We
joined our boat in Clarkston, Idaho which shares the river with Lewiston,
Washington. We traveled by motor coach for about two hours through some of the
most beautiful farm land I have ever seen. Remember that I’m a farmer’s
daughter, and I take pride that I “know split beans from coffee” (one of my
mother’s favorite expressions). I associated the state of Washington with
apples and cherries, but a little Googling told me that Washington ranks up
there in the production of wheat, potatoes, and blueberries. These farms spread
over acres and acres of rolling hills planted in wheat and grain crops, not at
all like the flat farms of Kansas and the heartland that we are accustomed to
seeing. While an occasional stand of trees tipped us off there was a farmhouse
in the shade, we drove miles without seeing fences. Growing crops on hilly
ground means working the soil with the contours of the field. Level ground
gives the tractor the advantage of plowing straight rows and planting a giant,
orderly garden. Here, farmers made
decisions on exactly where the fields were based on the curves and inclines of
the earth.
Different
crops were planted side by side but looked more like groomed golf courses.
Plowed ground was prepared so perfectly, it reminded me of combed hair or a
cake frosted with a serrated knife. Low gullies were left fallow, a contrast to
the bright green winter wheat. But many times when I peeked out the window of
our airplane and saw the patchwork of agriculture, those fields of green looked
like a quilt. And the curvy, circular stands remind me of an artist’s paint,
squirted out on a huge palette. Colors pool and puddle and share the same space
without mixing. And the artist’s favorite hue is earth tones.
The wind
was blowing and that line from our state song came to mind, “....and the waving
wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain!” If you’ve
ever been lucky enough to hear the rustle of nearly ripe wheat as the wind
parts the foliage, and know the fragrance that isn’t like grass or corn or
house plants, it’s wheat, you understand. The farms were immaculate. There was
no trash along the roads, no rusting machinery, no outdated campaign signs,
just “art” that will feed folks. It was beautiful. It was so much more than
seeds in the ground.
Pride.
That’s what I saw.
Quoting
that line from the great patriotic Lee Greenwood song “There’s pride in every
American heart.” Hope you all had a great and safe Independence Day
celebration!
