Inspired by…

1 Jul

I’m typing this from my in-law’s homestead.
A sprawling organism of survival and tradition in Missouri.

The Bechard Farm

…..

Eighteen months ago Goodman moved to the city to learn to love a Concrete Flower.
Seven months ago we married amidst gold and silver.
Down Texas way in the shadow of skyscrapers with fire escapes like metal caterpillars.

We live in a modest apartment and have modest dreams of a modest future.
During the day he remodels wealthy houses into even wealthier looking mansions
Like the one I nanny in.
He works with a hammer and saw.
At night he comes home to me, weary.
Sawdust behind his earlobes.
Salt thick on his lips.

We love the city.
The easy access to good food and drink.
The constant whir of people and ideas.
Sidewalks, manicured gardens, museums.

But sometimes what you love is also far away.

This week we wake by the rooster.
Who’s urgent cry is less a welcome than a warning to the day.
Our vacation week with family.
A family who need to be loved in thick doses.
Doses of chores and duties.
Dirt to be cleared.

The workload and schedule is one familiar to Goodman.
He once was a stocky cog in this mechanism.

The ins and outs are second hand, even if no longer routine.
So when the time comes to butcher chickens he confidently steps forward.
When the cow pen needs repairs he trudges into the fray.

Perhaps a vaction on the beach would be nice.

And yet never a complaint.

Only love.

His love is sure as the hand that mends the tractor.
His love is strong as the back that carries feed.
His love is thorough as the mind that calculates the answer to an urgent need.

There are many urgancies on a farm.
Such as a broken hitch, a ditched car, a wayward animal.

Today he spent six hours stacking hay bales.
A labor that had me imagining ancient pyramid building.
Six back breaking, muscle tearing hours.
I know because my hands felt the sailor knots between his shoulder blades.
I know because he naps as one dead across the room.

He toiled under a merciless sun that pushed the temperature into triple digits.
He patiently led the crew that came to help.
He endured insects and filth that stuck to every crease.
He gently kissed me when I brought orange juice to sustain.

I’m inspired by his love.

A love that breaths and has it’s being in the fiber of body.
A love that speaks, yes, but also moves.

Lifting
Sweating
Pounding
Flexing
Aching
Giving

Love.

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2 Responses to “Inspired by…”

  1. tbrainerd 07/02/2011 at 1:05 am #

    You’re right, Abi. You’re married to a good man. Yahweh hath blessed both of you.

  2. Christine 07/05/2011 at 10:50 am #

    Beautiful ode to Goodman!

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