Remember the date

20130920_194449

 

Dayplanner. Calendar. Work journal.

Fields don’t care. Weather doesn’t either.

Seasons come and go without numbers.

Farmers track the days and dates.

Stubs of pencils and scraps of paper

Scribblings of seed, fertilizer and rain.

Drought finds a date, as does snow.

Soil doesn’t care. It only knows warmth.

It only knows cold. Wakens or sleeps.

Winter’s dark days are for planning

long days of seeding, scouting and spraying.

Spring’s warm days teasing with sunshine

and rain, getting machines ready for fields.

Summer sees the work of spring done and

fall’s work getting started. Are we ready?

Fall’s work is harvest, seeding and getting

the fields ready for another growing season.

 

Farmers save calendars. Dates marked in pen.

Fields ignore calendars, as does the weather.

Seasons govern the land with a subtle hand,

regardless of the wishes of farmers they go.

Drawing down the days and nights into the

seasons, time marches on through the years.

 

Farmers talk about rainfall, moisture and insects.

Marking each down, searching for patterns.

Searching for reasons, some clues as to how

to beat the frost, the rain, the hail and the

dreaded hoppers.  Recording it all, wonder

if anyone ever looks back to see what it

was like back when Grandpa wrote it down.

 

Writing about calendars for Poetics at dVerse. There are some farmers I know that have a date on the calendar for certain jobs, and regardless of the weather they try to get it done. Just to say they did it on the same day each year. Doesn’t make sense but to some the calendar rules, but for most the seasons do. It may say May, but if it’s a late spring the land will feel more like April.  We adjust and we adapt.

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7 Comments

  1. ManicDdaily said,

    November 24, 2013 at 10:45 pm

    You must feel very in touch with the rhythm of the seasons as the poem shows. Much enjoyed. K .

  2. November 24, 2013 at 11:06 pm

    I so enjoy your posts about farm life, Shanyn and confess I envy you a bit. It’s in nature that I find my greatest joy. I tend to think that perhaps what I grew up as understanding poetry could be reincarnation. If so, I suspect I’ve been a farmer before. Or it could just be visits to my grandfather’s childhood farm in Wisconsin.

  3. brian miller said,

    November 25, 2013 at 12:13 am

    ha. yes i guess you go by a little different calendar than the rest of us…measuring your days by what the weather and soil does…knowing when is too late and too early…pretty cool…

  4. kkkkaty1 said,

    November 25, 2013 at 2:37 am

    Refreshing nostalgic use of calendars that started this country…pioneers to present day rural areas rely on these methods still…great job!

  5. claudia said,

    November 25, 2013 at 4:40 am

    oh nice… it has its spell and challenges to live and work so close with nature… and nature surely has their own calendar… good to have enough experience to know it and be able to interpret and to know what to do.. very nice

  6. Akila said,

    November 25, 2013 at 6:43 am

    wow! lovely write here. fleeting thoughts that come alive through the pen

  7. November 25, 2013 at 4:17 pm

    Love how you describe how detailed husbandry of the land. The true stewardship; grand responsibilities of proper farming. The harvests and disappointments in drought. A perfect description of ‘Farmer Almanac’ mmm.


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