I Have a History With This Field

(A Driving Tour of Vermont Route 116)

By Maren Mecham

I have a history with this field. 

I watched through the summer as the short soybeans grew like a carpet

and white morning glory vines took over the hedgerows. 

I have a history with this field. 

Every time manure was spread here, I had to shut my windows.

I have a history with this field.

It was here that I remembered how my friend mourns the end of summer 

when the corn is finally harvested and the field is left 

with stiff, dry, truncated reminders of the green that is gone.

I have a history with this field. 

This field made me marvel as the low October morning sun and shimmering dew

collaborated to illuminate a thousand sparkling spider webs in the grass. 

I have a history with this field.

This is the one that made my children shout, “Horses! Horses on the right!” 

and as I passed I knew my favorite pond was just around the bend.

I have a history with this field. 

Here I saw a flock of turkeys in November, 

hunting and pecking between the corn stalks. 

My daughter asked, “What color are turkeys’ eyes?” 

“Red, I think. Let’s ask Grandma.”

I have a history with this field. 

It isn’t very big. In fact, it’s child-sized.

Not more than an acre by the barn. 

But this one is my favorite. 

This is the field in which I grew my children. 

(Someday I'd like to make this into a book with illustrations, but maybe not this year.)