Monday, August 3, 2009
The beans are always greener on the other side of the fence
One of the prettiest sights I can imagine is the rows of beans and corn spreading across the acres of lush farmland. The heartland. The nation's breadbasket. Home sweet home. Even though I love the lakes, the mountains, the coast, I consider myself lucky to have come from the rich black dirt of northwest Iowa. My dad asked me if I remember when he used to pull me and my sister, Jan, in a little red wagon tied with a rope behind the tractor as he cultivated the fields. I absolutely have no memory of this, my explanation is that I must have had a head injury from bouncing around in the wagon! Or maybe the head injury was incurred during all those years before seat belts existed! Or when we rigged up a trapeze with a metal pipe and baling twine in the haymow, until it collapsed with a direct hit on the head? Or when we dug tunnels into the snowpiles, ready to cave in when the temperature warmed? It's a miracle any of us survived!