John Deere and Rhubarb Pie

Moving day was the first time she spied them,
living on the farm five miles across the field,
but still neighbors as the crow flies.
He was carrying a box and she was carrying a child.
They looked anxious to begin their new life on the farm.

She was driving the old Volkswagen van.
back from the Grand Union grocery store.
He glanced up and raised his chin to say "howdy" as she passed.
A nod of her head in return and she continued down the road.
No time to stop and greet them. The carton of ice cream might melt.

After returning a book from the library, she chanced to see them again,
out in the driveway, a shiny new John Deere tractor gleaming in the sun.
Child in the wife's arms. A canary yellow cap on the farmer's head.
Waves of recognition, but no time to stop.
They looked happy and eager to begin plowing.

One Fall day the farmer's wife appeared at the door.
She was inundated with Sliver Queen corn, she explained.
Would the neighbor care to come over to the farm and help put some pints up?
Laughter and fellowship followed.
Barefoot toddlers raced under the table,
sliding on the kernels of corn that fell between the cracks.

Later in the Fall, at harvest time, the farmer's wife called,
too many pumpkins, would you care to have some?
More fellowship and laughter in the kitchen.
Talk of pies, and tools, and of land and of dreams.
Neighbors helping and sharing the harvest.

Christmastime, and the arrival of the annual white shroud of snow.
Let's bake cookies, box them up and take them to our neighbors.
The farmer's wife's eyes gleamed,
filled  with the love of mankind and an altruistic sense of giving.
They bundled up the kids in brightly colored scarves,
trudged through the snow, knocking on nearby doors.
Tentatively, the doors were opened,
as the neighbors raised their voices in song.

Icy cold wintery day.  The wind howled and complained to the aging maples.
A rapid, urgent knock at the door.
Power was out and they had 40 head to milk.
Could we help out? We could keep as much milk as we cared to.
More laughter as the novice held a teat in hand.
The farmer's wife showed the neighbor how to push up,
squeeze and gently pull, filling the tin bucket.

A fresh breath of  Spring, when the rhubarb pushed up from its earthy grave,
more pies, and laughter, and tales of failure in the past,
uneaten pies of cardboard and rhubarb soup.
The kids swung from an ebony tire hung from a tree.
As the rhubarb pie crusts slowly turned brown in the warm oven.

Ten  seasons pass, and the neighbors grew together,
like the oats and the straw in the field.
One grain nourishes, the other provides a place to slumber.
The knocks at the door lessened,
until one day they grew silent.

Making a racket, the farmer came up the dirt road,
on his faded John Deere.
A maple limb fallen had arcoss the yard,
branches spraying like an octopus flailing in the ocean.
The John Deere groaned as farmer moved the limb with ease.

He  took off his faded canary hat, and wiped his brow.
Hadn't seen much of his wife as of late.
She had packed up and moved out last spring, the farmer said.
She'd moved in with the artist that lived in the stone mill by the creek.
She never much cared to be a farmer's wife, he said.

The next Fall he brought up the rhubarb in a bucket,
He wasn't much on making pies he said,
he remembered that maybe the neighbor might be better at it.
The farmer helped her plant them along side of the garage.
When their task was completed, the farmer stood and eased his back.
He wiped a tear from his eye and climbed back on the John Deere,
the neighbor watched his back disappear in the dust
as he ventured alone down the hill.

In the Spring, she read of the farmer's passing.
She was surprised to learn they were the same age.
He had seemed younger when they were young,
and then seemed older than her as time went on.
She wondered what would become of the farm.

Summer brought a new family. Kids racing, dogs barking,
commotion and signs of life sprouting up  down the road.
She thought of the rhubarb taking root by her garage,
and the pumpkins, the corn, the maple limb,the cookies and the milk.
After quick contemplation, the neighbor went out
and deftly cut some rhubarb stalks.
She carried them into the house,
determined to kindle some sparks of fellowship.