N
o sooner did the last fire truck pull out of the gate and head
down the lane than a new and unwelcome reality took over. For
the time being, temporary patches were affixed to the dam-
aged structures. Cattle were rounded up and herded back into corrals
for the evening. And remnants of hay bales were salvaged and loaded
onto the hay wagon. I was fully aware that my father was grappling
with what lay ahead. As we attended to the chores, few words were
exchanged between us. Inwardly, I was struggling with the loss and
palpable silence.
All around, the smell of fire lingered. Smoke from smoldering hay
hung low against the evening sky. Images of the men and machines
who had battled the blaze could still be seen. Where the haystack
once stood, there was now a soggy bog of mud and soaked hay from
thousands of gallons of water. In the months ahead, fences would
need to be repaired, and sections of concrete ditch, destroyed by the
bulldozers, would need to be reformed and poured before the big canal
filled with water the following spring.
As the Sun dipped lower on the horizon, two trucks rumbled up
the lane and into the barnyard. Their fronts nosed upward as they wereChapter 5
Expecting More, Committing Less
If men were angels, no government would be necessary.
— James MadisonKevin D. Walker, The Grand Food Bargain: And the Mindless Drive for More,
DOI 10.5822/ 978-1-61091-948-7_5, © 2019 Kevin D. Walker.