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| All Photos by Stephanie Landis Yesterday I spent the afternoon riding in the combine with my Dad as he harvested corn; both happiness and sadness rode along with us. I have lived on this farm my entire life. Recently the decision was made to sell the 4th generation family farm, and my family has been experiencing the bittersweetness of many firsts and many lasts on the journey. I took my camera to capture the last (for us at least) harvest on this farm we've called home for so long. Afterward, I immediately sat down and wrote this poem. |
Lasts and Firsts
Last harvest on the home farm;
Such subtle things we plant with the seeds in spring
when hope grows as green as the grass—
Love, fear, dreams, promises.
Last harvest on the home farm;
Are we harvesting our dreams
between the combine’s massive red teeth,
or demolishing our fears, one row at a time?
Last harvest on the home farm;
Harvest begins, and draws to an end as we mark each passage—
the last field of corn, the last chaff floating like snow,
the last time
the humming of the corn dryer will lull us to sleep at
night.
Last harvest on the home farm;
Autumn rolls on like a freight train, unaware,
as we count down the lasts, knowing the lasts
will be followed by firsts.
Last harvest on the home farm;
We weep, we laugh, we dance among the shucks.
We imagine another spring in another field
with a new row of hopes, dreams, and fears to seed.
Last harvest on the home farm;
The combine roars; the farmer smiles.
The corn falls; the field is bared.
We start anew.
