When you live in the suburbs, it’s easy to forget the purpose of grassy fields. It’s not to hold the soil of fallow ground, but to harvest for fodder or bedding. I was surprised a few days ago as one of my favorite fields had been mowed and the cut grass was in the process of being baled. As I recently wrote, the fields are typically filled with the noise and life of bugs and birds. Larger birds such as wild turkey and grouse can no longer hide and nest here as they would be exposed to predators. The yet to be cut field across the street differs in noise and activity though it is more subdued than in prior days.
The field next to me, however, now looks like an expansive lawn with flying and hopping creatures in short supply. A few swallows swoop low over the cut grass searching in vain for a snack. The unrelenting buzz and hum of last week has been replaced by an eerie silence that is interrupted by the motor and steel clanking sounds of a tractor and its attached baler. A gentle rustle emerges from the border of uncut grass next to the road. But this is the only remnant of the field of a week ago.
I suspect that the field was cut a day or two ago to give the grass time to dry a bit before bailing. The light-blue tractor drives in a circular pattern around the field, collecting the cuttings, bailing them and holding them until a dozen are complete. It then drops them into a neat pile and continues to collect the next dozen. It is a solitary job with piles of hay resting in seemingly sporadic locations. In the distance a forklift and truck are gathering the bales for delivery to some nearby barn.
The passing-by luxury cars that kick up dust remind me that I am not in a simple rural place but an artificial one created for and maintained by wealth. This matters little to the swallows as they continue to scavenge for the few insects that have returned to the field.
