Our family farm was leased from the man
who owned the car dealership in town. Once
or twice a year, he came up our driveway in
the latest model, looking important wearing
pressed trousers and a tie, to drink black
coffee with my father. They talked about
crop prices on the farm report and cursed
thunderstorms at harvest time. In the winter
the man and his family went to vacation in
Florida, sometimes bringing us oranges and
one year a pineapple that made our tongues
raw. Heady fruit for proud farmers who ate
only what they could grow. Us kids were
told to stand and say, “Thank you, Sir.” My
parents called the man Rich. I was half-grown
before I understood it was his real name, not
just that sort of fancy man my father bitterly
resented, especially after we lost the farm and
moved to town, where grocery stores sold pink
grapefruit and tangerines the whole year-round.
…
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Want more from this horse trainer who writes poems? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to subscribe for email delivery of this blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.
Yes! Love the fruit in this . brilliant.
Had a big week of tangerines here… Thanks Kate.