Just before the sun comes up
I head out to the barn
The soil’s turned concrete
or granite?
It’s so hard!

Nice to think it’s just a crust
shielding life down deep
Creatures live, under the frost
roots are holding life

Makes me think of a birthday candle
that relights itself, again and again
Winter snorts and blows
icing the world
but, aha!, nestled down
nature lives, and readies
for the world to tilt back
sun warming again
in spring

Welcome to the Arctic!
and you didn’t even leave home!

Down, down, down comes
the sub zero blanket of air
freezing all it can

Soil, rock hard
snow, crunching cold
“Crack!” noises here and there
as materials contract, shrinking

We bundle up
and just keep going
hindered, modified
trudging to the barn
early morning darkness

Why don’t birds feet freeze?
How can the cow udders be so warm?
How can hairless pigs survive?

Chop! Chop! Chop!
The horse tank’s frozen over
8 inches of ice now covering
and the cattle are thirsty, of course.

Where horses used to run
where buggies rolled along
where people heated rocks
to warm their ice cold feet
cars and trucks now run
rubber balloon tires
springs and shock absorbers
roll across the prairie blacktops
delivering folks here and there

Engines purr where horses snorted
pulling loads with ease
comforts taken for granted
in the winter cold

“Cold” did I say?
Nine below with wind
chill to the bone quickly
but on with the heater
flowing warm air
toasting the smiling occupants

Used to be, so different
on the farm in Illinois
Prairie State, and still
broad expanses treeless

Crop Management Conference
they labeled it
The rest of the story is
it’s all about farming
Year of Our Lord
2015

A baker’s dozen of Ph.Ds
sharing hearts and souls
with a hundred fifty farmers
and their supporters

The very best
from one of the very best
lecturing and answering questions
Getting their minds and arms
around the issues that drive us

Dollars and sense and marketing
cover crops and all things agronomy
Inputs and insects
diseases and herbicides
Best Management Practices
spelled out, numbered out
weather and soil

Ah, soil.
We definitely don’t call it…
Dirt.
Soil. We respect it.
Live with it. Sleep with it.
Study it six ways from Sunday!

Winter evenings on the farm
Find me settled in
Family room, they call it
And indeed it is
5 red sweatered kids
Pictured above the fireplace
Me in my recliner
Good light, good book, warm fire

The walls are aged red barn boards
Hauled here by horse
A hundred years ago
The Parkville sawmill fed our farm
House and barn and out buildings all
With materials to last a lifetime
And two
And three
Now four, generations.

From 1898 to 1972
The barn stood strong and true
Setting on big boulders
Its beams endured the winds and rains
The giant mow held hay
The south side a milking parlour
The northside winter comfort
For pigs and cows and us

The calendar grinds along
sifting winter’s cold
adding sun minutes here and there
stretching daylight hours

Cold toes and fingers
stiff but not with age
grasp the icy handles
buckets and shovels and my little stool
and I park next to Bessie

Her milk plays its notes
striking, ringing the cold metal
as the cats, lined up, sit watching
waiting for a shot of breakfast

Now and then I squirt the cats
and they spring to action, licking
oh, so happy for fresh warm milk

The farmhouse windows show it
the beautiful living blanket
that feeds us amply
year after year

Beginning as beautiful ebony
it hold a living world
microbes, by the millions
scurrying about, we’re learning,
they do amazing things

Winter’s skin puts things on hold
sometimes wearing pristine white
sometimes hazy gray or tan
patience quietly abounds

Life bursts forth in springtime
shades of green, then purple
tillage takes it back to black
then tiny spikes poke up, corn,
or fat duos of soybean cotyledons unfold
and we’re off to the races again

Retired from the Presidency
Champaign County Farm Bureau
but, really, getting ‘a new set of tires’!
Still doing, still involved, still thinking!

Retired from Parkland
no longer a board member
no longer chairman
but, here, a different automobile
still self propelled, still moving
still doing, still thinking
Poking, here and there, with ideas

Retired from state college business
Illinois Community College Trustees Association
No longer on committees
No longer on the board
No longer an officer
Secretary, vice president, President
retired, not tired, but
still doing, still thinking, still poking
So I’ve been retiring for fifteen years already!
How’s that working for me?
Different tires, different ‘modes of transportation’
and not enough time!

Honestly Abe,
we need you back!
If your are indeed
walking out there at midnight*
just for a bit we’d like you back

God grace flowed through you
your words, your choices
and a lot of fine things have happened

The Land Grant Colleges you birthed
have sown abundance on Illinois
World leaders are planted here
with food and machines so grand
imagination gets stretched and stretched again

Bunge, Archer Daniels Midland, Kraft
process and enrich far beyond our borders
Caterpillar and John Deere shine world wide
multiplying man’s abilities
to farm and construct
creating mountains of food
moving mountains, building buildings

Illinois is an adventure
we can have ‘snow globe’
whiteout
blizzard,
skiff
and we even do one more:
spittin’ snow!

I know! Hard to believe!
But if you had my window
my office, you’d see
a combination that’s new
No, not sleet
that’s ice
ah, come on spring!

Meanwhile we start a snowstorm
with something new to see
better yet get out the door
and feel it!
Yup! It IS spittin’ snow!

Lin, Adventureland, March 2015
Brrrrweather!

Strange, those who
take the best seeds
carefully selected
admire them
treasure them
and bury them in the soil!

What drives that planter
to bury his food
into the dark, unknown, unseen?

Faith, I say,
in life and all its processes
in design
and a creator
who rewards those who step out
step forward

Deep inside that see
life exists, at the ready
so warmth and moisture
just so
can fan the ember into flame

Exploding, multiplying cells
burst the tomb
to send forth a root
tapping nourishment
and then a shoot
heading for the sun

Corn stubble fields
like two day old beards
lay softly sodden by the dew
Soybean fields lie in wait
the fruits of their labor ready
Come on harvest!
 
Mother earth had different plans
as the sun slipped up
a downy blanket came down
fog
quietly forming on the warm earth
spawned by cool moist air
hush
either a mother or a lover
put a blanket over us
then disappeared back to mystery
 
Not to be forgotten
tall buildings and trees poked above
and we, knowing our sun
prepared for our day of labor

I know them.
Individuals, couples, teams.
I watch them, study them
with fascination and respect
 
Indeed there are rich soils
that mother them, father them
Sustain them,
keep them going
 
Most of them
just do their jobs
quietly, not in the newspapers
and not on tv
But
 
The teams they create
the contributions that are made
are truly amazing
 
Food is taken for granted here
the luxuries of meat prevail
beef, pork, chicken and turkey
fill grocery coolers…always
taken for granted
 
One farmer feeds himself or herself
and sets free 152 others
to use their gifts, find their niches
mostly in our cities
 
Nearly every local farmer
has a mate for life
together they are teams
side by side at church and meetings
side by side along life’s highways
 
In and out the driveways
salespersons of every ilk come and go
some delivering fuel, machinery, plant foods and more
I count some 80 team mates and more
lawyers, doctors, nurses
technicians of every sort
educators, past and continuing
I can see all their faces

Welcome words
to the soldier standing in line
He showed up early, early, early, for formation
Drill Instructor fudged for early
Shavetail lieutenant fudged for early
and our recruit was being cautious!
 
So there he was
standing in formation
spit spot all shined
waiting, waiting, waiting
 
Company, TEN HUT!!!
Inspection
Eyes forward, don’t move!
“Sir!  Yes Sir!”
 
Finally, “Company!  At Ease!
Breathe.
 
Springtime, early morning dark
farmers are stirring
birds are chirping pre dawn
Out of bed, out the house,
shed doors roll open
Engines come to life
deep toned diesels throbbing
almost like horses pawing, anxious
for inspection
 
Put ‘er in gear
pull back on the throttle
Roll, baby roll!
 
The smell of fresh stirred earth
the sun warming the soil
seeds dropping into soft, moist sanctuary
Back and forth, fill the planter
back and forth all day
Sun going down
lights on
back and forth

“Where has October gone”?
asked a friend in agriculture.
“It’s been graced with sprinkles,
laced with showers again and again.
Cold weather, warm weather,
hurry then wait
while crops and soils dry out.”

The raindrops bind the harvesters
keeping them in their pens
their masters under roofs
Desk work and meetings often the fare
when normally they’d be in the fields
But even with the interruptions
some farmers are ‘getting done’.

Translated that means harvest completed,
as a farmer’s work
like that of a homemaker
is never done!
They just move on to the next task!
Seasons blending into years
for crops and people alike.

Individual initiative is inspiring
as the farmers roll with the punches:
combining soybeans in a pond!
Our new machines with giant tires
can smooth across the soil
so different from long ago.

Agreed we can’t live on and in the Sabbath!
Sunday is a special day, for certain sure,
with soaking in Words of the ages
wisdom for all ages
and remembrance, precious,
of one who died for us, for me
 
So we come to Monday!
How can we have a bit, still, of Sunday,
as we trudge through the week.
Nasty deeds, nasty words
swirl around us
sometimes become the slangs and arrows
that injure us, hurt us.
 
Brothers and sisters can help us
maybe it’s at breakfast,
when a brother asks:
“Would you pray?”
and the food gets blessed
and so do we
so do I

Rain rest election day 2014
I’m on it.
Judges sit in a row
My name is on the scroll
In the book of life political
I’m in!

Two pages of issues
Candidates
4 billion spent
Gone
Darken the circle
Darken the doors
Be there

I show up once
Winners show up for years
2,4,6,8
Who will we appreciate
For jobs done well?

Days of rain during harvest
give us a time to rest
But all too quickly we begin to wonder
“Where’s the sun?”
 
We peer at the darkened, cloudy sky
and wish for the warming, drying sun
So critical for harvest happening
 
Rain storms pass by
with wind, lightning and thunder
as we watch, helpless
the cornstalks jerk and lean
heavy ears at risk
Hang on!
Don’t twist and turn and break!

Horses chose corn row widths
way back when
The horse’s rump determined the gap
to allow the horse and farmer passage
 
Over the years things change
and others stay the same
 
We’ve gone from 40 down to 30
and some even down to 20
as machines replaced the horse’s hinny
the goal to capture sunlight
a skill in which the corn leaves excel
 
Corn becomes a forest
lush and dense as any jungle
except the rows make pathways
used by man and beasties
 
The farmer checks his corn
walking, stopping , studying
sometimes even with a lens
noting bugs and diseases thievery
pollination and yield guesses
 
Then comes fall
Harvest
Giant harvesters house sized moving
devouring
Eight and twelve rows wide swaths
twenty or thirty feet paths
back and forth they go
sifting, sorting, down to the seeds
the treasures of food, fuel and fiber
that makes it all worthwhile

Four degrees above zero
but the cars and pickups are rolling in
It’s a hardy bunch, these farm folks!
Not to be dissuaded by some bitter cold
 
Plenty of smiles at the check in desk
plenty of ‘Good to see you’ words being spoken
as the coat room fills to overflowing
 
The president gets the nod
taps on the mike
and the evening begins
“Welcome to the One Hundred Second Annual Meeting
of the Champaign County Farm Bureau”
and the faces of three hundred turn to see
 
A very spry eighty year old makes his way
looks out on the audience
He’s a veteran of decades of teaching math
helping others
and now the Prime Timer chairman
“Let’s pray.”
 
The clear voice fills the room
giving thanks
asking guidance
praying for those in the military
asking a blessing on the food
and those who prepared it for us
“Amen!”
 
“Let’s eat!”

A distant rumble
Darkening sky
The birds fluttering for a haven
Big drops splash here and there
Let the big show begin!

Now thunder rolling
Lightning cracking, sizzling
The clouds unload, raindrops pounding
Leaves doing a panic dance
Puddles forming gutters gurgling
A car splashes past
Wipers pounding back and forth in vain

The robins and the doves
have one thing on their minds:
building the perfect nest
NOW!
 
Twigs and straws
pieces of grass and weeds
carried in beaks announce
a spot has been chosen
selected in very particular places
 
Fascinating the design, the process
that each species seems to know
that temporary home so necessary
to hold the eggs, the chicks
 
With the whole farm theirs
they flutter about and pick and choose
some liking buildings, some liking trees
some selecting spots up high
some selecting close to our house
 
Some seem oblivious
of the danger cats present
building too low, or easily accessible
But then, cats can be amazing
balance impressive
as they do high wire acts
to gain a meal.

As sure as the snow flies
in northern climes
The snow birds flap their wings
or mount their wheels
to head to southern beaches

Their money flows with them
restaurants and shops
hotels and motels and rentals
lift their signs:
“No Vacancy!”

The cold weary folks
shed their parkas
insulated caps, boots and mittens
toss off shirts and don shorts
swapping suits and ties for swimming suits
skin gets into the game
strangely
with gals in bikinis…
and guys in Bermudas!
What gives?

It is written
that we came from the soil
dust of some nature
shaped into the form of man
No wonder, then,
there’s something about soil, that draws us
farmers and gardeners who use their hands
to touch, ponder, the mysteries of soil
 
The seasons are a wonder too
stretching our imaginations
challenging our capacities
with heat, cold, wind, rain
Parching plants and people
in August heat, the sun
almost cooks us
then fall drowns us in color
as leaves shout their warnings of winter
IT”S COMING!
Push the panic button
to store up food
to seal the doors and windows
against arctic blasts, snow and ice
Then, mixed with our exhaustion and depression,
buds begin to swell
robins appear again
pre dawn concerts alert and encourage us
that winter’s hold is slipping, and
in spite of a last flurry or two,
the grass is greening and spring is springing

Chilled, from deep winter’s freeze
the winds whosh and whistle
sending leaves and debris hip scotching along
barren branches twist and turn
remembering Chubby Checker!
(C’mon everybody, let’s do the twist!)
 
Wrapped against the chill
I freeze out in the wind
and melt in sun drenched lee spots
Cold, hot!  Cold, hot!
It’s springtime on the prairie!
 
The winter browned grass is waking
steadily climbing through the thatch
it’s green green green coming!
 
Buds are swelling,
so tender yet so strong
life will soon burst
into the magnificance of Easter
Color will splash the earth
and mother earth will open
to welcome the seeds of promise

A pinhole or a crack
is all the howling wind needs
to send snowflakes sailing in
Blizzard
Whiteout
Hour after hour
 
Snow swirls and drifts
sculptured piles arise
packed hard and firm
challenging man and beast
 
In grandma’s day the drifts
topped fences
so the cattle walked over them
as did she and her siblings
 
The one room schoolhouse
with the wood stove in center
was open all winter
Summer was for field work

From the garden
the orchard
and the fields,
fall is the pouring season!
 
Nature pours forth rewards
for labor and energy
for thinking and planning
and so we see
 
The tomatoes and potatoes
the squash and onions
gathered into baskets and coming in
The kitchen is alive with processing,
changing summer’s bounty into keepers
Slicing and dicing and grinding
freezing and canning
protecting for later use
the work is enormous
 
The fruit trees, the nut trees,
shower the ground when they are ready
Next year’s life having moved into seeds
life hidden, protected with layers of nutrients
to spawn more trees
So we work to capture the fruit
pouring the apples, the pears, the walnuts
from buckets and baskets into carts
to, once again,
make their way to the kitchen,
where processing swings again

As a runner
I’ve been there:
that last 500 feet
The finish line to cross
 
Yes, the race matters
all of the way
The hills, the straight aways
the curves we can’t see around
yet there’s something about
that last 500 feet
and the line we need to cross
 
A year of planting, tending,
then harvesting
gets to that last 500 feet
The last rabbits, pheasants
are there to help
as the last rows are devoured
processed
into the chosen kernals and seeds
that hold the valued foods
 
The finish line
that needs to be crossed!
Like a journey across the vast Pacific
that ends at a specific dock
where a gang plank goes down
and connects with the land
 
Like the long long flight
the landing, the connection
and then the cabin door is opened
and fresh air rushes in
and used air rushes out

No, I’m not slipping away!
I just do my best to tune in…
to ‘think like corn’ along the way.
 
So there’s a ‘pop’ in early summer
when corn pops its spike up through earth
to greet the sun and me.
One day the field is just rich and black
and next day a million spikes are there
having popped up to greet the sun and me
 
Next there’s a scramble
as it grows as fast as can be
the race is on to canopy
cover the earth with green
capture all the sunlight possible
 
Ah, corn talk happens!
Chest high and higher
with maximum growth conditions
between the joints on the stalks
some summer evenings it happens:
A soft popping noise!
A million plants are growing,
reaching
and at the nodes the leaves unfurl
growing so fast there is a noise!
 
Add to that to soft rustle of leaves waving
summer breezed blowing
almost like a green ocean surf
one can see the wind waves

The warmth of our springtime sun
has caused the buds to break
Tiny, fragile leaves abound in greeting
Blossoms will soon burst forth
color and fragrance will bless us
 
What a time of freshness
as the grays of winter fade
and the prairie celebrates life again
It was there, all the time
but hidden from us
 
Leaves and flowers and grass surge
in the power of life created
and won’t be held
What nature does for plants
Easter does for us

Can be a downright gift
raindrops falling on dry soil
quenching a thirsty land
replentishing an entire aquafer
When drought reigns
it’s cause for celebration
 
Can also be a plaster
slapped up against the house
windows lathered with running water
maybe even a piece of leaf sticking to the glass
and the gurgling of downspouts commenting
 
Can be, here on the prairie
‘horizontal rain’
as the winds go full bore
sometimes, even,
masking a tornado
circling winds at race car speeds
tearing and smashing cruelly
our constructs ripped to rubble
people hurt and killed

A gentle afternoon, I’d say:
gentle breezes, nudging the trees
branches like huge feathered fans nodding
Oh so mild temperature, just right
humanly speaking
 
Even the sun seems at ease
sharing the afternoon with us
 
A screened porch, shade
just right softness chairs
made to rock a bit
even a ceiling fan
waving and nodding down
 
Wrens and finches
robins too
back and forth from feeders to nests
All together now:
Pleasantville….

The planter sits
in the cold dark shed
last week it came out in the sunshine
then, like Punxsutawney Phil
went back into its hole
to wait for a better day
 
Thunder rolls across the prairie
yet another rain
I’m dreaming it sure would be nice
to move this shower to July
when the crops and I are wanting
But that’s not my role
 
I hitch it up
repair and grease
adjust and refine
test it out
and wait
 
The planter sits
long and quietly
waiting for it’s season
the curtain call
pulling on stage, under the lights
like a plane on the runway
engines tested
all inspections passed
ready for the call
“Cleared for takeoff!”
Throttles eased to full
engines roar
moving, faster, faster
all systems go
monitors clicking, flashing ‘Go!”
“Go!  Go!  Go!’

The earth’s blanket
wears different coats
Most famous I think
is green
 
Poets, singers,
laud the richness
of lush grass, growing
and feeding animals
 
Summer’s harsh sun
and lack of moisture
or winter’s cold
can turn the green to tan
An earth tone
is suspect
 
A little coat of snow
can grace the grass with white
brilliant in the morning sun
purity displayed over earth

Early morning quiet
as I walk a long hallway
Murmuring sifts from some doors
as I pad softly past
The farmers have come to town
two thousand
to stew their policy, ideas,
and surface direction for another year
 
Couples long together
are working their get up routines
teams, pulling together
raising families, crops and livestock,
they feed themselves and 300 others
 
Push the button
ride the elevator down
street level
workers bustling in and past
the coffee shop full tilt
A young lady, perky,
ready to serve the java, the joe
Folks studying the morning papers
others punching phones, smartly
 
Up the escalators, off to work
some three hundred fifty folks
every county represented
Jacobs calls out:
“Adams three!”
“All here”, says the county president.
“A quorum present!” is declared.
The stenographer introduced
the silent one down front
whose finger fly as she concentrates, documents
“Education”, declares the worker bee.
“Line 24 amended to read…”
And so it goes for a day and a half.
 
In the back, in the hallways,
a steady flow of folks, greeting, visiting,
“You gotta minute?” And off they go.
Democracy in living color!
Grass roots ideas
being hashed out
formed into policy
and often into law

A Frenchman made his way
into a great unknown
land, and more land,
lakes and rivers and native peoples
Westward on he went
discovering a land full of wonders
 
A great lake
and great lakes
like huge inland seas
fresh water, fish
here would be a place
where people could live
and well
 
Time passing
it came to be
my great grandpa settled there
working at a saw mill
making boards
making a city
a new life
far from tyrants and kings and queens
aristocracies unkind to people
Here, life was better
 
Wave after wave of people came
and the buildings grew thicker
and taller
til they became like stalagmites
reaching to the sky
sky scrapers, they called them
growing ever more tall
 
Box rooms built on box rooms
of homes and office spaces
served by small boxes on cables
lifting up, gliding down
the people sorting themselves
into their caves and places

The room stands quiet
returned to its former state
all the things carried in
are carried out, gone
 
The people
those who stood in front
those who played their music
and those who filed in
claiming chairs for a moment
have gone to their cars
and motored away
 
Quiet reigns 
 
In their hearts words are replayed
faces cross the mind screen
the family, the people
have come together to share
a passing
a moving away
moving on
 
The book of a life has been written
the touching part has slipped away
so now, we can only touch things they touched
but hugs are no more
forever
 
The structure of creation is such
that in our mind’s eye, in our heart of hearts
we still touch
and do
pleasuring in the memories
that will stay with us

We’ve done about all we can do:
 
We chose the seeds most carefully
from ten thousand possibilities
put the soil, under microscopes
and tested for its health
amended it, for maximum yield
 
We nestled the seeds
into warmth and moisture
watched them sprout, grow
to fine young plants
 
Watched for bugs, disease,
and mindfully sprayed where needed
honoring the soil and environment
 
So, we are done.
Each day the corn holds court
for whatever nature delivers
Temperature, moisture, wind
whatever
time goes by
 
Hunter gatherers roamed the earth
surviving, but in short years.
Along came farmers
who planted, cultivated, and harvested
saving seeds for food year round
surviving, better, but still with problems
nearly everyone had to be
a farmer

Days of hundred degrees
weeks with little to no rain
but the crops are hanging on!
 
Drummer Flannagan doin their thing
black blanket tucked under green crops
holding tight to subsoil moisture
 
So when the crops should look
like the unwatered yards in town
still, they’re growin green!
Soaking up the sun
converting elements to our next meals
Amazing!
We are blessed!

Half way through a marathon
a runner grabs a cup
a quarter inch or water there
No time to grab another
he throws it down
rushes on
the goal still far ahead
 
Ten miles down
sixteen to go
the runner knows it’s not enough
from top of head
to tip of toes
cooling sweat is soaking
 
Better than nothing
this ‘not enough’
yet the runner’s thankful
no way back
going forward
trained to do just that
 
Focus
Concentrate
set small goals
another drink is coming
somewhere forward
getting closer
every step, every minute

Early morning darkness
coffee, newspaper, coffee again
Waiting for the sun
to whisk away nights soaking
 
Straight sticks adorned with seeds
standing at attention
in long straight rows
waiting for the farmer
to whisk and sort and steal away
food
for man and beast
 
Soybean harvest
is one of waiting
soy seeds so tender, porous
they soak up dew defying
harvest on most mornings
 
So the farmers stir
and stir their coffee
and do those little things
that always need some doing

Leaves drifting down, early morning,
as I pop out the door to snag the paper
the air engulfs me like a big wet kiss!
a wet air morning for certain.
 
Soaking my world
the fields and grass are laden
humidity must be a hundred
A pin drop would make it rain!
 
Far to the south
the Gulf offers up its moisture
and winds duly christened travel
a giant swirl brings them here
to bathe the plains with life giving water
naturally
sufficient
to make this a garden
 
Lush, comes to mind,
in seasons warm
lovely, when cold
slides down in winter

randpa rolled out at 0330
to do the livestock chores
Pitch the hay down
from the mow
shovel the grain
into cow shined troughs
slap the stantions
on the milk cows necks
and do the milking
 
The walk to the barn
only a hundred steps
was lit by stars that twinkled
and by the morning moon.
I wasn’t “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”!
 
The cattle knew we were coming
they greeted us in moo talk
even the cats had something to say
as they scampered along beside us
 
Walking back to breakfast
the moon still shone
pristine, in the dawn soft sky
The stock, the stars, the moon, the earth
go about their ways, a habit
while, in sharp contrast,
we can ‘know’.

Seattle, St. Louis…
Baltimore, Chicago…
waiting rooms the same
hallways polished keen
Great big buildings
many floors
folks in starched coats scurrying
 
America’s clinics hum along
patients in; patients out
patients, patients, all about
secretaries by the score
nurses on the phones
and then, the doctors
In
 
Women and men so educated
so focused
mountains of information in
sitting in front of a human
one person
to one person
one question:
“How can I help?”
There is order in the court!
 
And orders go out:
this test and that
lab and xray and more
digging deeper, deeper, deeper
for that nugget, that exclusive ‘click’
“This is the problem”
and “This is the solution”.

I know a certain former congressman
now president of some colleges
whose trademark was a blue shirt
button down
Back and forth to Springfield
then back and forth to Washington
Blue shirt Monday
and every other day
 
Eastern preppies  uniform, I note
was khaki pants and blue shirts too
although stripes of blue came along
with Paisley ties and Herringbone tweeds
 
My grandpa and my dad
grew up in bibs of denim blue
with chambray shirts, long sleeves
Summer, winter
it didn’t matter
Hats and jackets changed
but blue shirts ruled the farms

Cold, they say, bitter cold!
And right they are!
The cold bites us, in many ways!
 
Noses and toes
fingers and ears
get nipped and painted red
Pay attention!
Our bodies say
this is not to my liking!
 
Frost bite, they call it
as winter chills and works on us
seeping in to gloves and hats
the wind burning our skin
eyes watering
tears freezing
oh, we are so cold!
 
Tis a bitter taste
winter gives us
yet, beneath the snow and ice
there’s good

A hundred thirty years ago
great grandparents settled here
Planted themselves
and then planted trees
Apple trees, pear trees
Osage orange and ash trees
The Osage Orange were windbreakers
cause the prairie sure had wind!
They made great fence rows
and nearly permanent fence posts
Some still line the boundaries

The fruit trees were very precious
cause sugar sure was high
so sweetness was very special
jams and jellies tasted mighty good
all through the long, cold, and snowy winters

Ash is a good hard wood
for making strong shovels and handles
and hand work was the way to do
The ash trees grew so tall
they seemed to touch the clouds
Strong winds served to do the pruning
broken branches made good fires
for cooking and for heating water
and heating the big old farmhouse

Over a century old now
my arms won’t reach around one
limbs way up in the trees
are big around as trees as well!
But time goes by
and nature has its way
to raise things up
and bring things down
We have the Green Ash Borer

The trees will die.

All of them.

The president moved amongst the crowd
“Helloing’ here and there.
Handshakes, smiles, friendly comments,
a welcoming on all sides.

Up two steps to the speakers platform
stepping up to the podium, the mike,
he looked out upon the moving sea
listened to the voices
watched the people moving, mixing
These folks like each other!

“Good evening!”
spoken once
spoken twice
a few folks find their seats
but the waves continue
greetings abounding
The president studied some more
and saw, it was good:
These folks enjoy each other!

Farm leaders and spouses
people who’ve risen tall
carrying the ball in many ways
plays writ out large in lives lived well
living well
Tested by storms and drought
floods and markets
government kerfluffles
the vagaries of life
they’ve taken their blows
and risen

The sun season has changed
and our air is springtime
first blushes from plants seem rushing this year

An abrupt shift from winter
a mild one it was
so the warming sun has clicked
and plants come to heel

Swelling buds
tiny leaves
grass yawning and stretching
then racing to be mowed
farmers and gardeners itching
pulling on gloves
scratching the soil
humming of insects
chirping of birds
it is, indeed, concert time

A skiff, a flurry,
a snow storm, a blizzard
we have them all
on the prairie!

For cash grain farmers
the same applies
to meetings during winter!

The constant change, in agriculture
drives us to always be learning
So, when winter comes
so do meetings
and they come like the snow

Computers help
an enormous boost
to be in touch almost daily
with colleges and universities
and providers galore
with information

This is they age,
some say,
of ‘information’
where knowledge is the new wealth
Genetics, computers, GIS and GPS
in skiffs, and flurries
in storms and blizzards
available!
Blowing about us!
Swirling around us!

Grandpa had a lot of cattle
a hundred forty head or so
and thus the pasture lessons!

Along life’s highway valued flags
to sift and sort some wisdom

Cowpies always favorites!
Dried, they made nice campfires
wet, like polka dots
we learned to step around them
lesson one:
cowpies happen

Nature has its ways, you see
(and smell, don’t touch)
Cows drink water
by the gallons
eat grass and hay and therefore
four stomachs later
the mixture passes out
Ker PLOP!
A pie!

Lesson two:
when playing baseball in the pasture
interesting bases are made
plain and clear they lie there
beckoning to the runner
Run TO them,
but don’t step IN them!
Hmmmmm.

Some folks have ’em
some folks don’t!
I’m amongst the chosen few

One might say
we all are witnesses
to the capture of piles of stuff
and not all are bad, you see

Haystacks in a summer scene
bode winter food
for cows and horses and their needs
Stacks of money
aren’t that bad
especially if the money’s yours!

The stacks at libraries
speak treasures of words
inked for posterity, valued
treasured, for memories
and researchers looking

A century ago
here in Champaign County
a small group of farmers assembled
America, this is
where freedom of assembly
is a law of the land

Farmers and their land
a communion of sorts
people combing and brushing
seeding, tending and harvesting
soil, intellect, and labor combining
to grow the things that feed us

Ideas passed among them
How to do this better?
What do we need to…?
I think WE can change this!

Man faces here
some on their own
others pushed forward by spouses
together, an association was birthed
The “Illinois Farmers Institute”

Dekalb County, Kankakee County,
and Champaign County caught the scent
June, 1912, the words ‘Farm Bureau’ appeared
in an add, The Urbana Daily Courier.

The catalog company, Sears Roebuck,
sent a thousand dollars
Seed money, in need of match,
to hire a special person
a crop and soil expert
to help the local farmers

Two hundred and fifty people
mostly farmers
put their dollars on the line
the rest, we say, is history!

Of course
a centennial farm has history!
memories scattered across a century
Each field has pictures
snapped and kept
in someone’s mind, to savor, ponder

My 80, she called it
Ida Augusta Bialeschki
who married a hard working guy
Alfred Warfel was very well known
as a premier hard worker, smart
Why, he could shuck a hundred
ears of corn in a day
working from dawn to dusk
A trader, par excellence
of anything to do with a farm

The east 80
lies east to west
along the Sadorus road
a little rolling, some flat spots
ponding is a problem
dark soil and lighter
you know a glacier was there
by rocks, found annually
rising from winter’s freezing, heaving

As a little lad
I worked with grandpa
forking up the hay
riding the hay rack home
Grandpa was fond of contests
races, if you will,
like when me and Francis (Butler)
tried to beat him
pulling millet
one end of the field to the other
Grandpa won, just barely
I think he strung us along!

The east end
held a school
gone before my time
except for well, standing alone
complete with pump and handle
Time was, grandpa plowed
round and round he went
stopping each round
to pump some water
for a leaky, ailing tractor
Awesome, his persistence
to save a nickel or dime

A grain of corn was slipped
into the mother earth
Moist, warm soil responded,
and soon the kernel was swelling
Life emerging from the heart
a tiny shoot slipped out
and burrowed deeper, ever deeper
another shoot slipped out
to seek the sun
Power up, and power down
mitosis kicking, screaming
not to be denied
the plant emerged, began unfolding
unwrapping leaf after leaf

A farmer kneeling
studying carefully
a doctor in his office
an army in his tool kit, ready,
pronouncing all is well

Something about the season
has caused a flood of buds
They are thicker than I’ve ever seen them
gracing the yards and streets
Some with fragrant smells
wrapping around a spot
but all with great achievement
a worthy site to ponder

What do they know
kept secret from us?
Will the summer be
a time of abundant fruit?
Or is this just a show
a Hollywood event in color
that will flutter to the floor
cut and cast away
to never be seen any more?

Nature gives us moments
but nature holds the keys
we can but seize the moment
and do our best to capture
Verse, paint, snap a picture,
put it in our memory
but gone it will be

For some 70 years now,
this workshop has produced
If you are one of those
who is ‘outcomes based’
A treat is in store for you here!

The shelves and drawers are full
tools of the trade are in waiting
for the five generations who’ve labored herein
Some of the tools are history
some are very recent
But every one, has current use, productive

The window looks out to a farm
livestock and crops are grown
feeding the families
feeding the world
Out there the soil is tilled
opened to awesome production
ever increasing in output, yield

Inside the window is art
cabinets sculpted just so
countertops defined by use
appliances to help create, and serve

Herein hands, hearts, minds and spirits work
In communion creating dishes of food
of colors and texture and taste
Think apple pie fresh from the oven
grandma’s rolls
pot roasts and trimmings savored aromas
early morning coffee
the clatter and chattering of lunch times
the busyness of holiday gatherings
grandma, daughters, and grand daughters together,
grandpa, sons, and grandsons together

Ah, yes, I am a farmer!
And it is good to have all the corn planted!
And it is good to receive a blessing rain!
Gentle. Soft.
Whispering down on the rich black soil.
Soaking down to bathe the seeds…

Can you picture a perfect bath?
Settling down into soothing warm water.
Leaning back, settling in, relaxing.

The seeds are sons and daughters
products of the generations
Sifted, sorted, chosen carefully,
genes on the racetrack starting line

What looks to be a lifeless grain
is waiting to explode!
An awesome ‘click’
when elements combine:
warmth and water, and a little time
Life bursts forth in a tiny shoot
pushing to the light

O that our thanks
could measure up
to the heights of our blessings received

The power of suns rising
matched in a Savior rising
opening heaven’s doors for us

The power in our air
the pungent scent of spring plowed soil
the clean breath of summer rain
the labored odor of oil and fuel and grain
of leaves in fall, burning brightly
of crispness with the frost
through the seasons reminding
creator and created

The mysteries of discovery
there all the time
waiting, just waiting,
for us to recognize
nano and pico
to numbers to big
again and again
now seeing the pathways
created and being

They came…
oh, how they came
to the Farm Progress Show!
Half a section of cars and trucks
lined up on a hayfield
Passengers streaming in

Mega tents and open air
the vendors engaged the farmers
A thousand vendors
ten thousand farmers
Connecting, sharing info

The machinery farmers dream of
shiny, parked to see
the latest, best in the world
farmers and visitors taking pictures
Machines working, side by side
out in the adjacent fields
tilling, harvesting, awesome sights

It really is, farmer progress,
married to dreams, engineering, manufacturing
Seeds and all the things
that move the world of agriculture
here, connecting the dots, the people

“And the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being.”
Genesis 2:7

In the springtime I walked the fields
my feet traversing the soil as my father did
my grandfather did
my great grandfather did
Eyes seasoned by the looking, seeing,
the condition of the soil

Stopping, picking up a handful,
sensing the temperature
weighing the sun’s progress against the winter cold
sensing the moisture
sifting in the senses
the experience of generations

Decision time
bring out the machines
till the soil, sifting
the snugging the seeds into their home
on my knees uncovering them, checking them
just right depth
just right compaction
just right soil moisture and temperature
I’m sifting the season

Again I walk the fields
on my knees looking carefully
disease or insect damage?
Tiny plants by millions growing
drawing on the sifted soil
Later walking amidst waist high plants
again checking for disease and insects
A farmer works against ten thousand things we know
and many more yet to know
We know a lot
we know so little

Some two hundred years ago
a ploughman wrote of a mouse
Behind a horse
he watched her scurry
across the fresh plowed field

Burns sat and pondered
what he’d done
turning the home site over
A tender fellow
more a poet
than a striving farmer
guilt surrounded him.

I, in turn, have seen my mouses!
When I was younger
I sent them packing!
My horse a tractor
some three hundred power
moving like a runner
no hesitation
hour after hour
opening the soil for winter

Back then the mouse had chances
slim to almost nothing
but times have changed
and so have I
In my getting older
I might even stop my steed
and take my pen
a muse a bit about him

Remembering my dad
to my chagrin
when he was my age then
would stop the tractor
let the little mouse pass
then roar on down the field

Now I do too!
Respect for life
has grown and grown
as children and grandchildren come
I learn with fascination
the systems there
in little creatures
and find their study good

Setting records
right and left
middle of the country too
Global warming
is the culprit
so some scientists say

Learned fellows
degrees in tow
study deeply
numbers and more
then make their premise
give it to us
‘Best guess’, might be
a better thought

Ten year cooling
they tell us now
along with ‘climate change’
Cooling is warming
is hard to take
for us simple folk

Doesn’t help
three decades back
the self same people said
“Ice age coming”
‘Be prepared”
We have the figures here
It’s proven.
Said and done
Prepare for cold and ice

Winter often holds us
in a grip of ice and iron winds
We, like bits of paper,
are swept across the prairie
looking for a spot of comfort
warmth by our fires now tamed

The soil frozen hard
captive much like us
endure, we think,
for spring is coming
the calendar clicks the days
as we gaze from frosted windows
holding cups of comfort

Bits of snow
bits of ice
the wind so lonesome blows
untapped, except to chill us
through the day it goes
across our country
and out to sea
day after day it comes

Our cars shudder on the freeway
the trucks are tossed aside
and yet it blows

Arctic winds unfurl
to lash the winter plains
they’re a poke in the breadbasket
that feeds the world

Bitter cold
wind, sleet, snow
fight with one another
with us in the miserable middle

O well!
We’re killing bugs!
No kidding!
Insects die by billions
as their eggs freeze and split
decimated, no more!
No one can count them
the victims of the weather
the birds still have plenty to eat

Snow piles higher and higher
school cancelled
activities shunted, other dates
people stock up on groceries
“Hunker down”, advisors say
Plan on staying home
Safety first, of course!

The midwest prairie has a thing
that happens most every year
Just when winter’s iron grip
seems crushingly stong
The sun comes warm
and the winds die down
temperatures climb over freezing
Ice recedes, snow piles shrink
people shed a layer
A welcome respite
the January Thaw
affording hope of spring

The jet stream shifts
and back again
the arctic winds come blowing
The sun is hiding
dry snow falling
dark at eight in the morning
Cold? 7 above!
People and engines grind with effort
but come to life again
move about, to do their things
in spite of wind and weather

Breathing in the scent
of freshly tilled black soil
the harvest freshly done
the bounty gathered in
the season now, begins again

It’s evening in
the life of a farmer
the year of tilling, planting, tending, harvest done
it could be a time of rest, but not yet
the soil, the mother of it all
needs to be stroked, massaged
before it is laid to rest.

Stop!
Look!
Did you see it?

The word ‘again’?
It’s two words, really:
A
and gain!

Rain is a gain!
The fields are soaking
drinking it in
Not much in ponds
not much in ditches
The soil is ‘talking’
saying ‘It’s okay”.

Are you not busy?
Nothing to do?
Ah, refocus is the word
The world is talking
but you were too busy
to hurried
to hear, to listen

What is being said?
What was being missed?
Two steps back, if you please.
Look a little deeper
Put your feet up
think of the people
and how you can help

Winter comes with icy fingers
strong and sure and certain
to grip us all
our whole world
frozen soil, ice and snow
and winds that blow from the arctic

Fences sink in snow
with ice and frost lacing
caking cars and windshields
no yielding

Trees stand ridged
sometimes frosted
(see hoarfrost)
sometimes plastered
with blowing snow

Comes a day
when weeds spike through
icy roads are melted
and water begins to gurgle
roofs are dripping
streams are rippling
The sun is pouring it on

Those days are bright
hurts our eyes
Sunglasses are in order
We can feel the sun
surely most welcome
and sense the sun is winning

Ah, we study weather
and find out more and more
about what moves our weather

Sun spots have an impact
to start our study far away
Big shifts away out there
push and pull our climate

Moving closer, jet streams,
pathways of air way up high
‘carry the mail’ this way and that,
a giant snake of persuasion
shifting cold and hot
cool and warm

The midwest is a mixing bowl
parked betwixt the arctic and the gulf
a given day can see them both
wide swings what’s displayed
might be balmy, sort of,
fog like near the gulf
a little taste of Mexico
but short lived, for, you see,
the other way is arctic cold
blasting across the prairie
ice and snow can blow so strong
we wonder why we’re here

December morning finds them quiet
iron and steel and rubber
engineered to tasks
now, just sitting
parked

Days and nights they thundered
through the fields of black
lifting, turning, stroking
the soils that yielded plenty
chisel plows, men call them
they scratch nature’s back
opening her skin
to air and water
microbes breathe
earthworms relax
stalks and leaves asunder
ready for winter’s freeze and thaw
bugs and weeds disturbed
springtime will find fields waiting
to receive the seeds again

Cold, the metal sits
awaiting repairs, replacement parts
final shots of grease
all done
rest

If I were, I think
I’d contain the dancing
longer, on the little hardwood floor

Representative Bachmann whirled and swirled
attracting lots of moths
Pretty woman, not shy to speak
she captured hearts for a moment

Then came Perry
from Texas, be wary
who rose like a shining star
then flamed, and became
another also ran

Come on Cain!
Cause ’em pain!
Hit ’em where it hurts!
Politicians, beltway blindness
business is the answer (mostly)
to whatever ails us…

Spring and farmer
bring the green focus
Winter pastures green and growing range
away the weary brown
Suddenly, it seems, the world’s carpet is back
lush underfoot

The buds swell, and the warm spring sun
first burst of green
announcing colors come
Protective shells are shucked
as life and increased energy
wrapped in soft spring green

In the areas of soft ground
softened by freezing and thawing
produces tiny buds
as the farmer watches
tunes itself to the earth again
“What we have here?”
Study
plans
boxes
plants

Soggy leaves, from a gentle night time rain
Soggy soil, luxuriously black and rich
Fields of cornstalks, nipped and low
from roaring machines that stole their fruit
All warmed by a bright fall sun

My toes are cold
is winter creeping, sneaking,
behind some dark barked tree?
The birds are flocking
geese doing check flights
bugs by the billions looking for refuge

The world is changing
as we watch
yes, winter is coming
we know it’s so
So, like the ant
we must hurry and go
to do a thousand things
before we rest hearthside

Early morning darkness
finds us rising and taking food
first light finds us outside
tending to machines
A magic moment comes
when a key is turned
and a deep throated roar begins

The earth is a quirky place
sometimes hot, sometimes cold
the winds blow hard or gentle
the sun beats down, or warms the soul
the rains come…, or not…

A springtime day
a touch of frost
when planting should be rolling
seeds stay warm, but in the bag
and in the shed, cozy

The farmer scratches his head
checks the weather, again
drinks more coffee
and thinks about the risks
Precious seeds, precious dollars
are sitting on the line
To plant, or not to plant
bet on the come?

The saying used to be
and was a valid thought
‘Corn knee high
by the 4th of July!”
Well, a new target has appeared:
“Chest high
by 4th of July!”
And ‘we’ do it!

Better understanding
of the soil
(never say ‘dirt’)
and adding plant food
and genetics
and planting machinery
We carefully tune ourselves in
zero in
bringing the symphony to order

Picture the maestro
stepping up on his little platform
batoon raised
gaze intense
every instrument tuned and ready
His arms go up
and the music begins
to the farmer’s senses
a ‘hallelujah chorus’
an epiphany
of praise to the Creator

Yup! It’s true!
If the weather is just right
and the corn has great genes
and the soils are supersized (black)
sometimes the corn looks black!

Today is one of those days!
Heavy cumulous clouds are rolling past
and the corn is over the top, growing
so fast, it’s just amaizing!

Dark, dark green,
ever so lush
breezes combing it in waves
it looks like an ocean of green/black!

Add to that silver reflections from waving leaves
and the fields are really sparkling!
What a lovely day to savor, remember!

How I wish you could see it too!
Couched in knowledge
of this food, fiber, and fuel crop
that we are gifted year after year
to the extent we fill our granaries
to their tops
and then pour mountains more outside!

A certain time of year
a certain time in summer
the maize gets sweet on us
Daytime starch
turns to early morning sugar
much to our taste buds delight!

Sun and rain
soil and genes
do their dance so well
there is a reward for us

Early morning finds us
ripping the ears off stalks
well water coolness is just right
to capture the peak of sweetness

Soaking in the shade all day
the ears are ready for the coals
steaming themselves
tenderness peaks
and the picnic is ready
roasting ears are the fare!

Tucked just beside old Route 66
and across the way from Lincoln’s court house
a long handled pump sits atop a well
a sesquicentennial marvel

Honest Abe put his hands
on that self same handle you can
I can
pump it too
just like he did
150 years ago or so

Riding the circuit
palavering in the court house
Abe would work up quite a thirst
Like the others
he’d cross the road
and pump up some clear cold water
Anything ever taste the better?

Our wind mill
whirled away
summer day, winter
the pump jack worked
lifting water
sending it through the pipe
to the big horse tank

Faithfully, three generations
cold clear water pulsed on out
filling buckets and that tank
A hundred forty head o cattle
stood and slurped
giant sucking sounds
The pigs, the sheep, the chickens
all drew from our good well

Our lives are really surrounded
by springs both big and small
The energy found inside them
serves us every day

Our cars have springs
in brakes and doors
hidden here and there
Kitchens have them every where
in drawers and doors and little machines
switches and light fixtures all rely
on the power in the springs

Trains and planes and great big trucks
count on springs to stop them
Big and small
they serve us all
seldom noticed, if at all

That hidden power comes to us too
hidden in other things
Winter bonds loosening
the grass begins to green
buds begin to swell
Earth’s blanket coloring
pushed by an unseen spring
is really pretty awesome
if you stop to think
Add in the coming blossoms
the flowers that springtime brings
Nature is power
harnessed from above
created, laid out, sure
It sings,
it blesses
as it uncoils to impress us

History is laced with them
keystones of the seasons
little wedges
placed just so
at just the right time and place
to connect the dots

Governments come and go
people swirling, dancing briefly
passing on and far away
So often, it seems to me
just a little group
just a few folks
take control
Fists holding tightly
Swords always at ready
slashing away dissenters

I picture mighty Egyptians
chariots racing
chasing Hebrews across the desert
My mind’s eye sees Romans too
chasing Hebrews, chasing Christians
So powerful! So intimidating!
Gone

Leap forward to modern times
a band of Russians, focused
taking command of a vast country
expanding the borders
Fists holding tightly
Swords always at ready
slashing away dissenters

Yet another small group
a manic, powerful leader
taking command, declaring war
brutalizing people, cities, nations
Millions marching, goose stepping
arms held forth in salute
attacking, expanding
slashing away dissenters

Two very different groups
share the night time hours
One stays up late
into the wee small hours
the other awakens early
charged with waiting for the sunrise

Some establishments sit,
quiet mornings, abandoned,
slowly stirring afternoons,
coming awake evenings
Music begins
cigarettes are lit
alcohol begins to flow
Relief from work breaks out
greeting, talking, laughter spices,
the evening eases on
Come midnight things get serious
Music is loud, minds get fuzzy
Finally the hour comes
and folks go home.

The other group is waking up
planning a day of work
breakfast temptations climb the stairs
coffee? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and bacon?
The earth is about to move
Clear minds focusing on tasks
as sunlight smothers the darkness
Outside, the air is fresh
laden with morning dew
Engines begin to hum
hands move levers
and work begins to roll

People of the dark
have become people of the light
the day theirs to shape and form
into buildings built
products made
crops planted, tended and harvested

Now, folks in Seattle
know their rain!
It falls, ever so gently
and so often.
It creates lush flora and fauna
and cleans the air
crystal clear scenes are precious.

The prairie folks
in the flyover zone
have a different rain
Horizontal, they call it
Let me explain

Just yesterday I labored
inside a brand new shed
Fifty feet wide, seventy feet long
with giant doors for giant machines
Thunder boomed, lightning cracked
closer and closer it came
A wall of rain was visible
across the fields ’twas coming
Ting! Ting! big raindrops hit the metal roof
The east door open, I worked in the west end.

The wind picked up, as did the rain
which now was pounding like a snare drummer
Ten feet, twenty feet, the rain came in
and then I was getting wet!
Sixty feet from the door, and I was wet!
That’s horizontal rain!

The rain on the plain
can flood the fields
and cause some plants to drown
Nothing to do but watch it happen
and wait
and wait

The warmth of the sun
and breezes blowing
soak up the lakes in time
But the plants are dead
and the bare spot beckons
rich soil, waiting

At just the right moment
no longer muck or mud
I’m back with the planter
and loaded with seeds
snuggling a fresh batch in

Moisture, warmth, and mothering soil
are electric to the seeds
They swell and pop a shoot right out
and grow like there’s no tomorrow
Hurry! Grow like crazy!
The race has just begun
to beat some frost
that will surely come
to keep the harvest small

Lake beds yield
but not the same
the weight of water squeezes
Compacts the soil
limits moisture movement
limits space between soil particles

HJ came, one day,
to the village of Tolono
Walked out west
to stake his claim
plough and ply, plant and harvest
feed his family and others

First he built a lean to
just next to a tiny stream
water
every day, necessity
close at hand

Winter came
the family huddled
somehow they survived
Cold days, frozen soil,
HJ and son would journey
horses and sled
to a local sawmill
hauling back the cut boards
from which the home was built

Still, the stream supplied

Mondays found great grandma
Christina Mueller ne
with buckets in her hands
water from the stream a carryin’
to do the weekly wash

Tuesday was washing day
carrying was too hard
to wash that self same day

A train carload one day
unloaded in Tolono
“Hogsheads’ the containers called
large wooden kegs
some hundreds of gallons holding
HJ bought one, brought it home
buried it by the house

First he filled it
from the stream
and then roof water filled
HJ ran a pipe
from granma’s kitchen sink
down into that big ole barrel

Picture granma’s arm a pumpin’
water into her sink
tears running down her face
so happy
no more carrying water
from the nearby stream

Childhood memories hold them
and all through school they went
Feelings of ‘wanting out!”
start itching
with the warmth of sun
and longer days

Yawning in the morning sun
shaking off the frost
I walk across the frozen skin
soon to be blackened mud

Cold iron lies in waiting
engines wintered long
oil like syrup
drags them back
resisting, resisting, then
Roar! they spring to life!

Oh, it feels so good!
To stir the pot of spring
plans coming off the papers
into piles of seeds
and machines pawing to work

The soil that looked so lifeless
sprouts hair fine tiny plants
they leap and grow
and color the land
green, is coming again

The Japanese Maple
long a favorite
nestles just outside my door
The frosty nights
and sunny days
have spurred the richest color

Red
Not just any
but one that cries out “Life!”
Electric!

Once a medic
half century a farmer
I’ve seen the color before
On others, injured,
on me, minor cuts
The brightest red flows out

Life! The maple shouts!
I have it but it’s slipping
Springtime birthings
summer soothings
and now fall, crisp and power full

A line’s been drawn
rescission cells
a line that halts the flow of life
now this
a special red

So like the Creator
to color so richly!
Splash the palette!
Throw it at the earth!
Look at what’s happened!

Grass as fresh as springtime
green and growing and loving the cool, the wet
Tree trunks blackened with rain
India inked and clinging leaves
But some, get this, some
with colors defying
Gold and yellow and red and mixes
shocking our senses so quickly

Where did the colors come from?
They were there…
all the time….

Not all creatures
see all colors
but we do, we can
See, and ponder
the changing seasons
Nature nurturing, confirming
the complexity of creation

Our pool sits abandoned
it’s called ‘global warming’
No matter we set records
for cold and cold again
No matter we’re wearing coats
in mid July in Illinois
Hold fast we must
to the notions above
What are we thinking
or are we thinking at all?

Have patience, we urge
don’t jump from the ship
or the frying pan to the fire
Maybe that should rather be
from the fridge to the freezer?

It’s minus 12
at the moment
Sun is shining brightly
A squirrel just ran up a tree
oblivious to the temp
He’s making his rounds
just as usual
checking his area out
Summer’s harvest
is tucked away
awaiting his preplanned visit

It’s minus 12
and I’m inside
but the house is pretty chilly
66, the dining room
70, my office temp
80 degrees of difference

From 150 feet
below our house
water flows around
warming our house in winter
cooling our house in summer!
round and round it goes

My grandma told me
of ‘way back when’
the winter of ’82
Her parents sheltered
on this land
staked out as their own
A lean to home
a constant fire
a lot of clothes
and cold
Still they made it
built a house
lived through many winters

The waiting Father
and the waiting farmer
have some things in common

An idea is born
some winter season
spoken
and comes to being

Springtime finds the chosen seeds
carefully placed in soil
Mothered well
tiny plants poke up
and drink in sun and water

Oh, how they stretch and grow
taller and taller through the days
days of warmth, and days of wind
days that stroke, and days that test
taller and taller they grow
then birth their seeds
marked with mother and father

All along,
the harvest season
has been a part of the plan
Some day, you see,
the harvesters roll
set their sickles, fine tuned
to the plants
and begin the final swaths

The plants devoured
but the seeds carefully saved
are food for today and tomorrow
and seeds for next year’s harvest

Oh yes, our bodies ‘talk’ to us
in ways we understand
Sometimes adrenalin just plain soars
and we thrill to go for the ride
but other times we glide
Slowly
more slowly
til we want a place to hide
and sleep

No telephone a ringin
no one knocking at the door
Just some time to slip away
lights out
maybe even snore!

Then there’s times
when work is done
the clothes in the washing machine
the hot shower soothing oh so good
and we settle in somewhere

Tools of the trade
are varied and many
Sculpted by hands
shiny from use

Favorite tools
have a special place
for those who use them often
Some are passed down
through generations
gaining in honor steadily

Oh, the memories
that go along with them!
Priceless, the tools become
as they wear
the marks of thousands of usings

A two pound hammer
a little sledge
is one I often use
Grandpa Clementz used it
to budge some stubborn bolts
My step dad used it too
I got it without a handle
and promptly added that
then used it heavily one summer
in tearing down old buildings
Sunup found me pounding, prying
knocking down
the hired man’s house and barn
No longer used, the buildings stood
so the lumber was recycled
The hammer is a favorite
so handy as it always was
pounding stubborn things
to fix the old or make the new

Time was, sometime ago,
when my vision had a problem
Mom, of course, knew the fix
I got my first pair of glasses!
I learned what I had been missing

Time was, sometime ago,
when my vision had another problem
a retinologist laid me down
a nurse held me down
and a lazer fixed my eye
from a blood red thick curtain seen
the world came back to sight
I knew what I was missing

Time was, sometime ago,
age caught up with my eyes
I just couldn’t see precisely
doing my work got harder
my quality slipped a bit
but a doctor laid me down
put me into la la land
and I awoke to better vision
cataracts can cloud ever more
but now I’m fixed again

Time was, and is, it marches on
and bodies do wear out
Just this week
a nice young lady and her machine
checked my hearing and frowned
“Mr. Warfel”, she said to me
“I think you need to consider…
some help with hearing.”
I had been told
by those who love me
I was missing things they said
I knew I had a problem.

Good news and bad!
Another decade brings a date…
My favorite Ed
and my good ole Doc
lay it out quite plain:
Do this! It’s important!

So, I make the appointment
and set my mind
to go through it once again.
Age 50?
Age 60?Age 70?
Some guy gets to see my insides
Colonoscopy, they call it.
Oh boy!

A hospital trip
kill a day
just do it all…their way
They’ll put you in dreamland
if you wish
or you can watch the monitor
if you’re brave and a little nutty

Fascinating
how our insides look!
So complex, our ‘machinery’
Digestion and elimination processes
are combinations, out of sight,
but critical to if and how we live
One of my friends
a learned professor
lecturing to his grad students one day
proclaimed, in an un PC way:
“You should thank God for your liver!”
Well, we should!

In the sporting world
there is a spot
a very special spot
it may be a pitch thrown just right
a home run hit, just right on the bat
a golf ball drive
where the ball and the club
connected just right
the ‘sweet spot’

It could be life
the meeting of love…for a lifetime
of a Savior, lifetime and more
or special times less
but still ‘sweet spots’

For me
The Chi O hallway
the door opened
and Kay walked in
to stay…for a lifetime
A small church
a stairway
prayer with Sobol
connection with all things

Children born
count them
one two three four five
each so special
oh so fine
mine
ours
His

In 89
“Farm Leader of the Year”
by my peers
farm leaders all
lifting me
toasting me
Whew!

In ’06
“Trustee of the Year”
Illinois

I just lost again
but it wasn’t really personal
Not like some ones I love
some ones I respect

In all of history
one loser was the most
Mankind did their best
to put him lower than low
Spit? Beat? Humiliate?
Hang naked on a cross on a hill
for all to see him die?

In all of history
he broke the chains
to conquer death
and make a way to heaven
for you
for me
How’s that?

A sister did her best
put herself on the dotted line
and worked and worked to win a post
only to lose
A hard, hard thing.

A short time passing,
she has thanked the Lord
for changing how she’s lived
The winner waded in
and found a swamp so smelly
he’s challenged every day
to keep above the smell
While she invests in little people
grandchildren growing quickly
to spend her retirement grace fully

Now comes a friend
who did his best
if he were a bear he’d be a grizzly!
For over a year
he walked the county
meeting people
making friends
then putting up signs
giving his all
His family pitching in
and walking in parades
speaking warmly of who he is
a man of many talents

It’s that time of year, of course,
when farmers gather, ponder
Ever notice a row of signs
along a field of corn?

Company names
in bright catching colors
with numbers and letters all different
A closer look
shows some differences
in height or breadth or color

They’re different hybrids
the result of skills
applied to ‘make it better’
The latest offerings
on display
for farmer’s choice, selection

Just last eve
I attended a session
where company offerings were touted
Their very best
all growing nicely
preached about to us
Me, and my fellow farmers

The study done,
we marched to a tent
where good food was awaiting
A smiling crew
all prepared
to fee the hungry fellows.

And then it happened
a moment so choice
poignant to be certain
“Let’s have a blessing”
said our host
and the caps came off
just like that.

No one said
take off your hats
No one said
bow your heads

Depends, I suppose!
Grandad and I
stood on deck
Antarctica 91
Icebergs ringed our spot
penguins checked us out
Warm, summer, you see,
at zero or there abouts….

Fluffy the cat
with two inches plus
of thick luxurious fur
prefers the outside
instead of my shop
heated to 45

Enter me
bundled to nines
toes and fingers still cold
as I climb a ladder
to check a bin
breath blowing fog
eyeglasses steamed
Starting a truck
uh, uh, uh,
kerboom!
Ker chug chug chug
It spits and coughs
then evens out
but starting, none the less

Then there’s big diesels
oil like tar
fuel at risk of jelling
that just wait for spring
or warmer days
No problem sitting quiet

I remember times
we milked some cows
early morning and evening chores
I sat on a stool
and milked away
my head warming from the flank
and my hands warmed by teats like toast!
The milk steamed
in the ice cold pail
as I carried two to the house
The basement was warm
from a giant coal furnace
as Grandma ‘separated’ cream

We had an axe
we chopped the ice
from the horse tank every morning
Then the cows drank deeply
40 gallons per daily
amazing to see them slurp!

One time in economizing
grandpa got some hay
spoiled, useless, some fellow thought
so grandpa got it free
We heated water
and heated sorghum
mixing the two together
then poured it on
the nasty hay
and watched the cattle woof it!
Problem was
our pants got stiff!
Would stand up in the basement
without us in them!
Ever walk
in frozen pants
and hear them crack and crackle?

The planted field
is a thing of beauty
Rich soil combed
in rows so straight
a blanket of seeds
just beneath the surface
Soon the sprout
will break the surface
drinking in the sunshine
Roots branching
winding a finding their ways deeper
drawing water and nourishment
the crop is growing

A hungry world is watching
Oh come, harvest come!
Feed the nations!
One more time!

Selah, Lin 06/08

It’s November
yet the grass
is springtime lush
fresh mowed lawns
look e’er so new
and yet I know
around the corner
a cold wind comes our way
so saw the firewood
keep it dry
for the day that’s coming

We see so dimly
take a seed
that looks so plain and lifeless
a handful, a sackful, not impressive
just lying there so lifeless
like the soil
our present eyes
see not beneath
the covers
there’s life therein, you see
waiting for us to discover
whether towering oak
or fields of corn
the seeds are tied together
deep inside
the genes have codes
that fit together neatly
bring together
circumstances
and life bursts forth

In early morning darkness
there’s soft, pattering rain
striking cold glass windows
winter, calling again

Winds whisper gently
“You need this”.
Soils will soak it in
hold it
for summer’s plants
to gain
and surge
to harvests plenty

Gray light yields
more gray and black
leafless trees
etched in ink
road lines all laid out
shining strips across the fields
light poles straight and tall
stern, it is
this gray and black
But all of us are knowing
we’re but a tiny way
from blazing white profusion

Thunder rumbles
but shies away
somehow having lost its way
to my front step
my whole farm

Its sister rain
is hiding too
as thunder teases us
raindrops fall
other places
succoring thirsty plants

How does this work?
we are led to ponder
the pathways thunder takes
the byways rain does course

September found us
hot and dry
thirsty people
thirst crops
thirsty lawns, flora and fauna
Drought, they called it
and there we were
United there
town and gown
and country folk
farmers and sidewalk pounders alike

And then the rains came
soft and gentle
soothing all
the crops and people
great full thank full
once again
the grass was green
the crops did what they could
their season was ending
for some was over
but on that final edge
the crops drank in
did what they could
to yield their fruits for us

Farmers have
a lot of habits
maybe in our genes
but in our culture
One habit being
in three dimensions:
remember back
bout previous years
study what’s at hand
and plan for next year
always three
Tuned in to nature
God’s creation
the picture always in motion

Across the midwest prairies
the summer rains come and go
A lightning show
with rolling thunder
clouds piled higher than mountains
and winds that gust
all bow down to rain

When plants and people
begin to notice
supply is running low
they pause, look up,
are reminded
how small our efforts are
The lightning, thunder,
clouds and wind
are out of our control
So too, is rain
whether more or less
we can ask
that’s all

Interesting that,
the Good Book says,
God caused a mist to rise up
then created rain
followed by plants and…man

In the communion therein
we live today
rain, and plants, and man
to watch, and grow, and be

Oh, study, yes we do,
and often do discover
hidden layers of creation
only to find
another layer
and another

Kinging the rain
but just for a moment passing
the night air lays heavily
on morning breaking

Don’t we know
the son is ‘out there’
Power on high coming
burning through the fog,
the flotsum jetsum of earth
of humans coming, going
so quickly

We make our moves
scurrying here…, and there…
needing to stop
to listen
to soak it all in

Quietly
the fog blanket covers
quietly
it is pushed away