"God's Field"-Just Another Short Story

[Timl1980]

It was a legend, a tall tale spun off my grandfather's lips as fast and as easily as the fist-sized spiders that spun their criss-crossing webs across our golden hay field. People traveled from miles away, some from clear across the county, just to sit on the rickety old folding lawn chairs my grandmother would set out on the porch and wait, sipping on tall glasses of freshly brewed apple cider while anticipating his arrival.

 

And slowly he’d appear; a once tall man bent nearly double by age and a lifetime of honest hard work. It was always the same; the ancient wooden screen door would creak open then closed behind him, his filmy blue eyes squinting at his latest audience, (whom he’d acknowledge with a firm nod), and then he’d shuffle over to his throne, (an old, worn out love seat suspended by rusty chains from the porch’s ceiling), sit down, close his eyes and then, in the silence that followed, he’d begin:

 

“In the Bible, there are many accounts of God’s light. The angels reflect just a little of it, the sun pales in comparison to it, and even Moses’ face shone with such brilliance that others dare not look directly at him...” His eyes would open slowly and take in his listeners, swallowing them, enveloping them with such sincerity and belief that they were instantly caught up in his story, their minds breathlessly following the shimmering thread of his tale. “Well, now I’m going to tell you about the day I saw God’s light. What I saw in that field, yes sir, that very field right over there...” He’d swing one grizzled arm straight out, his wrinkly, age-spotted fingers quivering as they pointed out at our one and only hay field. “What I saw out there was the very blazing fires of God himself! So, sit back and get comfortable, cause I’m about to take you on a journey into the heart...the heart of God’s Field!”

 

But this was just a TALE, a fanciful account of a blisteringly hot spring day spent dragging my two generally annoying little brothers, Sam and Eddie, behind my grandfather's sputtering old John Deere tractor with the weathered, clapboard hay wagon attached to its rear as we picked up various sized rocks, (it ALWAYS fell on me to struggle with the big ones), and toss or heave them into the slowly moving wagon.

 

The work was painstaking and monotonous, and half the time I had to re-gather the same rocks my little brothers had tossed but that had missed the wagon altogether. By sunset I was desperately hot, thirsty and dead tired, (my little brothers having long ago crawled into the wagon where they promptly drank all three glass bottles of Pepsi my grandfather always brought as treats and then spent the rest of the time making scary faces at me through the slats of the wagon).

 

Finally, the old tractor gave a violent jolt, greasy smoke billowing from the blackened, tin-can smokestack as it suddenly rolled to a stop. My little brothers poked their heads up curiously over the edge of the wagon and immediately ducked back down again, giggling as my grandfather let out a string of muffled curses to God and anyone else who just might be happening to listen, jumped down and gave one giant tire a swift kick. We heard him sigh over the ticking and hissing of the motor and then...just as the last sliver of sun disappeared below the horizon and night settled upon the north woods of Wisconsin, the hay field around us stirred. The grasses, which had been sitting undisturbed, began to shimmer ever so subtly. 

 

Then, without warning, countless tiny lights began to lift from the stalks of the gently swaying hay. A hundred, a thousand—no, millions of brightly lit fireflies billowed up all around us. They rose from the field like sparks from a giant campfire, their pale green glow transforming the darkness into a living, breathing constellation. 

 

They didn't just light up the distance; they enveloped us completely. The fireflies swarmed in gentle waves, their luminescent bodies flickering in an otherworldly rhythm. It felt as though celestial floodlights had been instantly switched on, bathing us in a soft, ethereal glow. My brothers' eyes widened above their freckled cheeks; mouths open in astonished grins as they reached out to touch the shimmering insects floating by.

 

For a moment...just a brief moment...I felt the awe, the sheer weight and wonder of it all; but then an empty Pepsi bottle went whizzing past my left ear and just like that...I was back...and suddenly it was just another hot and sweaty day on a tiny farm in northwestern Wisconsin.

 

But if you, dear reader...if you ever decide to meander up to Bannon County...you can make the trip over to the little town of Bannonville, sit in a rickety old folding lawn chair on a white washed porch, sip a cold glass of freshly brewed apple cider and listen to the master story teller of the north woods spin you the tale of how he was once bathed in the fiery light of Almighty God.

 

And who knows, maybe he’s right. Maybe we really were wrapped in his embrace...for no matter where I go or what I do...I cannot help but long for the sunny pastures and rolling hills, the tucked away valleys and fragrant back roads that always lead me back...back to God’s Field.