Sherry Chandler » Field Day
Field Day
Rivers and rivulets, runnels, branches, creeks,
crawdads, minnows, mussels, shells on the sandbar,
riffles and still pools, ledges and drop offs,
silt-slick rocks tilt and clank under wading feet,
mud clouds the clear, water distorts ankles, knees.
Hooves plod a four-beat rhythm, trace chains
jingle, grandfather in the bottom plows corn,
tobacco, the horse blows heavy snorting sighs,
the voice a tuneless gentling “gee, gee, hawup,
come up now.” Cold bacon on cold biscuits,
water in a Mason jar, wrapped in a flour sack,
stashed in the shade, the sycamore’s exposed roots
a cave under the bank sheltering catfish, carp.
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2 Comments
1. Max replies at 17th March 2008, 6:57 am :
TIMES PAST IN THE PASSING AMERICAN WAY OF LIFE. I appreciate the memories brought by the article, I do remember those sounds as the era of farming by horse was the way of life. The jar of cool water under the shade tree wrapped in the sack and paper for insulation.
2. sherry replies at 17th March 2008, 10:57 am :
I miss having a real creek, Max, or even a pond. And I’ll tell you, nothing tastes as good as jowl bacon on cold biscuits after a morning working in the field. I thought of you when I wrote this piece.
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