clawmute
04-09-2008, 09:53 AM
It was the spring of 1998 when I started clearing Joanna’s field. It was the first spring after her death. I didn’t know that it was to be her field then. That came a little later. The west part of our rural place is secluded and lies in the river bottom next to the Middle Fork of the Saline River. The one hundred foot high ridge we live on is parallel to an old river channel whose waters lap against the foot of it. The distance varies from sixty to twenty yards from this old channel over to the present stream location. This place of deep dark soil, an acre and a half or so in size, was completely covered in timber. The Hackberrys, Oaks, Gums, Hornbeams and Ashes had not been touched for generations. I’d never thought of clearing this place before, and at first only planned on removing trees and brush along the old channel. This would make better access for fishing along the west bank.
As I began to push over smaller trees with my tractor it came to me that I should clear the area and create a little hidden field that would be nestled between the River stream and the old River channel. So thus I began. I would dig around bigger trees and those that had an extensive root system, then push them over. Smaller ones could then be pushed to the sides of the opening and larger ones cut up then moved.
It took several months of full and part time work to clear the area. As the clearing work progressed I would envision in my mind’s eye a beautiful meadow, green in the spring sun and surrounded by nature. It would be bordered on one side by the old channel and the high ridge and on the other by the ever flowing waters. This vision of future beauty inspired me and kept me going, and fatigue was of no consequence. I did all of the work alone as is my custom, and spent many hours riding the old orange tractor and in cutting logs from the felled trees. It was sometime in this summer of 1998 that I decided to call it Joanna’s Field. People love to name things after happy memories and loved ones and she was both. She and I had fished many afternoons in the old channel, and she would have called it “a small and cozy place.” Even as a toddler she loved small and hidden places and had coined that phrase. I even have a photo I took of her peeking out with those big brown eyes of hers from a hiding place in our old house.
She surely loved to fish, and I can still see her standing on the bank above the old channel’s water, casting a small lure out over the still surface. My spirit took a snapshot of her in that pose on a particularly beautiful afternoon. That picture has anchored itself forever in my heart. After those afternoon excursions when it was time to go to supper, she would climb on the four wheeler behind me and put her arms around my waist. Then with the mountain twilight beginning to fall we would ride together back up the darkening trail that wound to our highland home.
Often as I worked in the field and pondered life and death, I would be flooded with memories of my unforgettable daughter. To some secret watcher it would have seemed peculiar indeed to see me. A grown man riding around on an orange tractor and all the while crying his eyes out and beseeching God to send something to fill up a massive Joanna shaped void. After awhile I would feel better and stop to blow my nose and wipe my eyes before I carried on. I was comforted by the knowledge that a wonderful wife, son and daughter still awaited me at the top of that winding trail.
God took two children to be with him and left us two. As always, my wife and I must bow before his almighty power and wisdom. After all, fourteen years went by before doctors told us we couldn’t have any children at all. But then God cast his creative and deciding vote and we won. No recount was required.
After the little field was cleared, I smoothed it out by disking and harrowing, filling in stump holes and leveling humps and rough places. In the fall, October of 1998 I planted it for the first time. It was very dry that fall and so I got a pump and rigged up lines so that I could water the sown seed. No need for me to do that though. A gulf hurricane sent clouds our way and it began to rain within a few days after it was planted. I loved it. It seemed like God’s stamp of approval on all of my labor.
When it all began to turn green it was even more beautiful than I had imagined. It’s always wonderful there now, and as long as I have the strength and help of God I will plant it. Every time I take my wife there she weeps and says it is a special place. I know it is. It is prayers that make places special.
When they were small, we once took the children to Pea Ridge Civil War battlefield in Northern Arkansas. Joanna said “this place makes me sad.” Her little spirit discerned somehow the uniqueness that abided there. In case you didn’t know that’s why your eyes tear up at old battle grounds. The prayers of the soldiers are like an oil of anointing that has totally saturated the ground. The living were asking for life, the wounded praying for help and the dying pleading for forgiveness and help for families left behind. The spirit of God comes close when men are in prayer, and any time he visits a wonderful fragrance remains. We pray and God answers.
One year I was short of money for seed, fuel and other items necessary to plant the places that I cultivate each fall. It seemed only fitting to use money that Joanna had made so that I could plant her little field. She had earned a savings bond by winning the Saline County spelling bee against all private and public school entrants. She was homeschooled and was an excellent an ardent reader, having learned to read by four years of age. Her mother and I were filled with joy and gladness for her but she thought it nothing out of the ordinary. The prize savings bond she received had been put aside for many years.
I took the bond to the bank one afternoon to cash it in, and my heart was weighed down with heaviness. As I stood in line waiting my turn, I thought again of how she would never get a chance to fulfill her dream of being a writer and to earn her living that way. I held there in my hand a certificate as receipt for the few dollars she ever had the opportunity to earn. When I walked out of the bank I felt like you do when you’ve been in swimming for a long time and the weight of your body seems enormous. Too much to carry. I gritted my teeth, set my face as a flint, and with tears flowing down went and purchased seed.
When it warmed up that next spring her little meadow was more lush and beautiful than I’ve ever seen it. It was if God blessed that seed sevenfold and caused it to grow and flourish as it never has before or since. It has never been more beautiful than the year I planted it with Joanna’s seed money. Even though I used my hands and sweat to do the work it was a joint effort between God, Joanna and I. I was just a laborer and observer.
The deer and wild Turkeys come now to visit the place I made – that we made. I have sat hidden in woods on the edge of the clearing many afternoons and watched them as they fed across the green of this small and cozy meadow. If she were here now I know she would love it too. Of all the little nooks on our hard won land there is no place as special as Joanna’s field. I’ll see you soon my little girl. God said so and I’m sure he’s not mistaken. I know he had a small and cozy place all ready for you.
http://i143.photobucket.com/albums/r130/clawmute/SpringTime/DSC00800-1-1.jpg
As I began to push over smaller trees with my tractor it came to me that I should clear the area and create a little hidden field that would be nestled between the River stream and the old River channel. So thus I began. I would dig around bigger trees and those that had an extensive root system, then push them over. Smaller ones could then be pushed to the sides of the opening and larger ones cut up then moved.
It took several months of full and part time work to clear the area. As the clearing work progressed I would envision in my mind’s eye a beautiful meadow, green in the spring sun and surrounded by nature. It would be bordered on one side by the old channel and the high ridge and on the other by the ever flowing waters. This vision of future beauty inspired me and kept me going, and fatigue was of no consequence. I did all of the work alone as is my custom, and spent many hours riding the old orange tractor and in cutting logs from the felled trees. It was sometime in this summer of 1998 that I decided to call it Joanna’s Field. People love to name things after happy memories and loved ones and she was both. She and I had fished many afternoons in the old channel, and she would have called it “a small and cozy place.” Even as a toddler she loved small and hidden places and had coined that phrase. I even have a photo I took of her peeking out with those big brown eyes of hers from a hiding place in our old house.
She surely loved to fish, and I can still see her standing on the bank above the old channel’s water, casting a small lure out over the still surface. My spirit took a snapshot of her in that pose on a particularly beautiful afternoon. That picture has anchored itself forever in my heart. After those afternoon excursions when it was time to go to supper, she would climb on the four wheeler behind me and put her arms around my waist. Then with the mountain twilight beginning to fall we would ride together back up the darkening trail that wound to our highland home.
Often as I worked in the field and pondered life and death, I would be flooded with memories of my unforgettable daughter. To some secret watcher it would have seemed peculiar indeed to see me. A grown man riding around on an orange tractor and all the while crying his eyes out and beseeching God to send something to fill up a massive Joanna shaped void. After awhile I would feel better and stop to blow my nose and wipe my eyes before I carried on. I was comforted by the knowledge that a wonderful wife, son and daughter still awaited me at the top of that winding trail.
God took two children to be with him and left us two. As always, my wife and I must bow before his almighty power and wisdom. After all, fourteen years went by before doctors told us we couldn’t have any children at all. But then God cast his creative and deciding vote and we won. No recount was required.
After the little field was cleared, I smoothed it out by disking and harrowing, filling in stump holes and leveling humps and rough places. In the fall, October of 1998 I planted it for the first time. It was very dry that fall and so I got a pump and rigged up lines so that I could water the sown seed. No need for me to do that though. A gulf hurricane sent clouds our way and it began to rain within a few days after it was planted. I loved it. It seemed like God’s stamp of approval on all of my labor.
When it all began to turn green it was even more beautiful than I had imagined. It’s always wonderful there now, and as long as I have the strength and help of God I will plant it. Every time I take my wife there she weeps and says it is a special place. I know it is. It is prayers that make places special.
When they were small, we once took the children to Pea Ridge Civil War battlefield in Northern Arkansas. Joanna said “this place makes me sad.” Her little spirit discerned somehow the uniqueness that abided there. In case you didn’t know that’s why your eyes tear up at old battle grounds. The prayers of the soldiers are like an oil of anointing that has totally saturated the ground. The living were asking for life, the wounded praying for help and the dying pleading for forgiveness and help for families left behind. The spirit of God comes close when men are in prayer, and any time he visits a wonderful fragrance remains. We pray and God answers.
One year I was short of money for seed, fuel and other items necessary to plant the places that I cultivate each fall. It seemed only fitting to use money that Joanna had made so that I could plant her little field. She had earned a savings bond by winning the Saline County spelling bee against all private and public school entrants. She was homeschooled and was an excellent an ardent reader, having learned to read by four years of age. Her mother and I were filled with joy and gladness for her but she thought it nothing out of the ordinary. The prize savings bond she received had been put aside for many years.
I took the bond to the bank one afternoon to cash it in, and my heart was weighed down with heaviness. As I stood in line waiting my turn, I thought again of how she would never get a chance to fulfill her dream of being a writer and to earn her living that way. I held there in my hand a certificate as receipt for the few dollars she ever had the opportunity to earn. When I walked out of the bank I felt like you do when you’ve been in swimming for a long time and the weight of your body seems enormous. Too much to carry. I gritted my teeth, set my face as a flint, and with tears flowing down went and purchased seed.
When it warmed up that next spring her little meadow was more lush and beautiful than I’ve ever seen it. It was if God blessed that seed sevenfold and caused it to grow and flourish as it never has before or since. It has never been more beautiful than the year I planted it with Joanna’s seed money. Even though I used my hands and sweat to do the work it was a joint effort between God, Joanna and I. I was just a laborer and observer.
The deer and wild Turkeys come now to visit the place I made – that we made. I have sat hidden in woods on the edge of the clearing many afternoons and watched them as they fed across the green of this small and cozy meadow. If she were here now I know she would love it too. Of all the little nooks on our hard won land there is no place as special as Joanna’s field. I’ll see you soon my little girl. God said so and I’m sure he’s not mistaken. I know he had a small and cozy place all ready for you.
http://i143.photobucket.com/albums/r130/clawmute/SpringTime/DSC00800-1-1.jpg