A Furrow

When I write the word "furrow" it can mean the way we wrinkle our brow, and deep furrows appear as we grow older. Here, I am referring to the furrows which are made when a farmer takes a plow, a team of horses and heads toward a piece of land he wants to plow in the early spring or the late fall. My grand father, used to do that; he would take his team of horses and head to one of the fields he wanted to plow up and prepare that field for wheat, oats, or some corn. The plow had been outside all winter long, so he had to clean it up until it was bright and sharp enough to be able to pierce the solid ground and to make one furrow at a time. He would wrap the horses long reins about his shoulders and with both hands he would first point that sharp edge of the plow downward until it broke through the rocky sod. By noon time he had moved back and forth across that piece of ground and he was more than half way done. After bringing the horses back into the barn, feeding them some oats and water to drink, he would take a short nap, and then return to the barn, bring the two horses outside again, and by the time it was to milk our few cows, he had finished plowing that piece of ground. Plowing up a piece of ground would not make it ready for planting. The next step he saved for me; it was called, "harrowing a field". There was a set of steel tines coupled together with some bolts and nuts. Each set had a lever on it which I could take and up backward so that the tines would settle down into the fresh broken sod. I always started in the center of the plowed field, and that way I knew that the grass underneath the sod would not become stuck in between the two sets with the tines. Back and forth I went until I had finished this first phase of "Harrowing this field". At lunch time, I would stop by the brook at the bottom of the hill leading back to the barn, and unhitch each horse and guide them to the brook to quench their thirst. First one and then the other, until they could drink no more of the cold, fresh water. At the barn I would give Prince and Babe some oats and go into that old farm house where grand mother had fixed me a light lunch of home made bread, fresh butter, and a glass of skimmed milk. By the end of the afternoon, I would have harrowed that field sideways, and back and forth until it was smooth and ready to receive the seeds whichever my grand father chose to plant there in a few days. This process went on until we had about 4 fields ready for planting. With some rain and bright sun shine, early some morning grand father would pour seed into a seed spreader, and hooking up the team of horses, he would set on top of the spreader, and he had control of how much feed would spin out of the spreader by opening or closing each small hole by simply letting the seed drain out, or adding just a little more at a time. Now the big seed was sown about 5 inched deep, and the lines were marked by the horses feet and the wheels of the seed spreader. In about 10 to 12 days, we could start seeing little sprouts pushing their heads up out of the ground, and reaching for the sunshine and rain water, they would start to grow and kept growing until they were mature. Looking over a field of wheat, that had ripened, with the wind blowing slightly, the heads were full of wheat, and the stems were of a golden color. It was time to harvest. Harvest time was when the farmers would all gather together, going from one farm to another one; their wives would stay in the kitchen of the wife of the farmer and all the other farmer's wives would be there also. They prepare a real meal for lunch; I mean it was everything from pork, beef, liver, chicken, jams, home made bread and butter. Iced tea, cold water, coffee, and when the men came it and saw such a feast, they would laugh and joke around on whose wife brought what to that huge spread on the dining room table. Their chairs squeaked after the had taken off their straw hats, washed up outside at the hand pumped water from the well, and then with heads bowed, one after another would give thanks for the blessings of good food, their wives, the harvest that was being slowly sifted through a threshing machine, driven by an old tractor with a wide belt strapped around it's fly wheel, an attached to the threshing machine. Dusty, and hot, one man stood on top of the straw as it spit out large clumps of straw, with dust along with it. Tied tightly around the man's mouth was his red bandana, and still the dust settled down around his shoulders and down on his barn boots.
  The dark fresh turned sod had a certain Earthy smell to it, with large rocks sticking out.  These large rocks were used to build strong fences to separate the field from one another.  Vines would grow in and out of places so small it was almost a miracle how they could push their way through.  Berry bushes also thrived there and it was easy for a barb to lodge into ones fingers when trying to pick them.  But they sure tasted great spread on toast with real butter, and washed down with some cold milk. 
  Once the harvest was inside, and the cold winter months came suddenly, farmers would spend their days pushing snow in sharp winter gusts of winds, pulling out all that grain they had stored in the late fall.
  There so sense of hurry, a calmness settled over the white coated land; and when the farmers would turn out all their lamps, and snuggle down deep in their warm wool blankets; it was then they would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, thanking God for the strength to finish another season.  But early in the mornings, when the sun first peaked it's glowing head above the horizon, that white roaster would begin to crow, and it was time to pull himself out of bed, put on his warmest overhauls and once again begin again, to face another day, and be patient and thankful for the experience gathered down through those years of learning how to be a simple farmer, close to the dirt and even knowing that one day, his body would become dust again.  It was something to embrace, somehow it was a chance to be what God had made him to be, another Adam who was trying to work by the sweat of his brow, in order to endure the judgment against the first man named, ADAM.