What Condition We’re In
Some call it a North Dakota condition
Where some rivers run north and poor crops are tradition.
Its’ farmers are Commies and its’ banking’s State-owned
Please pass the hot dish, your future’s postponed!
Once filled with small farms, quarter section in size
Now tilled with tractors and global positioning is prized.
Gone are the Holsteins, a milk house and barn cats for cream
So are the children who loved playing, farming and had big dreams.
Small towns are dried up, the schools gone away
Consolidation brings busing, two hours each day.
Gone are the churches, cafes and the small stores
Wheat fields, barley, and the dog’s locked indoors.
Time keeps on moving, no room for the past
Weather is changing, drought is forecast.
Empty the farmhouse, move into town
Go shopping at Walmart, and let’s just simmer down!
winters icy fields
recall past season harvest
©2018 cj holm
-©2018 cj holm
echoed in the sky
steel grain bin
leaning against tree
clock always ticking
reaper gone away
snow covered tree stump
all the branches hauled away
squirrel scurries on
my brother’s birthday
he is younger by a year
and missing old farm
Golden loaves of bread
that rise in grandma’s woodstove
served with fall preserves
Smokey farmhouse memories
of breakfast conversations
Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 223 Rise / Fall
Autumn’s killing frost
produces late fruit so sweet
-Eris’ golden treat
Rain wrapped vista
concealing if night or day
-question stop or go
The view from my back door—
Morning mist blankets
falls ultimate act of love
brings peace to harvest
stilling scythe with daybreak dew
hushing autumns reaper swirl
Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 221 Peace / Love
Tanka 5-7-5 7-7
neighbors apple tree
loaded from top to bottom
Spent the weekend picking, peeling, and making apple sauce and pie filling. Our house smells of cinnamon and sugar!
Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 212
My mother would make potato dumpling for harvest dinners. Her signature ingredient was small pieces of bread fried in bacon grease and mixed with the potatoes, flour, and egg. She would shape the dough in her hands and drop baseball-sized portions into a huge pot of boiling salted water. After 10 minutes she would move the steaming dumplings to her big enamel roaster and cover them with a thick white cream sauce. She would bake them for another hour and serve them, still bubbling, to us at the kitchen table along with big slices of her homemade fresh white bread and pickled red beets (for color).
Even though these dumplings were our favorite meal, children learned from a one-time painful experience, to limit themselves to a single serving. Those dumplings landed in our stomachs like a fastball smacking into a soft catcher’s mitt and lodged there into the late summer evening!
It was not unusual for our entire family to nap for the rest of the day after eating those dumplings.
Just one fuels a farmhand
-Sates noon hunger pain
Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 212 Sates / Fuels