Upland Field
Lead Summary
By
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By CHRISTINE TAILER
I could hear the combine over the crest of the hill. It was late in the day and I was tired. The sky was darkening. The black silhouettes of the trees that bordered the field stood out against blue grey clouds on the evening's horizon. I sat down on a mat of soy hulls, put my hands behind me and leaned back. The damp soil was cool, but I felt only a slight prickle of the soy through the seat of my jeans. I was glad that I sat on the soy.
Our creek world seemed so far away, but it was only just down over the crest of the hill. What a difference there was to this upland world! Down in the creek valley our horizons are short and I can call from one side of our world to the other, my voice echoing up and down the valley. I know that the morning sun rises over the hill on the far side of the creek well after daybreak, and true to my expectation, the sun sets over the hill behind the cabin well before sunset.
But this in this upland world the sound of the combine almost faded away to nothing on far side of the crest and I could actually see the sun as it set in the west. I could watch the night's darkness approach as it travelled in from the east. I looked around me. The sky circled a dizzying three hundred and sixty degrees. I let my head fall back and as I did I felt as though I was falling up into this huge sky. The comfort of my creek valley hills were not behind me.
I sat in the middle of the upland field as the evening darkened into night and as the air chilled. One of our dogs was digging her way through a pile of soy hulls just behind me. I imagined that the scent of a mole lured her to dig faster and farther. Our other dog came over to me. He nuzzled my neck and then sat down beside me. He leaned into me and I could feel his strong warmth seeping through my jacket. After a while he lay down beside me, his body pressed up against my leg. I was thankful for his warming presence.
And then it occurred to me. I had always felt that somehow the limited horizons of the creek valley were not as beautiful as those of the uplands, but as my dog pressed his warmth against me, I felt a sense of security. I realized that the hill bound horizons of the creek valley were my world's security. Strong winds could blow across from hillside to hillside, sounding like roaring freight trains, but never touch down in the valley. The world could rock from political landslides, but the creek water would still flow and the deer would still glide like wisps of fog across the bottomland fields.
I could see the combine's lights approaching as Greg drove the machine up over the rise in the upland field. I imagined that this was what a scene from Close Encounters of the Farm Kind would look like. And as he crested the hill, multiple lights shining, I was glad to know that we would soon be headed back down to the creek valley, where our wood-warmed cabin, lights shining out across our field of secure horizon, would welcome us home.
Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.[[In-content Ad]]
I could hear the combine over the crest of the hill. It was late in the day and I was tired. The sky was darkening. The black silhouettes of the trees that bordered the field stood out against blue grey clouds on the evening's horizon. I sat down on a mat of soy hulls, put my hands behind me and leaned back. The damp soil was cool, but I felt only a slight prickle of the soy through the seat of my jeans. I was glad that I sat on the soy.
Our creek world seemed so far away, but it was only just down over the crest of the hill. What a difference there was to this upland world! Down in the creek valley our horizons are short and I can call from one side of our world to the other, my voice echoing up and down the valley. I know that the morning sun rises over the hill on the far side of the creek well after daybreak, and true to my expectation, the sun sets over the hill behind the cabin well before sunset.
But this in this upland world the sound of the combine almost faded away to nothing on far side of the crest and I could actually see the sun as it set in the west. I could watch the night's darkness approach as it travelled in from the east. I looked around me. The sky circled a dizzying three hundred and sixty degrees. I let my head fall back and as I did I felt as though I was falling up into this huge sky. The comfort of my creek valley hills were not behind me.
I sat in the middle of the upland field as the evening darkened into night and as the air chilled. One of our dogs was digging her way through a pile of soy hulls just behind me. I imagined that the scent of a mole lured her to dig faster and farther. Our other dog came over to me. He nuzzled my neck and then sat down beside me. He leaned into me and I could feel his strong warmth seeping through my jacket. After a while he lay down beside me, his body pressed up against my leg. I was thankful for his warming presence.
And then it occurred to me. I had always felt that somehow the limited horizons of the creek valley were not as beautiful as those of the uplands, but as my dog pressed his warmth against me, I felt a sense of security. I realized that the hill bound horizons of the creek valley were my world's security. Strong winds could blow across from hillside to hillside, sounding like roaring freight trains, but never touch down in the valley. The world could rock from political landslides, but the creek water would still flow and the deer would still glide like wisps of fog across the bottomland fields.
I could see the combine's lights approaching as Greg drove the machine up over the rise in the upland field. I imagined that this was what a scene from Close Encounters of the Farm Kind would look like. And as he crested the hill, multiple lights shining, I was glad to know that we would soon be headed back down to the creek valley, where our wood-warmed cabin, lights shining out across our field of secure horizon, would welcome us home.
Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.[[In-content Ad]]