Bill’s annual summer newsletter
June 10, 2019
As best I can recall it was the summer of 1960. My father and I trekked across the road to help finish loading a truck for an early season market He had proclaimed several times in the prior days that the season held great promise (carrots, radish, peas, celery strawberries were cooperating). With an arm around me he shared that I should not be interested in farming because it appeared easy.
A couple days later a hail storm broke that promise. Still the routine goes forward, the crew to muster, a few peaches to pick, cauliflower to transplant, irrigation lines to move. On this night my dad urged that any longing for the farm should not waver because it is too hard (I dare not reveal that I had already taken measure that is was not for me).
He died before the next season could begin.
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