Farmin’ Fool

It was a name he gave himself in a song

and farm he did

nestled in our southern suburban paradises

turning endless backyards of clay into soil


we drew hope that

we would have tomatoes

slowly, but certainly, each year the garden came

some years two crops if we had the energy


some years both crops failed us

some years there were no tomatoes

unlike true farm families

a grocery store less than a mile away


now  we are aging

farming grows harder…

in my mind’s eye

I see my grandparents- their slow walks


and bent backs, he as he walked to the garage to fire up the

ancient tractor

she as she went out to toss vegetable scraps in the garden

to decompose


just as their lives slowly did the same

wiping her rough hands on her worn apron

she trudges back up the stairs to the house they built

so many decades past


our parents had different lives

a generation skipped but just as important

the farming genes of the grandparents passed on

to us


we are those who remember

we are the ones keeping  the legends

and their memories



© Nancilynn Saylor2016

Photo of the “Farmin’ Fool”


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