The Fruited Plain

I hope you have time to take a ride with me today.  We're not going anywhere in particular.  Let's just take a ride in the country.  We'll go off the beaten path and see rural America.  We'll see the landscape.  There's no traffic jams or road rage where we're going.  We'll wave at farmers on tractors and little old ladies walking to the mailbox.  We'll see people sitting in rocking chairs on their front porches having coffee before it gets too hot outside.

We'll see spacious skies.  Now, there are no purple mountain majesties here in South Louisiana - far from it.  The land is flat.  But there are amber waves of grain.  Here is a field of wheat waving in the gentle breeze.  It's ready for harvesting.

Would you look over there?  Some grateful soul painted a mural on the side of their barn that says, "God Bless our Farmers."  How about that?  It shows a combine harvesting rice and a farmer walking on the levee with his shovel resting on his shoulder.  Despite high prices, farmers are out doing what they need to do to keep America (and the rest of the world) fed.  God bless our farmers, indeed.

On the same building, there's an American flag painted on the side.  Can you see it?  The shrubs have almost taken over it.  In a metaphorical sense, some parts of the American dream, as well as the innocence and greatness of our country have almost been overtaken, but if you look closely, the pride and work ethic is still there.  I'm praying her greatness will be restored and the overgrowth of apathy and division will be pruned back.

Right down the road we see crop dusters busy taking off from landing strips, broadcasting fertilizer on the rice fields.  The drone of their engines wake you up in the morning as they fly over your house and continue all day.

Here's another barn in which some skilled painter painted a bold red rooster standing proud against the golden rays of morning sun.  It's time to get up and get to work, the rooster tells his rural neighbors.

Thousands of acres of crawfish ponds surround us and we watch as crawfishermen in their boats cross the flooded rice fields, emptying their traps.  Onion sacks full of crawfish will be caught and delivered to local restaurants and wholesalers who distribute crawfish nationwide.

Cattle lazily graze on tender grass.  They'll eat until it gets hot and then will meander over to a shade tree where they'll sit in the shade and swish flies with their tails and chew their cud.  In the evening, however, they'll head back out.  There's grass to be eaten.  That grass is turned into milk to feed their calves.

Rice fields are just receiving their first shot of nitrogen, boosting their growth and turning their foliage so green it's almost blue.

You can notice by the road noise, we've turned off the paved road.  We're on a gravel road heading back home.  The dust billows up behind us.  We pull up to the house just in time to see old Rosie eating grass as the sun tucks itself below the horizon.

Perspective is everything.  Sometimes it is just refreshing to see that there is still good out there.  All you gotta do is make a turn on the road less traveled.  It's been a relaxing drive today.  I'm glad you accompanied me.  

Put A Little Gravel in Your Travel

On late afternoons/early evenings in the summer, Tricia glances out of the kitchen window and sees the sun casting long shadows.  That is a 'bat signal' for us to take a "Sunday Stroll" even though it is not Sunday.  We jump in the car and drive westward for about a mile.  One left turn puts us on gravel roads for as far as the eye can see.  You can see what I'm talking about in the photo below if you look in the passenger side mirror.

The gravel makes a crunching sound under the car tires and the dust kicks up billows that trail behind the car as we drive out in the countryside.  We pass no traffic.  It is quiet.  There are rice fields on either side of the road.

We take in the sights and sounds.  We pass a (relatively) ancient farm implement on a turnrow.  I explain to Tricia and Benjamin what it is.  This contraption was a levee packer.  Once levees in rice fields were pulled up, you'd pull this on top of the levee to pack it down.  It is made of solid concrete, shaped like an hour glass.  This thing hasn't been used for quite some time.  It will likely hold down this spot until Jesus returns, biding its time, watching, if it could, changes taking place in the surrounding landscape.

A snake slithers stealthily across the road.  I speed up and run over it, but it is not affected and continues on its belly until it reaches the ditch.  Water is gushing out of a drop pipe as water is being turned loose from surrounding crawfish ponds.  Crawfish season is coming to an end.  Egrets and shore birds scavenge the pond bottoms for aquatic snacks that have been exposed as the water level drops.

We continue westward for a few miles as we sing along to old country music and come upon a field of recently baled hay, reminding us that we'll soon be putting hay up in our hay loft - a truly hot job!

The hay will soon be picked up and arranged in rows along the fence row to allow for fresh growth and another cutting or two of hay before dormancy.

Soon we turn left on the Roanoke Highway.  It is a blacktop road, smooth and quiet.  It leads us to the pot of gold at the end of our rainbow.  We always end up at a gas station that sells BOUDIN BALLS.  It is a concoction of boudin stuffing, rolled in batter and deep fried.  There should be a 12 step program to help you get off these things.

We spread out napkins on our laps and feast as we slowly start our 5 mile trip back home, retracing our steps on the gravel road.  The boudin balls hit the spot!

We head back to the homestead just as the sun finds its way back home beneath the western horizon.

Nothing like a peaceful, pastoral, afternoon drive - away from civilization, almost stepping back in time in the countryside.  A simple afternoon with simple pleasures for a simple man.