His people had been farmers going back to the old country, Slovakia, and beyond, into the ancient past. He had helped his father on his 120 acres and took it over when Dad “retired” meaning, he couldn’t physically do it anymore. Like father, like son he thought as he drowsed. Now, he owned or rented 1800 acres. You have to have that much land to try and break even.
There’s an old joke that farmers don’t go to Vegas because their way of life is one giant gamble. The house is always against you: the weather, the commodities markets, government regs, the enormous cost of machinery that you have to know how to maintain. There were good years and bad years and his wife would joke that a good year meant they were less in debt than others. Yet he made a living. And for many guys, the gamble was the catnip, to overcome all that was aligned against you and in that season, you won. You felt like you had won a million bucks.
You had to love it otherwise it was simply too hard of a living. And indeed, he did love it. Getting up while it was still dark, smelling the coffee his wife had made and sipping it standing on the porch, watching the stars fade and hearing the birds beginning to sing as breakfast was cooking. There were many sublime moments as this. Like walking in the evening, a cold beer in hand, through a field of freshly mowed hay, a big full moon rising in the East. The rhythm he felt with the earth, sowing in the Spring as it opened up, harvesting in the Fall. Maintenance and planning for the next year during the cold months. Repeat. He felt strong kinship to those over the centuries who had come before him doing this very thing. He was proud to be a farmer and there was such satisfaction at the end of the season.
Where did the time go? he thought. I’m done but I don’t want to die here. I want to leave in my bed, in my house, on my land. He felt ready to move on but that was in the Lord’s hands. He had had a good life. His crops had probably fed thousands over the years. He had 16 great-grand children. He worried about leaving his wife alone-she had been with him since the start. She was such a blessing as were his children. He had fantasies of walking out of the care facility and head for home. Go to his favorite hill overlooking the rolling fields, lie down, stare up at the stars and wait for the Lord. And then his people would return him to the sweet earth that made us all.
A cardinal’s call roused him and he looked out the window and saw that it was barely light. 5.30 am he reckoned. He wanted to go sit outside with a cup of coffee and just feel the day emerge as he had done so many mornings before. Selfish he thought, dragging the night nurse up and the only coffee to be had was from a vending machine and was terrible. He thought about planning his exit. He had some time, based on the whisperings he had heard. This wasn’t about suicide-a mortal sin-it was about this projected long slide hooked up to machines in a strange place. No. He was going to be firm. Eat what he wanted and be at home. Medicare would pay for a home nurse to come out to help his wife and daughter out. Enjoy the time I left, he thought.
Suddenly, he felt acutely exhausted and realized he didn’t have it in him to fight what was coming. Outside, a breeze sent blossoms from a cherry tree out in the facility’s yard into a swirling blizzard. Two crows flew up, perched in the top branches and began to caw. The watchmen had arrived. He knew the sign, having seen it time and time again over the years out in the fields. The house was going to win this final hand. He was surprised how this realization calmed him. Watching the cherry blossoms floating by, his gaze focused on a single petal and felt himself attach to it, surrendering to the currents taking him to the fields of Elysian.
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