he’d say
as he donned his pinstriped
Oshkosh overalls,
mounted the Massey Ferguson
for the north forty
to fill the scoop
with a new crop of stone.
He never went to college
never met Camus
but he knew the Sisyphean task,
the retracing of steps
to the valley
of the family farm
where his father had beaten
the fear of man into him,
instructed him
to repair the barn’s tin apex,
the summit of a broken windmill
within this existential framework:
If you fall,
we won’t lose much.
He put his shoulder to
the raising of new life
out of the same scarred soil,
the raising of five children
without the raising
of a harmful hand.
This man who never offended
any god’s sensibilities
knew the hill
from crest of terrace
to nadir,
knew the rock
as it surfaced anew
in the plow blade’s wake:
the boulder broken
the boulder whole.
~ Boyd Bauman
Boyd Bauman grew up on a small ranch south of the town of Bern, Kansas and is currently a teacher and writer in Roeland Park, Kansas. Boyd lives with his lovely wife Lisa and their little poets Haven and Milly.
Thank you Boyd,
I see the hill, the barn, the stone and most of all the man.
thanks boyd, what a great message.