The Old Oliver
Grandpa's tractor coughs, sputters and comes alive, acrid smoke sharpening my senses... gears engaged, lurches forward, disturbing clouds of fungus midges bursting in the sun from the damp clumps of weeds near the barn.
Anise Hyssop, wild spires along the barn, fill the air with licorice smells as the rear wheels brush by.
Proceeding to the field, the tractor hiccups over clumps of soil, jarring memories of Grandpa's firm grip around my waist, riding along, teaching me secrets of the earth...
...a cycle finished, Grandma brought out to the field at lunchtime, a covered basket filled with cold chicken, potato salad, creamed cucumbers and half a fresh berry pie, lovingly prepared the day before, sharing smiles and my excited recollections of the morning...
...another couple hours and Grandpa tires a bit, so we ramble back to the barn, spying Grandma unclipping laundry from the clothesline, softly singing beautiful hymns of praise.
A Blessed Day, Indeed..
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