The Farmer and the Field
"Here," my Grandpa handed me a new small pair of work gloves, though they were still slightly too large for my small hands, I was proud as punch as I walked along next to him to his field pickup. He was the colony farm boss, he managed the fields, and today he needed all hands on deck as we were baling and bringing the bales back from the field. 10 year-old me was probably only going to get underfoot, but I jumped into his pickup with glee as together we drove to the field where they had started baling. As my eyes roamed the field I could see the tractor combing through and producing a bale every few meters. My cousin Becky was there with her dad as well as a few others, my dad and youngest brother. My grandpa was a believer in giving life experiences, and how they shaped your life in immeasurable ways. Which is my cousins and I got to tag along with him to check the combines, look at the land, set fire to fields on occasion, see bears in the corn fields, or carry food and ...