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Wednesday, February 13, 2008
new original poem from FARMStrong
The Sale

They gathered,
combines and tractors,
field cultivators and discs
a final family reunion of farm friends
on the shop yard
servants of the soil
like slaves of old
separated and sold
shackled and shipped
to a new land.

photo: that's my Dad-- the farmer at the auction of his farm equipment on ash wednesday. more to come.


posted by John David Walt | at 2/13/2008 02:24:00 PM



Blogger chad said...

I liked the poem monday while we were in meeting. I liked it even more today when I saw the picture with it.

3:59 PM EST  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

J.D. I hope your dad's transition continues to go well. Farm sales--even under the best of circumstances--are very emotional.



9:41 PM EST  
Blogger Kendra said...

Mmmmm...reminds me of the smell of gasoline and grease, riding on the back of our trailer as the tractor bumped us into the tree line. Hearing the chainsaw and the eerie crackling and crash of falling trees. Loading little fire logs to prepare for winter (dad got the big ones), wiping sawdust and sweat in the heat of the summer. And the best - watching dad run and flail when the hornets or bees got mad for his disturbance of their peaceful homes. =-) Sorry you had to see the farm equipment go. Kinda sad.

9:53 PM EST  
Anonymous Lesly B said...

After 10 years as a pastor people still tell me that I am a farmer at heart. I would have to agree. As you know, once it gets in you it never leaves you. May your family continue to transition in God's grace and love as you say goodbye to an important chapter in your family's life. May you always be accused of being a man of the soil. As they say, earth to earth.

1:23 PM EST  
Blogger ziondreamer said...

I don't know which I love more - the photo or the poem.
So, so sweet.

11:43 PM EST  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I have been to many of these sales... why is it always raining, or at least muddy. Retirement sales are bitter sweet. The ones following divorce are always nerve jangling. Sales following death are guilt laden and sad if you knew the farmer. Good poem JD.

9:53 AM EST  
Blogger Amanda Kay Bowers said...

tears...a little catch in my throat...a sniff...more tears. Very bittersweet poem.

9:21 PM EST  

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