The farm. Oh Jim’s great voice rolling over the land. Oh Anna, moving rigidly from house to barn so that the happiness with which she brims will not jar and spill over. Oh Mazie, hurting herself with beauty. Oh Will, feeling the eggs and radishes gurgle down his throat, tugging the woolly neck of the dog with reckless joy. Oh Ben, feeling smiles around and security.
Well, what of Benson? stoop-shouldered neighbor and his “I tell you, you cant make a go of it. Tenant farmin is the only thing worse than farmin your own. That way you at least got a chance a good year, but tenant farmin, bad or good year, the bank swallows everything up, and keeps you owin ’em. You’ll see.”
But land is here. Days falling freely into large rhythms of weather. Feet sinking into plowed earth, the plow making a bright furrow. Corn coming swiftly up. Tender green stalks with thin outer shoots, like