My grandmother died over two years ago. After her funeral, I drove out to the country church she attended for decades up until her lead foot was no longer allowed the pleasure of the road. In grandma’s old age, her eyesight grew worse and worse. Cataracts slowly clouded her vision until she eventually needed surgery. Yet years of practice meant gravel roads gave her no pause. You could see her from miles away; a cloud of dust tailing her careening Lincoln Continental.
That day I walked around the outside of the church. The grounds felt quite a bit smaller than when I was a child, but even back then I knew this place was comparatively small. Before I stopped at the church, I drove on by a few thousand feet to where Minnesota met South Dakota. The church service was not yet over, and I preferred to be alone.
I sensed the tens of mostly white-haired folks slowly enter their cars and drive away, but my concentration was on this serene field. It spoke to all the things good in life, and all of the things my grandma loved. The fall colors signified the last hay harvest of the season. Soon these bails would be gone; stored away to provide sustenance for livestock in the coming winter. And a smile returned to my face.
Posted here: snapped.bjhess.com/fields_of_plenty
