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inspires many answers. For serious farmers, it can certainly mean a life of hard work; however, it comes with its benefits. As one of the lucky ones who has lived here since childhood, for me it means meadowlarks in hayfields greeting morning with a song invented in heaven, or scurrying bob-white quail in the com stubble.
In winter, it is the russet expanses of native grass — little Bluestem and Broomsedge — against the snow in old fields. Scarlet tanagers come north as the first lettuce is ready.
Summer comes, and the emerald chrysalises of Monarch butterflies hatch to fly away on brilliant orange wings. Children pick buckets of blackberries in July, discover a box turtle, get scratches and poison ivy, survive.
Much country landscape is disappearing. Economic necessity and the availability of large machinery pushes farmers to erase thickets and hedgerows, places much needed by wildlife. When farms become subdivisions, tractors are replaced by fleets of
See SLADEN, Page 19
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