Yellow grass crunches underneath my flip flops. The old folks are all talking about rain. They're saying what I'm thinking now as I listen to the crunching under my feet. It's too dry outside. The heat is almost unbearable, even to a veteran like myself. Thirty-one years seems like plenty of time to adjust to summer weather in Alabama. I'm beginning to believe that a lifetime isn't long enough.
I can't contemplate how my ancestors survived in the heat and summer draught before the days of air conditioning. Most of my ancestors were farmers. Draught means minor inconvenience to me, but it would've meant a loss in income and possible starvation to those that came before me.
Two zucchini and one cucumber plant make up my micro garden. I can sense how the plants suffer in this heat, and even though I water them twice a day, their leaves are still shriveled and less productive than normal. I can't imagine large scale farming in this heat wave. It's too depressing.
Yet somehow my great-great-great grandparents, great-great grandparents, great grandparents, and grandparents survived and prospered through the draughts, despair, and doubts that came with farming the dry dirt in Alabama. My life and living aren't dependent on the rain, but the living of modern farmers may be. I pray for rain for their sakes, as much as I pray for it to ease my physical discomfort. Rain brings relief and life to the dry landscape. I sit waiting--expectantly--as I watch the sky.
I can't contemplate how my ancestors survived in the heat and summer draught before the days of air conditioning. Most of my ancestors were farmers. Draught means minor inconvenience to me, but it would've meant a loss in income and possible starvation to those that came before me.
Two zucchini and one cucumber plant make up my micro garden. I can sense how the plants suffer in this heat, and even though I water them twice a day, their leaves are still shriveled and less productive than normal. I can't imagine large scale farming in this heat wave. It's too depressing.
Yet somehow my great-great-great grandparents, great-great grandparents, great grandparents, and grandparents survived and prospered through the draughts, despair, and doubts that came with farming the dry dirt in Alabama. My life and living aren't dependent on the rain, but the living of modern farmers may be. I pray for rain for their sakes, as much as I pray for it to ease my physical discomfort. Rain brings relief and life to the dry landscape. I sit waiting--expectantly--as I watch the sky.
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