over 20 years, certainly had his own methods and routines
established, and I was certain that the arrival of two young adults and two
very young boys would disrupt most, if not all, of life as he knew it. The same went for Cindy, who had been living
on the farm for some time.
But I had underestimated a farmer’s ability to adapt. You see, farmers are the kings of
adaptation. They carefully watch every
stalk of corn as it grows and learn to act just like it. The corn stalk and the farmer brace against
strong winds by having deep roots, attached to the land with a firm
affection. They weather the rains
together, and raise their sun-wrinkled hands in a plea for more in the dry
months. And always, always, the farmer
and the corn stalk look straight up to the sky for their guiding light. So Grampy adjusted and adapted to life on the
farm with his rag-tag Brady Bunch, gently bending to the whims of my boys and
showing them the beauty of Texas farmland, as well as what it takes to be its
caretaker.
I had also underestimated what fertile, Texas dirt can grow. Have you ever seen boys bloom? Being on the farm was like watching a time
lapse film of a flower opening. Although
time seemed to tick by more slowly due to the leisurely pace of living we
adopted in Rogers, Texas, somehow the boys developed faster. The country air filled their lungs and filled
their minds with imaginative games.
Sticks turned into swords and musical instruments, pecans were an
impromptu snack or a grenade to throw in battle, and the old, old oak trees
provided enough supervision for me to stay inside for a while and allow Carter
to experience the freedoms afforded to country boys. The soothing green of the grass and the
dappled shade seemed to mollify whatever internal chaos was causing Harrison’s
colic fits. His crying became less
frequent, and he settled into our routine of life on the farm.
Does it sound magical?
It should. It was. Where else can you learn how to plant black
eyed peas and then watch as they sprout?
What better way to show how quickly crops grow than to stand next to
them daily and witness the very moment when they outpace you? How can you understand symbiosis if you’ve
not felt the tickle of a ladybug crawl from your arm to the raised garden, and
then tasted the crisp, fresh lettuce from the garden that was protected by the
ladybug? It was an education for all of
us, and also an example, because one cannot help but to grow as a person when
surrounded by so many other things that are growing tall and strong and true.
As they say, all good things must come to an end. Our time under the ancient branches of the
oaks was over in a few short months, but not before a few new ideas had been
sown. I blame Grampy, of course, for
this ruin of our former ideas of the perfect homestead. We used to dream of a big house in the city,
close to a grocery store and near the good schools. But after just a few months on the farm the
dream shifted. Now we can’t imagine
putting down roots anywhere without enough space to unfurl our branches, and I
hope it can be green, and I wish for nearby water for fishing, and ladybugs,
and sticks, and blue skies, and an old man to teach us the old ways, and young
boys to show us the pleasure of new things.
I can only hope that some of the things planted in us in that time will
find a place to grow here in Abilene, strong and straight up to the sky, and
always, always able to adapt.
So we're looking for a little bit of land...
Lovely photos. :)
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