Freeing Farmers to Death

Where I come from, there’s no b in probably. Double negatives ain’t no big deal, everybody there understands what you’re saying. Creeks are called cricks. Rarely if ever do you hear anyone use the word bellow. Cows beller, people holler. Poplar trees are everywhere but no one calls them that. They’re popples. There’s even a Popple River running through the woods in the back of what used to be my family’s dairy farm, named for the trees lining its banks. Head on down the road and the drivers of every passing vehicle wave at you. Every last one, friend or foe, neighbor or stranger.

These habits left me soon after I left the farm where I got my start in life milking cows and working the land with my family. But I never mistook those customs for ignorance and lack of sophistication as so many do. My folks knew more about soil science, plant biology and animal physiology than most college graduates. They had the equivalent of a PhD in life after enduring the Great Depression and World War I…