The Death of a Corn Farmer

Jake, Jake Bishop. That’s my name. When I was sixteen I lived in the rolling mountains of Kentucky in a crude shack made from logs from the trees that grow on the steep ridges of the mountains. My Pa felled them himself and built our home with his own hands. It wasn’t grand. But it was home. And this is the story of the final days of the man who built that house.

Pa’s name was Luther and he along with my Ma, Sara, were hardworking, God-fearing folks who raised me and my sister, Martha, as best as they could with the little means they have, which wasn’t a lot. Especially after Pa fell ill with a heavy cough and Doc Smith came out to the house to see what was ailing him.

Doc Smith called it ‘consumption’. I didn’t know what that was at the time, but I knew it was mighty powerful and could strike down even the strongest of people, even those like Pa. Then he said to my Ma, “Sara, I’m sorry but there’s no cure for Consumption, at least not yet. Maybe one day there will be. There’s always hope for a miracle but as it is, Luther has only a few months, at best. He needs to not be out working in the fields. Maybe you could convince him to ask some of your neighbors to help tend the crops?” Then Doc Smith laughed, “But I know Luther can be a proud, stubborn man so perhaps Martha and Jake can help out?” Ma nodded and the doc gave her some powders to give Pa when he was having a spell after which he left.

I don’t think Dock Smith really meant for Martha to be out in the fields seeing as she was small and four years younger than I was at the time. No. Working out in those fields was not something Martha needed to be doing. Instead, Martha helped out where she could, but truth be told, she wasn’t nearly big enough to do any of heavy chores, so she mostly helps Ma out around the house. Martha could slop the hogs easy enough but it was up to me to make sure the few head of cattle we had were ushered every few days to a different part of the pasture to graze.

Leading the cattle was one thing I could do without too much issue as I was not hearty like most of the other sixteen year old boys in town. Quite frankly, I’m barely big enough to plow a mule and tend to farm work, which only adds to the hardship on our family. But my Ma and Pa assured me that one day, I’d catch up to where I needed to be. And I did, eventually.

But at the time when being broader shouldered with bigger legs would have been a great benefit, I simply wasn’t up to snuff for working out in our cornfields. Corn, our bread and butter crop, is a crop that needs lots of tending and at the time, and I found myself spending hours trying to do a job that should take any other fellow my age an hour at most. Only I suppose Oh how I wished I could call on some of our neighbors for help but Doc Smith was right about Pa’s stubbornness and pride.

Pa wouldn’t even let Ma consider asking anyone, not even folks from the church, to come and help. Which was odd to me, as my Pa was always the first one to come to the aid of his fellow

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Stanley McQueen
Lektorat: Valerie Byron
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.11.2012
ISBN: 978-3-95500-874-1

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