The Sky...The Earth....A Point Somewhere  

spinmedown 49M
1607 posts
10/21/2005 5:52 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

The Sky...The Earth....A Point Somewhere


i grew up on the prairies of south dakota.....being a child on the prairie was a magical thing.....it has always been a part of me, perhaps even the landscape of my soul.......i lived in a very small town, only 250 other souls sharing a common ground.......at the age of 9, i started working for the local farmers......'bean walkers' they called us......we walked up and down the rows of growing soy beans and pulled out the mustard, corn and cockleburrs that grew too close to the plants for the tillers on the tractor to uproot.......in the summer, when the beans were ready, the farmers would call for the kids of the town to come and work for the few weeks needed to ensure the harvested soy beans would be free from foreign seeds......and able to earn the farmers the highest price when they went to market............. everyday at 6a.m. i would ride the miles on my bicycle to the farm where i was working, meet with the farmer about which field would be mine and then ride to the site of that days labor. it was usually around 7a.m. by the time i leaned my bike against an old fencepost, hopped the fence, and began my walk through the field. i was usually damp from my ride through the morning air and the soy beans were still dripping with dew as i walked along their rows. this was always the low point of my day and my spirit. i was tired from the long ride, my upper half was damp from the morning fog and my lower half was soaked from the morning dew that i disturbed off of the wet, green leaves i walked amongst. a morning on the prairie is always chilly, even in the summer. a fourteen acre field waited silently for me to walk through it before the noonday heat sent me home. it was a daunting sight; and other fields continued beyond it to the horizon in every direction, my future mornings waiting and growing all around me. i walked on, four rows at a time, starting along the edge and walking from one end of the field to the other pulling spiny burrs, prickly mustard leaves and sharp corn stalks as i walked across the field. ahead of me lay rows overgrown with these weeds, and behind me lay rows of uniform green and shape, straight and seemingly endless perfection. i always felt tired, damp, cold, overwhelmed and so very alone as i started. The prairie is an amazing place. i was absolutely alone. the only human being from horizon to horizon, and the tallest thing as far as i could see. the soy beans ran in perfectly spaced, parallel rows from one horizon to me and then on to the other horizon over the gentle slopes of the hills. i was a tiny, tiny buoy in an ocean of waving, green, perfection. above it all, the sky stretched to cover this ocean with an almost infinite dome of blue. as the sun rose i watched the color of the sky change from pinks, oranges and yellows into infinite grades of blues. the clouds floated without purpose or stormed many, many miles away. so far i couldn't hear the thunder but i watched the lightening and the gray slant of the rain as it fell. grasshoppers fled before the giant who disturbed them. dragonflies lifted into the sunlight and flocked around me, displaying their jewel-like forms as they flew backwards only a foot away from my nose; intrigued by me as i was by them, and beckoning me to join them. i felt my steps grow lighter as the weight of the earth relaxed its grasp on me. i felt the weight of the sky lift from my shoulders as the sun rose steadily higher. the wind was its laughter calling me to play, but i had work to do and the rows streamed behind me as i raced the sun; its path across the sky, and mine along the ground. until i had no shadow and the field lay finished, row upon row of green perfection. i ran to my bike and the miles home flew by. i joined the sun's laughter, knew the earth was my keeper and the sky was my home.

I left the prairie twenty-five years ago, but it still has not left me. Growing up under the big sky has left its mark on me. Every few years I feel the need, a primal urge, to return to the prairie. To feel the pull of the sky, the embrace of the earth, and to remember how it felt to be an infinitesimal giant.

(it's late and this still needs alot of work. been kicking around these ideas for a quarter of a century now and i don't really know how to best express them.)

Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde


caressmewell 53F

10/21/2005 7:57 pm

This is similiar to the stories my father told me growing up. He was from South Dakota but eventually ended up in Iowa before joining the military. Different crops, different times but still life on the prairie. Thank you for sharing.


spinmedown 49M
3626 posts
10/22/2005 2:43 am

For a state with only one area code, I'm always amazed by how many people have lived there. I was born in Iowa and then moved to South Dakota. Big sky, small world. LOL
Thank you for sharing, caressmewell.

Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde


MisterPriapus 57M
6980 posts
10/22/2005 9:32 am

Spin~

Thanx for such an evocative chapter. It was reminiscent of my growing up in the garden part of The Garden State- riding my bike far and wide for summer work on the farms and orchards.

(Friendly critique, if I may? Paragraph breaks make longer pieces considerably easier to read.)

.

Been a while since they last let me out into polite society. Resurfacing, catching a breath, & catching up.



And while I got my Broad-Brimmed Pimping Hat on, could I cajole all of y'all to Comment on, Alone In A Cloud? It's probably the best thing that I've written!

Lately...

.


spinmedown 49M
3626 posts
10/22/2005 4:24 pm

Mr. P Another farmboy at large and well met, sir.
Don't tell anyone I said this, but I think New Jersey grows better peaches than Georgia.

I agree with you about the paragraphs. It was an experiment using the color and the continuation of the text to portray the landscape.
I don't know. Maybe not too successful, but I'll keep it on this one just for fun. Thank you.

Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde


bardicman 50M

10/23/2005 5:00 am

The best peaches come from Arkansas. Unfortunately not the best presidents
Love the post Spin. I remember the damn cockleburrs and morning glory that I pulled from out own fields when I was growing up. I was responsible for 15 acres. 15 long itchy acres..... Then we turned it into pasture and started raising cows. I was "shittin in high cotton" then.



I am not dead yet


havenbliss 43F

10/23/2005 8:42 am

Beautiful...makes me want to be there. I miss the open sky and wish I could escape to the place with the night fills with the bright glowing light from the stars above..


MisterPriapus 57M
6980 posts
10/23/2005 11:38 am

Spin~

Right back atcha, amigo!

No worries, your secret’s safe with me… altho it was better than 10 years before I could even smell peaches w/o a twinge of nausea from a summer working Walt Peplowski’s peach orchard! Not sure if it was from the rampant itchiness resulting from the peach-fuzz, or over-dosing on the huge, soft, cloyingly sweet ones that we winnowed out in the packing house.

Interesting experiment with color. Thanx for the clarification- I didn’t twig to what you were going for there. Maybe it’s just me, my eyes start crossing in longer continuous pieces!

.

Been a while since they last let me out into polite society. Resurfacing, catching a breath, & catching up.



And while I got my Broad-Brimmed Pimping Hat on, could I cajole all of y'all to Comment on, Alone In A Cloud? It's probably the best thing that I've written!

Lately...

.


spinmedown 49M
3626 posts
10/28/2005 3:20 pm

Bardicman So you're saying Lewinski should have gone for Hillary instead, huh? Some excellent grapefruit come out of Texas. I love that expression, substitute soybeans for cotton. LOL
havenbliss Welcome and thank you. Very romantic post. Thank you for reminding me of how beautiful the night sky was away from the city lights. I can count all of 4 stars in Atlanta, and 2 of them must be 747s the way they keep moving towards Hartsfield.
Mr.P. Did they dump the bucket of peach fuzz over your head on your first day? Southern rite of peach packer passage.

Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde


Become a member to create a blog