Monday, June 26, 2006

Illinois Farmer

Bury this old Illinois farmer with respect.
He slept the Illinois nights of his life after days of work in Illinois
cornfields.
Now he goes on a long sleep.
The wind he listened to in the cornsilk and the tassels, the wind
that combed his red beard zero mornings when the snow lay
white on the yellow ears in the bushel basket at the corncrib,
The same wind will now blow over the place here where his hands must dream of Illinois corn.
- Carl Sandburg

The day before yesterday I sat down at the dinner table after an awesome 80 mile ride into Gilman, IL (pop. 1100) with a man who lives 300 yard from where he was born. He must be in his seventies and has worked as a farmer of corn, wheat and soy all his life. He ran the youth program at his church until he couldn’t keep up with them and says “ruf” rather than “roof” and maintains distinction between “setting oneself down” and “sitting”. Yesterday, I ate dinner with a 78 year old man who still works his 2500 acres of corn, wheat and soy with his son outside of Pontiac, IL. He fought in Korea, is missing half a finger, has beautiful, old leathery hands, and has been to Haiti six times with his church on service projects. Today, 32 of us stopped by his farm on the way out of town, where he showed us his tractors, had us nibble on fresh grains of wheat, and introduced us to his son, who has the most beautiful self-remodeled house of barn wood and polished copper. His son works 12-14 hour days for 5 months of the year, and rents the 2 bedroom, single-story house with yard and garage, which is adjacent across the street from his house and 70 miles south of Chicago for $300 dollars a month. Jose described Jean Lyons, the father, as the best man he’s ever met.

Yesterday, Robin’s Dad and Uncle accompanied us for the 42 mile jaunt from Gilman to Pontiac (we didn’t even stop for lunch). It’s funny how relative distances have become. The very first day we did 30 or so miles, which took us all day, and we all cringed at the 60 mile day which followed. Today was almost considered a day off. We found ourselves on a series of small roads laid down in a perfect grid, which divided endless fields of corn, wheat and soy into square miles. Endless fields + all the time in the world = The only possible solution to this equation… The Naked Mile. Robin opted out on account of her dad and uncle. This upset Robin greatly, as she frequently talks about how more frequent occurrences of complete nudity would benefit society (this is perhaps a more reasonable theory than my claim that co-ed bathrooms would reduce violence against women). All told there were about 20 of us who stripped naked and proceeded to bike two miles wearing nothing but our shoes, our camelbacks and our helmets. I was definitely the first person naked.