To the editor:
There’s something to be said about small town life. Right around this time of year, as the weather gets warmer, the humidity begins to spike, and Mother Nature becomes unforgiving. The true meaning of living in a small-town community begins to show.
In between tractor pulls at the Hancock County 4-H Fair, I listened to conversations around me. I heard stories about graduation, crop yields, and how Carla (the Shropshire ewe) was handling the creep grazing of her lamb.
The smell of fried food, grilled meats, manure and bio-diesel hit your nostrils. It danced across your pallet like an unbridled, barefoot run through daisies just after a spring rain.
The commentator rolled stats, drivers and horsepower off of his tongue like a seasoned professional. Talking about second, third, and fourth generation drivers and how this sport runs deep within these families.
You watch as the driver backs 4,500 horses up to the sled. The anticipation is palpable. Then, it happens. The green light on the cab begins to flash. The engine revs, the wheels spin, dirt flies, and smoke bellows. It’s over: the echo, the only remnant of the experience.
The crowd cheers, the smoke clears, the winners are called.
It’s at places like this, where life moves a little slower. It’s places like this, where memories are made that sustain you.
This completes me.