Cornucopia

On a dusty cloudless day at the end of May, Hank showed up with his corn planter to sow what we hoped would be a good portion of the winter feed for the herd.

Gulls circled greedily, swooping for the hard kernels, screeching invitations to the party at each other.

We thanked Hank for his efficient, cheerful service; we thanked God for Hank's fitting us in at the last minute; we prayed for rain to nourish our field, and to grow grass throughout the neighbourhood; and we sat back to watch what would happen.






On June 11, the Good Rancher texted me that he had something to show me. I met him at the gate and was greeted by this promising sight:

Our fledgling crop had started to push its way up through the dry, hard soil, defying the odds - we had received no rain as of yet.

The days turned into anxious weeks and then months. We sustained the swather-ignited fire. The whole area reported fire after fire; the clouds loomed and swirled menacingly; the rain did not fall.

The weather was a barometer of the whole summer at the Ranch, it seemed:  funnel clouds of irritation and anger arising from nowhere around our heads; dust puddles of doubt swirling at our feet. The house was shrouded in darkness, blinds perpetually pulled down against the sun's insistent attempts at entry through the windows.

And the temperatures continued to rise.

Water was pumped twice a day for the livestock. We moved cattle to fields where there were a few remaining green shoots pushing bravely up through the cracking soil.

Finally, we were forced to start feeding.

Every day, morning and night, I heard the Good Rancher implore God to let it rain. He was, of course, not alone: the cry was heard all around us, neighbours being pushed closer to despair, payments on equipment looming large in the imminent future, insects threatening to finish off what the sun could not fully decapitate.

People left who said they were in for the long term. People came back who said they were gone for good. Everything was at sixes and sevens.

Every day he checked his corn crop, watching it start to shrivel on the dwarfed stalks. Finally, one day he came back to the house, shoulders bent with weariness and care. "God can cause things to grow without rain," he said, almost to himself. "He can grow the corn. Or not. I have to leave it with Him."

A couple of weeks later, a truck stopped by. A crew was in the neighbourhood and they had half a morning free at the end of the week: did we want them to take the corn crop off?

What was there to lose? The Good Rancher assented rather grimly.

And two days before the crew were due to arrive, the heavens opened a crack and released enough rain to turn the direction of the corn.

It wasn't much, by any means - the clouds roared louder than the rain's patter. But it was enough for the job at hand.

The next Saturday morning the crew from 3G Custom Silaging Ltd. showed up as early as they had promised, and set to work right away.

The Good Rancher texted me to come over and see the sight. The corn seemed to have grown in the last 48 hours - enough for a significant portion of our feed needs to be met!

After they managed to leave one enormous stalk standing, I went over and tried to measure it:

Then I zipped back to the silage pit to watch the trucks unloading and the G.R. tractoring around in all that unexpected green ...

My three closest companions and I quietly went back to the field that now contained not much more than stones, husks and a few little cobs that had escaped the ravenous machine; the field that also contained our hopes for locally sourced feed and healthy cattle.

I started to gather some of the pretty rocks exposed by the machinery, and piled them up in order to collect them all at the end, as is my wont. 

But this pile started to take on a shape and a purpose of its own. I thought of the priest Samuel in the early pages of the Bible who placed a large rock on a significant spot of land and named the land Ebenezer, which translates to "Hitherto has the Lord helped us."

I added a couple of ears of corn and two horns I found in the dust and made this little place my prayer of thanksgiving. Even if the temperatures are unseasonably high; even if there is no rain; even if people come and go; God is still with us and helping us. Proof in the past and a promise for the future.

And that itself is cause for thanksgiving!

That itself is enough.

Happy Thanksgiving