There's no place like home.

There's no place like home.
Home is where my husband and I reside; wherever that may be.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Amber waves of grain?

This field of green is one that we rented out to another farmer after our barn fire.  Last fall he planted it in a type of wheat called Triticale. Last Sunday Doug, Matthew and I took a walk out there and the whole field is headed out (which is farmer speak for "it has its seed heads on top").
From the roadway that we were walking in you get the idea that it is one very large flat field.  But those of us who have mowed, raked, and baled hay on that field for many years know differently.

The fields on this farm are rolling fields.  In some places though it looks flat, it is possible to lose a tractor, baler and wagon in the dips and hollows that are created by the contours of this land that we live on.

Matthew is a fairly tall guy, but as he walked away from us he appeared to get shorter and shorter not because the wheat is that tall but because the ground rolls so much.

Any attempt on our part to lose him in that vast field is only imagined.  Matthew knows every square inch of this farm and can find his way home without aid of a GPS or his mommy and daddy. 

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