Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Music in the Field

Coah cooo cooo coo, Coah cooo cooo coo. Dawn came to the song of the mourning dove.  Coah cooo cooo coo.

 Morning on the farm began with music. Soon after the sun rose, the rest of nature joined in the song. The cicada, the red wing black bird, a melodic chorus of sound welcomed the day. The day began with music in the field.

".......being in a field driving a tractor was a time I enjoyed; I could sing at the top of my voice with no one listening and enjoy nature and my surrounds. It was a peaceful time on the farm." My sister was telling of a conversation she had with a friend. Yes, it was a peaceful time. We were a singing family. We had no choice. It was handed down from generations before. Singing was as natural as to all of us as opening our eyes in the morning.

I ran across the field hoping to catch up with Dad on the tractor. Over the sound of the tractor, I could hear Daddy singing. If he wasn't singing, he was whistling. There was music in the field. After he stopped and pulled his little girl up onto the Massey Ferguson, he sometimes continued to sing. His daughter joined in. Music filled the field.

Walking back to the house, more times than not, Mom would be sitting at the piano singing. Her music filled the house and the barnyard. Time at her piano was the best of times for Mom. If Dad was on his way in, he often joined in her song. She would come into the kitchen where he captured her in his arms and kissed her. There was music in the field.

The music that once filled the air back the lane on Neff Road is different now. Nature still greets the day, but the family who once sang there is gone. The Native Americans who lived on that land left their stones. The Loxleys left their song.

Music is still echoes in the fields on Neff Road. And, morning comes with the Coah, cooo cooo coo of the mourning dove.

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