The Farmer's Daughter

 

I grew up around tractors, manure spreaders, hay balers, and harvesters, played in tool sheds, corn cribs, and granaries, hefted pitchforks and hay hooks, steered clear of electric fences, root cellars and well pits while pushing brooms, mowers, and runaway rototillers. I learned to watch where I walked and to know who or what I was about to run into or over.

There’s a wild, uncut three-acre field between our lawn and a creek. This summer, I decided it was time I learned how to brush hog. With the implement raised a high as it would go, I made the first pass, chopping through the four-foot-high weedy vegetation. Grasshoppers and dragonflies sailing over the seed tops, and I drove slowly so they could get out of the way. Voles and mice scattered in front of me, darting into tall-standing, goldenrod, thistle and nettle to live another day.

I mowed around small saplings choked by the aggressive goldenrod and noxious burdock, creating a maze, and my old dream of a reforestation project resurfaced as tiny maple, oak, elm and sumac saplings emerged. With room to breathe, and sun to see, maybe they’ll take off in the coming years. Maybe my dream will come true for a future generation.