At Considerable Cost

I watched most of the first half of the Super Bowl tonight.   I tried to watch the half-time show, but I had to change the channel.   I am not a prude, but I was saddened by the show. Then, there was a bright, shining moment from Dodge.   Their commercial for their Ram trucks focused on the heart of America: the farmer.   There is no more noble profession than that of the men and women who toil and till the land, who raise the crops and livestock which feed our nation and the world.   In the midst of wondering what is to become of us as a people, there was this glimmer of hope in what built this nation and who still lies at the heart of what makes it great. The commercial reminded me of my farming ancestors, of my life on the farm, and of those many times when our family would sit in the car, after we arrived home, waiting to hear the end of Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story."   God Bless the Farmer and God Bless America. ...

The first major cold front finally blew into our area.   It offered us relief from unseasonably warm temperatures that followed our seasonably hot summer.    Along with a welcome change in weather, Autumn has brought back memories of that season on our small farm in Louisiana. The pecan harvest fell to women and children on our farm.   My father commuted thirty miles to the university where he taught and when he was home, any work he did was related to the cattle.   I would pick pecans after school, but for me, the real work —and the real memories—belonged to Saturdays.   On those mornings, I woke early and dressed in my warmest, oldest clothes.    Blue jeans that could take wet, grass stained knees and a too-large coat–previously the property of my parents or older sister– were basics in my pecan picking- ensemble.     A quick breakfast and then I headed outdoors, grabbed a bucket and prepa...

Like everyone else, I can say my parents weren't perfect and my childhood was not idyllic, but I had a great childhood.   There were many things that made it so and I think part of it was because my parents were older (although they would not be considered so today). In our neighbor's garden.   Mama once pulled back the leaves of similar plants in this garden and found a copperhead snake coiled.   The garden was planted by an elderly gentleman who worked and lived on the neighboring farm.   He was always called Preacher.   He called the snake a pilot snake.   He told Mama that in a few weeks a rattle snake would come through, on the same path.   Sure enough, he showed Mama the dead rattlesnake a few weeks later.   Mama did a little research and found out that copperheads and rattlers often den together.   The copperhead often goes out a few weeks before and the rattler will follow the same path...