A Eulogy for Winston’s Farm


Forty acres of corn alternated with soybeans to enrich the soil
now gone like the nearly blind old farmer who owned the place;
Dressed in jean coveralls and straw hat
his weathered face with stubble brittle as autumn cornstalks
he looked as though he’d been cut out of a children’s storybook,
He was a living, breathing relic before he died;
Afterwards two men came, demolished the barn board by board
harvested the wood to sell to wealthy suburbanites
who wanted an authentic look for their great rooms;
The house, however, was demolished with a bulldozer —
a way of life, a man, his legacy—
gone in a day,
though it had taken a lifetime to produce
a productive life and productive fields.
Life sealed beneath poured concrete and asphalt
to make way for a crop of cloned town-homes;
All that remains of the farmer is his name
Memorialized on a small, rectangular sign
Six feet up:
Winston Farm Road.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

April 21, 2014


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