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The world appeared to heave as I reached double-digits, and I was asked to help with the ploughing and the sowing and the reaping. I would tether my water-flask in the cool shallows of the dam for later retrieval, jump on the running board of the sower, adjusting my stance to buffer against the pummeling, and knot a bandana across my nose and mouth. A quick thumbs up to Dad on the tractor, and we would lurch into a morning of action, as I judged the small seeds scattering from the ancient machine into the wobbly furrows beneath my feet. A haul on the lever to neutral, as we rounded the extremeity of the paddock, heaving it back to release, as we headed toward the dust shrouded dam in the distance.
But in reality, all I saw were native fauna fashioned from rusting farm equipment.
8 comments:
Beautiful photo, Julie, the art against that fabulous sky, and I'd have believed you'd been there, too.
Luv — K
Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel
i can imagine the little girl you once were. what an inquisitive little creature she must have been, curious about all the details of her world.
Terrific monument and wonderful words.
My job was turning bolts on the lathe or stacking steel into racks. Boring repetitive work, no wonder Dad made it sound like fun for us kids.
Great memories.
Wonderful words Julie. You should be an author. Perhaps you already are. Have you published any of you material?
That is sweet, Joe. Thank you. No, I am not an author. I know my limitations.
Well written Julie. I guess whether a rusting piece of old farm machinery or something else is in the eye of the beholder! Great shot. And agree with Joe.
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