Trouble in the Fields

Driving home this afternoon I found myself sandwiched between 18 wheelers and cars and trucks in a seemingly endless stream of tail lights stretching into the distance.  It's the drive home.  Concrete.  Asphalt.  Exhaust fumes.  Impatient commuters.  All of us wanting to get home. 

For some reason, I began singing the lyrics to a song I hadn't heard in years - "Trouble in the Fields," by Nanci Griffith.  Nanci Griffith is a folk musician and songwriter from Texas who has a real gift.  Why on earth did that song pop into my head?  I suppose it was the subconscious juxtaposition of the concrete stretching out before me on I-10 with the fertile fields that lie just beyond my windshield.

Indeed, farming has its share of struggles and disappointments.  The anguish of commuters who are inconvenienced by a stalled car or accident that causes all lanes to merge to one, pales in comparison to farmers facing commodity prices in free-fall, or drought, or too much rain, or crop failure that threatens to destroy the only way of life they've ever known and send them into bankruptcy or financial ruin despite back-breaking hard work.  Doesn't seem right.

Nanci Griffith speaks to this in her song "Trouble in the Fields."  She sings of hardships on the farm and dreams evaporating.  Bankers are ready to foreclose, people are throwing in the towel, and memories of the Great Depression and dust-bowl days that your grandparents told you about come flooding back.  The children have left the family farm and moved off to the city in search of the "good life," an easier existence, a steady and dependable paycheck and they no longer even want it to rain as their interest in the weather is related to recreation and not making a living.  Food comes from the store now, right?

But Nanci sings that there is hope.  Even though there's trouble, if the husband and wife stick together and work hard, the rains will come in due season.  With crops fertilized by sweat and tears (and prayers), come harvest time, it'll all work out for there is love in those troubled fields!

I posted the lyrics to the song below.  If you click the arrow below the lyrics, you can hear Nanci Griffith sing this poignant song about being resolute and sticking it out when the going is rough and you have a long row to hoe!  Enjoy:

Baby I know that we've got trouble in the fields

When the bankers swarm like locust out there turning away our yield

The trains roll by our silos, silver in the rain

They leave our pockets full of nothing

But our dreams and the golden grain

Have you seen the folks in line downtown at the station

They're all buying their ticket out and talking the great depression

Our parents had their hard times fifty years ago

When they stood out in these empty fields in dust as deep as snow

And all this trouble in our fields

If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal

They'll never take our native soil

But if we sell that new John Deere

And then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears

You'll be the mule I'll be the plow

Come harvest time we'll work it out

There's still a lotta love, here in these troubled fields

There's a book up on the shelf about the dust bowl days

And there's a little bit of you and a little bit of me

In the photos on every page

Now our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders

They never want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder

And all this trouble in our fields

If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal

They'll never take our native soil

But if we sell that new John Deere

And then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears

You'll be the mule I'll be the plow

Come harvest time we'll work it out

There's still a lotta love, here in these troubled fields

You'll be the mule I'll be the plow

Come harvest time we'll work it out

There's still a lotta love, here in these troubled fields

The Inglorious House Arrest of Big Boy

Big Boy is our Great Pyrenees Livestock Guardian Dog.  With a simple, descriptive name and a  3 word, six syllable job description, you would think that this was a match made in heaven.  Big Boy's price tag was right for us - he was FREE! (Red flag #1)  We learned that he had been shot many times because he liked to roam (Red flag #2) and neighboring farmers had peppered him numerous times with their shotguns.  The previous owner was worried that Big Boy's continued roaming and/or the farmers' improved marksmanship, would spell doom for Big Boy's chances at survival. That's where we stepped in and adopted him.  We needed a guardian dog to preside as Sergeant-at-Arms and keep our birds safe from predators.

We placed him in the pasture and Big Boy returned to his night patrols - jumping over the perimeter fence and roaming down our road.  I heard a neighbor shoot at him once.  I installed a higher fence on a portion of the pasture and placed Big Boy back in the pasture, only now tethered by a 30 foot heavy duty cable. Unfortunately, while the cable cured him of roaming, Big Boy developed an affinity for the taste of chicken and brutally massacred a few of the birds he was supposed to be protecting as they came into his radius of reach, becoming the proverbial fox guarding the hen house.

Bad Boy, Big Boy!  He was removed from the pasture at that point and positioned as a sentry on the outside of the fence, cabled now to the trampoline.  He has effectively done a long-range job of protecting the flock, and we have not lost a single bird to predators (or Big Boy) since.  He's treed a raccoon, barked incessantly at passersby and has "somewhat" earned his keep, I guess.  He spends most of his time digging enormous holes under the trampoline, and is of much enjoyment to visitors who laugh at his penchant for sitting or lounging on the trampoline.

The other day, after about a year of good time served, Big Boy sat before the parole board, which included me and Tricia, and with a unanimous vote, Big Boy was granted parole, with a probationary period.  Tricia led the ex-felon out to the pasture and followed him around as he patrolled the perimeter.  He even behaved himself around the chickens!  Unfortunately, leopards can't change their spots.  In the blink of an eye, Big Boy pounced on a big fat Aracauna hen and if Tricia hadn't been lightning fast, Big boy would have devoured that bird faster than poop goes through a goose.  The nervous hen, minus a few feathers, ran off clucking nervously, lucky to be alive.

Big Boy is once again incarcerated, proving that the recidivism rate is high among dogs, too.  I like my freedom and I like things to be free-range.  I wouldn't want to be tethered or caged and so Big Boy's house arrest due to his repeated parole violations is a constant source of angst for all of us. When it rains, we unclip him and bring him in the garage, where he lays around on the cool concrete, making us step over him and isn't productive at anything except stinking up the place with the pungent scent of "wet dog".  Tricia will put Big Boy on a leash and walk him around still, but when not in the closed garage on rainy days, he's on the trampoline, on his cable.

The other day I drove in, opened the garage, and Big Boy darted out of the garage. Did I mention that he doesn't come when called?  He's also called Bad Boy from time to time.  Well Bad Boy took off down the road.  I was on my way to the pasture and had no time to get a posse together to go get the escaped inmate.  I went on about my work and by and by noticed Big Boy furtively darting around the neighbors houses.  Then, with a guilty look on his face, he came lumbering back home, only being followed.

A neighbor drove slowly behind him on his gleaming Harley Davidson, shiny chrome blinding me in the sun.  As I grabbed Big Boy's collar, he pulled the rumbling bike nearby and said, "That your dog?"  I answered, "Yeah, he causing you problems?" To which he replied, "Well, he's not hurting us but I could sure do without him lifting his leg and peeing all over our stuff." (I cleaned up my neighbor's language somewhat.  This is a family blog.)  Ouch.  His "stuff" was no doubt the gleaming chrome Harley. Big Boy was marking the Harley as his territory and my neighbor wasn't going to release his claim on the asset to the beast.

Big Boy was returned to the penitentiary with the quickness due to his inability to learn a lesson.  I can't help but think of this very appropriate verse from Proverbs:

Proverbs 26:11 New American Standard Bible (NASB)

11 Like a dog that returns to its vomit
Is a fool who repeats his folly.