Relics

I went out shooting today. (It just strikes me as I write that how different that phrase is for me as compared to most of the people who live around here.  Hmm.  I guess we're all shooting SOMETHING around here,though...)  I specifically wanted to get the rake we've been using on our family hay fields for as long as I can remember.  Its big wheels make surprisingly lovely patterns as they cross each other.  They're almost lace-like. 

The rake is a piece of equipment that my father and my uncle share, at least on one particular piece of property.  Today, I found it in a pasture near where my grandfather used to come and sit just to rest during a hard day's work or simply to escape.  My grandfather was tough-as-nails.  He farmed, raising cows and cutting hay, and worked on the pipeline all his life.  All my memories of him include overalls in various states of repair, even overall shorts my grandmother made him for the summer when he was home at the end of the day.  Even though he's been gone now almost ten years, the tree he used to lean against and read Westerns or spy novels still has his hard hat and a whiskey jug hanging there as if he were returning soon to sit in the cool near the creek and look out over the sea of green in front of him.

I find something almost overwhelmingly comforting about that.  I suppose some people would say that after a certain amount of time, leaving those relics hanging in the tree is a pointless thing.  To me, though, it's a reminder of family, of the great love he had for his work, for that place, for us.  Just seeing them there made me smile.