The Field
(A Poem in Four Acts)

by Margaret V. Doran

Act One

I don’t know how I get myself
into these fixes.
I planted when they told me to;
the corn was sprayed
on their date.
The beans have been ready for two weeks.
Two weeks!
If they don’t carry through on
this delivery date
I’m going to lose the whole crop!
And now they want
the corn, too.
Good grief!
I need a couple of hours of sleep
a night.
Remind me not to agree to experimental
varieties
even if they DO
offer a bonus.
Someone else can have the headache.
I don’t need contracts on things with
such "iffy" harvest dates!
Oh, and did I mention the Smiths
from the house on Elder Road
have asked permission to glean from
both fields by the house?
As if I really care.
I just don’t want all kinds of people
crawling all over.
They’ll have to be quick
with the beans, tho’:
it should only take a day
to get it harvested and I’ve got a
disc ready to go
as soon as the residue is baled:
We’re already two weeks behind
schedule
for planting the winter wheat.
You know what I don’t understand?
Those people are really poor -
why in the heck don’t they just go
and get themselves some food stamps
like everyone else?
It’d sure save ‘em a lot of work!
Oh, well, to each his own.
I wish there was some way to get
canneries to guarantee a price
before you plant;
life’d be a lot easier.
But tell you what . . .
as soon as we get the check,
I’m going to call and make
reservations at Disney World
for all of us for a couple of weeks
over the holidays.
No?
OK, if you’ve already got big
Christmas plans,
go ahead - I’ll made reservations for
January.
That’s a pretty depressing month and
we’d probably all enjoy
getting down to a sunnier clime’
and just forget about work for a while.
Maybe we can relax down there.

Act Two

Hi guys! I’m home!
Hey . . . doesn’t anyone care?
Where are you?
Guess what - they finally gave
the old man
a harvest date and you know what?
He’s going to have to harvest both
the beans and the corn
at the same time
and he’s feeling
really sorry for himself.
Hah! As if I should feel sorry
for someone who makes
as much as he does!
The good news is that
with a double harvest,
I’m going to be putting in
ten or twelve hours a day
for a while and
we can really use the extra money
set it aside for Christmas
which reminds me:
no roller blades for the kids!
Hey, we’re not city folks -
where the heck would they
use them?
But the Nintendo: sounds
like a great idea.
Start checkin’ to see if you can
get a good deal on one
and put it on layaway and
remember some of those games
I thought I’d like, too.
Yah, and check on that
big screen TV.
Who knows? if the old man
gets a big enough bonus
maybe he’ll pass some my way.
Maybe we can get it on credit,
even if he doesn’t
I wish I got overtime
like most guys but what the hell,
it’s a job, anyway,
better’n Smith’s got now.
You know what?
The old man tells me
he’s gonna let the Smiths
glean from those fields
by their house.
What do ya suppose they do
with their money?
I mean, they’re poor, sure, but
if his unemployment’s run out,
they must have welfare
and lots of food stamps
and other stuff.
Why the heck do you suppose they
want to "glean?"
Do you think they’re
selling their food stamps?
Hardly seem like the type, but
why else do they need
more food?
Makes ya wonder, don’t it?
And another thing:
I saw him out back
cutting wood the other day -
all those trees that
came down in the storm last year.
The old man cut up all the big ones
for that giant
stone fireplace of his and now
Smith’s down there
cuttin’ up the little stuff
and stacking up the brush.
If he burns those piles
it’ll kind of open up the woods
for the cattle - at least in that section.
Man, I’m wound up!
Get me a beer and come rub my back -
I need to relax!

Act Three

Guess what guys? He says we can glean!
He also says we’ve got to be fast
in the beams
because they’re going to disc that field
immediately
The corn will take a few days, tho’ so
we’ll have more time - good thing, too -
it takes a lot longer to freeze corn than to
can beans!
I do wish we had enough space (and water)
for our own garden here but . . .
we just don’t always get what we want.
Your dad sold another two
cords of fire wood today
and I have another order
for a hundred Santa ornaments.
Oh, don’t look so thrilled
. . . it’s not going to kill you
to paint for an hour or so
in the evening.
I keep looking at
those branches your dad’s been cutting.
There must be something I can
do with those to sell
at the craft shop.
I got some sewing orders
(that I wasn’t expecting)
from two women at church
and your dad may have a line
on a job.
Don’t look so glum, guys,
things really could be worse, you know.
We’ll make it OK
and without welfare or food stamps!
If we plan
far enough in advance, we’ll even
have a nice Christmas, too -
I promise.
I’m sure your dad will
be working by then
In the meantime, try to find
buyers for shelled filberts and walnuts.
I’ve already checked
with the farmers and we’re welcome
to glean
in those orchards -
they’ll both call
when they’re done with the harvest.
I guess, from what they say,
we’re the only ones
interested enough to come.
If your dad and I both
get deer this year,
most of our food needs will
be taken care of
but if not?
Well, we may have to consider
eating muskrat or nutria.
Haven’t we joked about that for years?
Roast nutria complete with an apple
for Thanksgiving.
If you don’t want sack lunches everyday,
you can check into
the free lunch and breakfast
programs at school . . .
your choice.
But for now, get your clothes changed;
we’re headed over to Alan’s
to get cucumbers and make pickles
tonight.
It’ll be fun! And we need to
dust off the Squeezo . . .
we’ll be getting tomatoes starting
next week and I know
how you guys like making juice -
I can’t keep up!

Act Four

Who are they?
No tractors, no combines,
no noise or fumes of trucks
or horns honking or workers shouting.
Just quietly humming or whistling
or singing softly
and lots of laughing
with their buckets,
delighting and rejoicing over each gem
I have produced.
Carefully inspecting my corners
for treasures left
by those who don’t care.
Grieving over the fruits of my labor
crushed
by a giant wheel and turned to waste.
I hear sadness about
chemicals and sprays yet
joy over sharing each new
usable discovery.
Even carefully bundling the
"useless" stalks and stems
to feed the goats.
When was the last time someone
referred to me as wonderful?
I am, after all, a living entity,
not just a piece of real estate.
I seem to recall
from some long ago, hazy time
another family who lived here and
tilled my soil and entrusted me
with the care of their dead
and talked to me and sang to me
and paid homage to my abundance
and gave thanks each year
so that I would continue
to accept them
and allow them my offspring.
It was for them I gave forth!
I remember now;
the fading memory of them refreshed by my
new friends.
I will continue to produce until
others, too, learn
it is not by their greatness they are fed
but by my grace.

Copyright © 1997 Margaret V. Doran. All rights reserved.

If you enjoyed this poem, please send her an e-mail here.

Updated July 1, 1999, 1998
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