It was near one of the wetlands on our place. Tall native grass and a few trees have taken the area over. It’s where I stumbled onto the past.
Half-hidden in the tall grass, the remnants of a one-hundred-year old implement jumped out at me and nearly tripped me. Here was a bit of history, abandoned long ago in a spot too wet to farm. The old steel wheels of some haying or planting implement are now half buried by years of rain and erosion.
I imagined a farmer, perhaps driving his last team of horses before the miracle of gasoline tractors rocked his world. I wondered if maybe he got the implement stuck there, late on a summer day, unhitched the tired horses and vowed he would buy a new implement, carried on rubber tires, maybe pulled by a tractor.
I wondered too, if the new-fangled investment led him to prosperity or put him into insurmountable debt.