The farmers, women and men, ride out of
the mist on a wide array of tractors, always smile and wave, and look kindly on
the pup, as we pass each other in the early morning hours.
The commuters leave their homes later,
struggling with coffee cups and briefcases, glancing at smartphones, racing off
in their cars, in such a hurry.
The to-do lists of the
farmers must be in their heads. I never see them with a phone. Always just
looking about, driving slowly and purposefully, through the small town.
As you walk down the sidewalks that line
each green, it takes you awhile to get that almost half the homes are working
farms, with their land behind them.
Take a better look, and there behind the
homes are the barns and outbuildings, the workers in the fields, or gathered
around a tall table outside, come rain or sun, preparing the produce someone
else has been out, even earlier, in a field, gathering.
Hours later, on nearby Rt. 9, the traffic
begins to pick up and stutter, as vehicles clog the four-lane road that snakes
from Amherst to Northampton.
But
all along the way, hidden behind convenience stores and shops , lies the heart
of the town, the produce and livelihood bustling, the lives teeming along.
No comments:
Post a Comment