Working the Beans

Working the Beans

In the rows between the plants,

I work the dirt with care

to dig away the weeds and grass

getting started there.

Weeds creep in and grow so fast

in a day they're popping out

it's very soon they're growing tall

and spreading all about

They start so small, just speck

of green against the dirt

but neglecting them for very long

is always to your hurt

for just a little slothful time

is all the time they need

to form a foothold hard to break

and choke your crop with weeds

So mind your garden every day

use your hoe discreetly

kill each weed as soon as you can

and grow your garden neatly

For when the harvest comes at last

and you have plenty to store

you'll be glad for all that work

though it seemed a heavy chore.

In the garden of your life

sow good seed and care

and let that life when you are judged

be rich with a harvest to share.

(c) James L. Frady,  May 2020

May Hay

It was cool and crisp the first week of May
and frost fell heavy on the land.
but the grass was up and thick in every field
The fescue was waist high on every hand.
Though the air was cool, it was still time
to tend to the fields and mow the hay.
All the farmers around these ancient hills,
were on their tractors on each sunny day.
With hay mows mounted, circling to the center
clockwise, so as not to flatten grass,
running only on what had been cut
they laid it over quicker with each pass.
The mown grass lay and dried for just a while
to reach the state where it would safely store
then back the farmer came with a rake mounted
to make a spiral round the field once more.
Raked in rows like furrows newly plowed
the hay lay rearranged upon the ground
but not for long, the farmer soon returns
with a baler on to make another round.
Most farmers now bale hay in big tight rolls
that weigh too much for any man to try
they have to move them on a tractor pole
with hydraulics that can stack them up three high.
A few old men still use the smaller bales
like dominoes they spit out big and square
and all the hands that can turn out to help
load them on a trailer waiting there.
It's work, hard and long to put up hay,
and the payoff doesn't come for oh so long
until some far-off cold and wintery day
when the stock needs it to keeps them fed and strong.
So tip your hat to the farmers as they bale,
or at least give them a wave and a friendly smile.
Let them know you understand their labor.
It may be you he's feeding in a while.

(c) James L. Frady,  May 10, 2020

This Soil

This soil,
brown beneath my feet
is rich beyond the nutrients it holds.
It speaks
in voices in my mind
of men that worked this land

This soil
has seen the crops of men
and felt the years pile up
it knows
the fickle ways of seasons
late frosts and early snow

This soil
has felt the cut of plow and disk,
and the scraping of a hoe,
the warm sun,
the roots of beans and corn,
and potatoes swelling in the ground.

This soil
brown beneath my feet
is rich and it enriches me
This Soil
is mine and yet not mine alone
I use it with care and must pass it on.

(c) James L. Frady, May 2020