Honorable Life - by Aozora Brockman

“Tomorrow is going to be a full day of planting.”

It was Saturday night and Daddy, as always, didn’t look as exhausted as he should from just a few hours of sleep and a full day of Evanston Farmers’ Market chaos as he pronounced our fate. Asa, Kazami and I looked at each other and groaned while Mommy’s eyes were filled with shinpai (worry) for Daddy.

I do confess that right then, although I was expecting hard labor the next day, I secretly believed that we couldn’t possibly have so much planting to do that it would take the whole day before the predicted rains. I believed then that we would be able to spend the remainder of our “day of rest”” in bliss –Daddy asleep, Kazami listening to pounding music, Asa reading, Mommy relaxing, and me--well, I could daydream.

I was wrong.

I was still dreaming of a lazy afternoon, however, the next morning when I found myself armed with a hoe, slashing weeds dead around tiny watermelon sprouts. It was already midmorning- we had started at nine- and already I could feel the heat creeping up through the dry soil and down from the fierce sun rays, to meet at the middle. I surveyed the multitude of watermelon, muskmelon, okra, and corn rows that flowed out across the field. Since the sprouts were still tiny and sparse (some did not come up from seed and all were spaced at least six inches apart), the seemingly barren dirt surrounding me made me feel alone and lost in a desert, so the sight of my fellow workers- Asa, Kazami, farmhand Matt, apprentices Charlie and Michelle- behind me was comforting.

Reassuring myself that this could not continue on forever, I again began moving my hoe in swift, strong movements back and forth, back and forth. Dry and hard, the ground refused to be dug up without considerable effort and the exercise was comparable to a prolonged abdominals workout.

First I weeded far around the watermelon sprout, making sure to clear at least a radius of eighteen inches on one side and up around the next sprout. As I moved on to the more difficult task of weeding closely around the sprout as to not damage it with my sharp, long hoe, I imagined the sprout’s courageous journey from a small watermelon seed. Though many obstacles such as too much rain and too cool soil likely made the battle hard-fought, this little bud of leafy green life made it through- ready to grow bigger in the sunlight and rains so that one day it could produce large, crisp, sugary fruit in hopes that another seed could carry on its honorable life.

Carefully I weeded around it; then, taking a chance, I came close to it and moved my hoe back, only to watch my baby sprout fall limply to the ground.

“All of that hard work for nothing, huh,” Michelle said to me as I nodded,in shock. But another feeling swept through me, a wave of regret and sadness. I had just murdered the very plant that I wished so much to keep alive and I could not keep from screaming insults (such as, “You are a horrible person!”) inside my head.

The hoeing continued and soon Aunt Terra arrived, though she was without a hat. I worried about her, since the sun was beating down now more than ever. I knew I was not doing so well presently- I felt as if I had taken a shower and put on still wet clothes. The lost water contributed to dehydration and faintness, my muscles were tense and heavy from too much whacking, and blisters began to appear on my thumbs from rubbing up against the top of my hoe. In my delirium, I wondered what would happen if I fainted of heat stoke…would Daddy come running? I worked on, repeating the word ‘water’ over and over again in my head.

This went on for hours and the rows seemed to stretch on and on. Eventually I gulped water from the gallon thermos at the side of the field, not caring about the splashes that escaped to drench my shirt and pants.

We worked on, too exhausted for small talk, concentrating on our mechanical movements rather than the sweat forming above our brows. When Asa and I met up on a row, he confessed that he was thoroughly drained and hungry and though I was the same, I was too tired to even exert a sound of agreement. After my muscles turned to stone, we finished the watermelon and melon rows to arrive at the last rows of okra to hoe- and finally the world seemed to brighten up as the work load eased in my mind.

Yet when we finally hoed the last okra sprout and declared ourselves victorious, Daddy bounded over to explain our next chore: planting where the sprouts hadn’t come up. Daddy would till up the soil in between the hoed sprouts where nothing had come up, and we would trench, plant by hand, and cover the seeds. So that was how we celebrated- we went right back to the start of those rows and dropped tiny seeds six inches apart into the ground. The seeds stuck to my sticky, sweaty hands as I stooped low to plant. I tried to be optimistic and be glad that this job was much easier than my frantic, depressing hoeing.

I shouldn’t have been, but I was hopeful for a break after that long job was finished- we were all hungry, thirsty and thoroughly fatigued. But a part of me was not surprised to find another job of transplanting tomatoes to follow. By this time my dream of the afternoon off was dwindling into dust in my mind. Asa asked what we still had to do, to which Daddy replied, “We’re working until dark.”

That’s exactly what we ended up doing. Asa, Kazami and I had a break after that (Daddy worked on, as always, without anything to eat) but after lunch, a cold shower and a short nap, we were back in the bottom field, transplanting the rest of the tomatoes and basil into the ground.

Drops of water from the sky tempted the soil for a bit, but soon went away. We were granted another rest period of about an hour so I took another shower while Daddy kept on tilling beds, an unstoppable machine. Soon he called us down to help plant with the tractor and we changed seed so that we could plant lettuce, beets, chard, cilantro, dill, radish, turnips, chois and more while the surrounding landscape slowly dimmed as the sun disappeared into the horizon.

We listened to a symphony of bull frogs and bird calls as Daddy decided what seed went into which beds and as Koko, our lovable dog, pleaded incessantly with her innocent brown eyes to please, please rub her belly. For the first time that day, I felt a certain tranquility flow throughout my body as I relished the sound of the chorus of laughs following another lame joke by Kazami- while I found myself admiring the simple beauty of the deep green of the surrounding trees contrasting the freshly tilled brown soil in the darkness.

Aunt Terra and Joel arrived soon after we finished planting for the day to celebrate “Memorial Day Eve” with us with Black Cows (root beer floats) and not without hilarious stories. We ate, drank and laughed merrily (Daddy enjoyed his first meal since breakfast) until it was time for them to make their way home.

“Daddy,” I asked when they were gone, “Did you get all of what you wanted done today?”

I did not groan this time when he answered, “We’re going to plant until it rains tomorrow, too.”