Planting Day at Longleaf

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My heart is indurated, my head obdurate. The broken ground, here, friable. I kneel and smell its fragrance, nurturing as good bread warm from a mindful oven.

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The green grass, which I mow all summer on a small John Deere lawn tractor, encroaches a little more each year and the strip sown in a wheat, oats and rye mixture for the deer has narrowed. The deer nibble the grass, too, so I’m not sure they mind. Besides, they make their circuits to two other fields grown just for them. Once there were six, but as Harold has grown more frail and Buck’s bred in his bones fire for hunting has self-extinguished, the only reason for planting even two food plots now is nostalgia and the imperative of the season.

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Harold has been in and out of the hospital twice in recent weeks. His son (far left) helped plant this year’s fields. Buck is in it now for the friendship, the symbolism, the memories., and the beauty of the moment.

Our twenty-year-old granddaughter, Andie, spent Tuesday night with us, then she and I took mugs of French Roast coffee hot as fire and drove the old black pick-up truck to Sunshine Hill for the seed while Buck, Harold and Huey prepared and fertilized the ground. Andie and I saw fields nearly white for harvest up near Molino, where cotton has returned. When she and I returned, we drove to the fields and slung fifty pound sacks to the ground or slid them to the tailgate for pickup. I got distracted listening to Harold’s stories and stood in a bed of ants. Andie saw them marching double-time up my calves and alerted me. They bit in unison when I jumped, ran, and tore off my jogging shoes and socks. No damage done, just a few red bites on my feet, legs and fingers. They were a mild tribe.  Andie focused and refocused the camera in her mind, I could see her do this, and I know this is a day she shall never forget. She saw her granddad and me in a surprising venue, away from our desks, the hearth, the kitchen and the dining table.

A farmer’s rain came yesterday as if we had ordered it from a menu to tamp down the soil and swell the seeds.

The fields were prepared. The seeds were planted. And the rains came.

Winter Wildlife Food Plot

Two hunters who almost never shoot, plus me poking around with my camera; lots of deer and turkeys thrive on this and three other winter food plots. Oats, wheat and rye keep it green during the cool months here in the panhandle of Florida, near Pensacola.