Another farm
Saturday, December 20, 2008
While I wait for those submissions of my readers to roll in about their own experiences leaving the farm, here is an old story titled My Ninety Acres care of Louis Bromfield:
The fencerow bordered a meadow of deep, thick hay, and below, among feathery willows, wound the clear spring stream where I had often gone swimming with Walter's boys: John, who had been everything Walter had hoped for in a son, the best loved, who was buried somewhere in the Argonne; and Robert, who had gone away to become rich and powerful. There was something lonely about the figure of the old man wandering along the fencerow filled with sassafras and elderberry. For no reason I could understand I felt a lump come to my throat.