here a house was, will soon be a field. Where a field was, there is now a house. Soybeans come from the clay of the old place; a doublewide is planted in the corn field. I miss the activity at the old house. I didn’t know the owners, but heard stories as I was growing up. They raised turkeys.
It was dilapidated and needed tending when I knew it. They slept on the porch in the summer. Air conditioning was the best breeze they could get. The old family carved out a life in the house at the edge of the field. They lived off what they grew, caught, raised, created, sold, traded or just got.
Children scampered around outdoors in overalls, barefooted, laughing and running, kicking up the dust.
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