TO KNOW THE LAND

Donald knows the land the way a painter knows his canvas
Greets the colours shapes and layers
With a broad interpretation.

He will drive you in his truck to chart the weather of the summer
The deadly path the hail took,
The sections that the rain missed
The crops that never grew out there when he was on the farm.

His granddad taught him how to read when he was only four
And then when he was still thirteen, his grades as good as any child,
He finished school and hit the land.
So when he left at 55 to start a different life in town
He had already worked the land for more than forty years.

His tours are for the interest now, to see what’s going on out there
To see which crops are growing best and which ones are the ripest.
Gone are the days when he searched the skies
To see if our daily bread would rise
Or if the hail or drought or harvest rain or blowing soil would take it.

We used to take a tractor ride
Down to the pasture to hear the water
Or touch the crocus, or welcome the buffalo beans
Or kick the puffballs growing between the cow pies.

We used to take tea in canning jars
Wrapped in paper to the harvest fields
Where we sat by the truck in the dusty stubble
While he cooled the tea that we had kept hot
Then drank it with sandwiches and cake we brought.

Today if I have one regret,
It’s that my city children arrived too late
To spend long summer days and nights
Getting to know the land their granddad knows.