I drove at dawn today
West through Virginia’s Tidewater counties
Soil sandy, flat and fertile
British names
Suffolk (now a city, used to be
Nansemond County)
Isle of Wight
Southampton
Sussex
Harvest time has come at last
Peanuts dug and in windrows drying
Waiting for the combine
Farmers fearing rain or freeze or both
That renders the precious nut worthless
Corn this year grew wonderfully
From planting to maturity
Most here picked and shelled
Not rendered ensilage for dairy cows
As in my youth far west of here
Soybeans too grew well this year
Except for drought briefly in August
In some places
But prices poor
Cotton now all balls of white
Earlier tall and green until leaves darkened and fell
Soon to be picked by huge machines
In years gone by men, women, children bent
From dawn to dark
And stuffed a sack, pure misery
The farmer gambles when he plants
On weather, price of crops, and costs
Of fuel, seed, fertilizer, chemicals, equipment, labor
He controls none of these, now or ever
A gambler at the blackjack table
Odds always with the house and dealer
Why then does the farmer plant?
Because he must stay in the game
And if he’s born into it, and loves
To smell the just turned earth
See green plants emerge
Harvest in the dust of fall
He simply must