Kenneth is a rural citizen of Hamilton, Ala., and has begun to observe life and certain things and people helping him to write about them.
As Introductions go
this one will come really short. I know a little about the era when the two photos on (this commentary) were first admired, touched, and then taken to a field of hard clods that before these two farming implements could be used, the clods and the land had to be cleared and broken for farmers to plant the seeds of their livelihood and with a lot of sweat and a little faith, these men with callused hands bowed another hard day and prayed to God for Him to watch over his fields and family--in that order. I have always had (a) love and admiration for the eras already gone and equipment now at rest. Thank you for reading this offering. Sincerely, Kenneth.
And in Another
day and time, a callused man and determined mind, rose to seize a hot, sweltry day to plant by faith, a few little seeds in a deceptive-looking land and hope that his fearful faith would be rewarded by God who must have looked to these men as an "Orange Monster" in the sky beyond the clouds.
These callused men walked in young, full of vim, and gave their spirits to the sod without asking a wife or giving her a nod.
These men with callused hands--worn, tired, split from the dry heat. In his heart, a yearning, longing for water, a nice fitting rain at just the right time. These men with callused hands. They knew how to plow their rows straight and sure. Tossing in the dirt with loads of animal manure--demeaning if your call was farming and shameful if your calling was walking on a prideful cord.
These men with callused hands seldom laughing in noon day sun--giving old hoss a break with water and oats today. Got a trade with the neighbor man who just sold another fifty-acres, man, oh man. These men with callused hands--they go to bed and seldom sleep. When his wife gets the kids quiet, she can hear him weep. A farming life is a hard life. These men with callused hands.
O'er and o'er the clouds pass by, and sun comes burning in early morn day. No time to eat, much less time to quit. Oh, these men with callused hands. Full of hope working with empty hands. No room for clapping. These men with callused hands.
His farmer friends all went to town maybe for some talking and lookin' around.
One might take a cold beer, just one, ya' hear. That money's got to do. These men with callused hands.
Wishing his crops would come in big--then maybe buy a used plow stock and a few baby pigs.
Winter's-a comin' and no time to gripe. These men with callused hands.
One year seem like the one before. Hardly any peas, beans, and baby corn. He looks with weary eye
And talks silently to God's silent sky. These men with callused hands.!
A drop of rain will surely come. Got to keep my tongue and get my work done. Fall is near and I smell the cotton. Hallelujah! One up to pick and two left to pull. These men with callused hands.
A man gets at the end just what he gives at long day's end.
He pauses to feed ol' hoss, for he's worked up a sweat. Oats, I can't forget. These men with callused hands.
Oh, my children workin' with me--one'll surely be a store owner, Glory be!
One'll be a sailor of unknown places, towns and lands
I'll stay here with my farm and two callused hands.
© 2018 Kenneth Avery
Kenneth Avery (author) from Hamilton, Alabama on February 01, 2018:
Hello, Gypsy Rose Lee --- I apologize for taking so long in replying to you. Thanks a million for the read and the sweet comment.
I will say it like this: You are Very Appreciated by Me.
Gypsy Rose Lee from Daytona Beach, Florida on January 30, 2018:
Nice tribute to those who work hard and do a day's honest work.