Trains rumbled through the pre-dawn light. The rail cars marked by the graffiti of distant cities. The gang tags were unreadable to an untrained eye yet Brigid admired the colors and lines. A set of railroad tracks paralleled Highway six across Iowa. Brigid passed small towns sustained by the fruits of the land: corn, hogs, cattle. Old men in feed/seed hats that sit around small cafes discussing Co-op politics. She wondered what would happen to these communities and farms when the greatest generation left this life. Global economics, boardrooms, and the corporate lifestyle were more seductive to newer generations rather than the prospect of throwing on a pair of overalls and fixing the John Deere. Brigid figured living on a farm must be a study in patience and faith: wait to plant, pray for rain, pray for sun, wait to harvest, wait for spring. Although Brigid had patience to weather granite and strength to move a mountain, yet farming seemed so tedious.Photo: Parawan
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