Murph, thanks for your very kind words!
One should never underestimate the stupidity of the human race.
Amen to that.
And, now we need some pictures of tractors!
Here's a picture of a local dude making hay on my upper field. I don't have the best quality of grasses, so I've never offered it before, but while doing my father-in-law's very nice front field, he decided to use what I had. Nice to have the proper equipment to make a job easier.
Of course, it's a Ford, but we won't hold that against him.
My daughter took this photo from the top, looking south. He got 37 bales of 800 pounds apiece. Not a bad haul, being as he got it for free.
The ground dips more sharply to the east, and is very undulating, which is impossible to discern from distance. One spot, however, is perfectly sloped and rounded. I call it 'the amphitheater', and maybe someday I'll put a small stage at the bottom and invite Murph to recite something Shakespearean or Monty Python-ean to a full crowd a-seat on the slope.
There will, of course, be lots of people for his audience. I was out walking across my field some days ago, and I head a whispering voice. It said "Hey Dirtman, listen up ...". It sounded suspiciously like a larger-than-Life dude from Leola of Lancaster County of whom I once made acquaintance. He continued on something like this... "People will come, Pete. They'll come to Orangeville for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. "Of course, we won't mind if you have a look around," you'll say. "It's only twenty dollars per person." They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it, for it is money they have, and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the tractors, and stand in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have a reserved seat upon one of the rumbling Farmalls, where they wished they could have sat when they were children. And they'll watch the waving grasses pass by underneath, and it'll be as if they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The serenity will be so thick, they'll have to brush it away from their faces. People will come, Pete. The one constant through all the years has been Farmalls. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But Farmalls have marked the time. This field, this brush-hog, is a part of our past, Pete. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Oh, people will come, Pete. People will most definitely come."
The way I figure, Murph's oration will be the 'pièce de résistance' of a glorious, sunny, cumulus-studded Summer day.
Then, (in Tramp's words), we can all go out and get drunk.
