There is a bench halfway up the lane that leads to the back fields and marsh at my Mom and Dad's farm in Wisconsin. I'm visiting my Dad this week, so I get to walk the lane every day.
Yesterday I took my lane walk late in the afternoon. A breeze whistled through the pine grove along the fence line. The two track lane is showing signs of drying after last month's snow and rain. The neighbor's horses were taking in the warm spring sunshine.
I showed the images that I took to Dad when we were having our cheese and crackers before supper.
"Your mom and I used to walk up the lane and take a cob of corn for the horses. They would sniff the cob and back away. Then, you'd break the cob, pull of a few kernels, and hold out your hand." Dad smiled, remembering Mom and how much she loved walking up the lane on the farm where she was born and raised.
He continued. "Then the horses would come back and eat from your hand." A pause, a smile. "You know what they would do? Paw the ground. They say thanks that way," he said, remembering a time when horses pulled plows and wagons and maybe even took you to town.
They ground might be dry enough to drive my Chevy Volt up the lane this week, just so he can see the land. The horses should be out. That would be good.
Copyright 2013
Wanda Hayes Eichler
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