F.L. Jennings
Bronze Member
It was the first spring after Joanna's death that I started clearing her field. The spring of 1998. I didn't know then that it was to be her field, that knowledge came a little later. The west most part of our rural place is secluded, and is located in the river bottom next to the Middle Fork of the Saline River in the Ouachita (wash-it-taw) Mountains. The waters of the old river channel there lap against the base of a sloping, one hundred foot high ridge. The top of the ridge, where native Americans used to camp, is now the resting place for our home. I've found arrow heads and the remains old camp fires there, and now we camp for awhile in their stead. From the old channel to the present stream location it is sixty yards. This place of deep dark soil, about an acre and a half, was completely covered in timber, brush, sawbriers and poison Oak when I began. The Hackberrys, Oaks, Gums, Hornbeams and Ashes had not been touched for generations, and some were quite large. I never thought of clearing it before, guess it hadn't been the right time, and at first only planned to remove trees and brush along the west bank of the old river channel. This would at least make better access for fishing.
As I began to push over brush and the smaller trees with my tractor, it dawned on me that I should clear the entire area, and thus create a little hidden field. Other than being inundated by the occasional flood, the area was not being used. The field would be nestled between the present River channel and the old one. I proceeded by digging with the backhoe around bigger trees and those that had an extensive root system, then push them over with the front end loader. Smaller trees could be dug up and then pushed to the sides of the opening and larger ones cut up then moved. The largest ones were Hackberry and some three feet in diameter. The root balls on some of these trees caused me to have to dig very large holes around them. It was at my tractor's limits to shove some of them over. No need to burn the sawn and pushed aside tree tops, high water - often rising up ten or twelve feet - would move them ever seaward. I could see the field as finished long before it was so. The eye of faith is never dim. With all of the uglyness in this present age it's wonderful to make something of beauty.
It took several months of full and part time work to clear the area. When working I would often uncover a nest of enraged ground bees or a prize winning Cottonmouth Moccasin. I would have to move my work to other parts if the bees were persistent in pursuing me. As I drove around on the tractor I would sometimes glance over to the sloping ridge beyond the water of the old channel. How long, I mused, had it been since the last hunting party of Caddo Indians came down that slope? As the clearing work progressed I would envision in my mind's eye a beautiful meadow, green in the spring sun and surrounded by the tall trees and bunches of wildflowers. It would be bordered on the east by the land locked channel and the high ridge, and on the west by the ever flowing waters of the Middle Fork. The bed of the stream is gravel and rock and we can hear it from our lofty home as it gurgles its way southward. This vision of future beauty inspired me and kept me going, and fatigue was of no consequence. Whatever it took I was determined to do it. I did all of the work alone, as is my custom, and spent many hours riding the orange tractor, and in cutting logs from the felled trees. I was ready to plant by the fall and that November of 1997 it sprung up green. I have removed a few trees since then and go there often to hunt deer or just to see it once more.
Joanna loved to fish and often we would ride the four wheeler down to the bottom here and fish in the old river channel. At dusk we would wind back up the trail, her behind me with small arms around my waist. In my spirit I can still see her silhouette as she cast lures into the dark water. When she was small and I would pray and thank God for our day, Joanna would pipe up in her small sweet voice and proclaim "God's jus' givin' us a whole bunch a days!
Yes my little dear, but somehow it doesn't seem enough. Not nearly enough.
The field is centered in this screen capture Google Earth photo with the old river channel at the right
and the Middle Fork of the Saline River to the left. High water from hurricane rains last summer had the
little field 12-15 feet under water. I was pressed for time getting it planted this past October since a
huge Red Oak had been toppled near the field's southern end.
This November after October's planting of wheat, rye, oats. The vertical 8" tube on the left is a pivoting corn feeder for deer and turkeys.
The old patriarch American Elm stands in this photo. If God allows me to outlast it, then I'll clear it away when it dies. Our home in on the
ridge to the left, beyond the Pines.
From my elevated deer stand at the north end this November. I can hear the tinkling of the wind chimes on our porch
as I meditate, pray and soak up the beauty of this place. Fall planting time again!
...and in the spring when my poor planting and God's rejoice together. Joanna was as sweet at 15 as she was at six.
I can't enter this field without being flooded with her memory.
As I began to push over brush and the smaller trees with my tractor, it dawned on me that I should clear the entire area, and thus create a little hidden field. Other than being inundated by the occasional flood, the area was not being used. The field would be nestled between the present River channel and the old one. I proceeded by digging with the backhoe around bigger trees and those that had an extensive root system, then push them over with the front end loader. Smaller trees could be dug up and then pushed to the sides of the opening and larger ones cut up then moved. The largest ones were Hackberry and some three feet in diameter. The root balls on some of these trees caused me to have to dig very large holes around them. It was at my tractor's limits to shove some of them over. No need to burn the sawn and pushed aside tree tops, high water - often rising up ten or twelve feet - would move them ever seaward. I could see the field as finished long before it was so. The eye of faith is never dim. With all of the uglyness in this present age it's wonderful to make something of beauty.
It took several months of full and part time work to clear the area. When working I would often uncover a nest of enraged ground bees or a prize winning Cottonmouth Moccasin. I would have to move my work to other parts if the bees were persistent in pursuing me. As I drove around on the tractor I would sometimes glance over to the sloping ridge beyond the water of the old channel. How long, I mused, had it been since the last hunting party of Caddo Indians came down that slope? As the clearing work progressed I would envision in my mind's eye a beautiful meadow, green in the spring sun and surrounded by the tall trees and bunches of wildflowers. It would be bordered on the east by the land locked channel and the high ridge, and on the west by the ever flowing waters of the Middle Fork. The bed of the stream is gravel and rock and we can hear it from our lofty home as it gurgles its way southward. This vision of future beauty inspired me and kept me going, and fatigue was of no consequence. Whatever it took I was determined to do it. I did all of the work alone, as is my custom, and spent many hours riding the orange tractor, and in cutting logs from the felled trees. I was ready to plant by the fall and that November of 1997 it sprung up green. I have removed a few trees since then and go there often to hunt deer or just to see it once more.
Joanna loved to fish and often we would ride the four wheeler down to the bottom here and fish in the old river channel. At dusk we would wind back up the trail, her behind me with small arms around my waist. In my spirit I can still see her silhouette as she cast lures into the dark water. When she was small and I would pray and thank God for our day, Joanna would pipe up in her small sweet voice and proclaim "God's jus' givin' us a whole bunch a days!
Yes my little dear, but somehow it doesn't seem enough. Not nearly enough.
The field is centered in this screen capture Google Earth photo with the old river channel at the right
and the Middle Fork of the Saline River to the left. High water from hurricane rains last summer had the
little field 12-15 feet under water. I was pressed for time getting it planted this past October since a
huge Red Oak had been toppled near the field's southern end.
This November after October's planting of wheat, rye, oats. The vertical 8" tube on the left is a pivoting corn feeder for deer and turkeys.
The old patriarch American Elm stands in this photo. If God allows me to outlast it, then I'll clear it away when it dies. Our home in on the
ridge to the left, beyond the Pines.
From my elevated deer stand at the north end this November. I can hear the tinkling of the wind chimes on our porch
as I meditate, pray and soak up the beauty of this place. Fall planting time again!
...and in the spring when my poor planting and God's rejoice together. Joanna was as sweet at 15 as she was at six.
I can't enter this field without being flooded with her memory.
