The Farmer Diary
From Plastic Tub
Revision as of 23:07, 8 Aug 2004
| Table of contents |
Forged account of farmer Mack Calvin. An ever-increasingly autoerotic exposition on Mack's love for the dirt of west Texas, it's burning effects on his back, etc, excerpted below.
entry
- Jed and his step-son Marcus have worked around livestock all thier long years.Jed has worked for the family for quite some time. Jed a'int his real name. His real name is Julio. Jed drives my old El Camino,Bright blue when clean. It pains me so when Sunday Mornings Homebound from Church, I see that dirty El camino, covered in mud, outside of Adult World.
entry
Saturday is the 4th of July. Our Cookout is a sight to see. Many families and thier extended families gather to celebrate Everyone delights in homemade ice cream and hot dogs When everyone was playing the annual softball game,Only a few children saw Julio delight in inserting an aluminum bat in his soccer shorts.
entry
My daughter Emily is home from College for the summer. She says she feels restless here on the farm. She has seen the big city and has grown bored with small town life. Reluctantly I agree to let her attend a party with some high school friends. Later I would shutter when I saw Marcus coming up the driveway in his (mine) step-fathers dust covered El Camino.
entry
Miguel is my main man. He is the Head honcho I like to say. He is as reliable as the sunrise and keeps the migrant help in line. He is quite the family man. Five of his nine children work for the farm.
Miguels youngest son Mike has won many academic awards and the family has high aspirations that he will be the first to go to college. He has recieved a Theatre Scholarship to a small college on the east coast and is considering.
He has a lovely singing voice.
entry
Livestock is hard physical work. You start before the sunrise and work till dusk In the morning darkness we quickly milk the cows. The children slop the hogs Feed the Chickens and handle menial tasks The men follow me to the fields where we will toil in the hot sun. The machine I operate shreds the dry earth and prepares it for the planting. It does not take long until the sweat pours down my neck and I delight in the machine's violent hum between my soaking wet legs.
The farm is an impressive size and has no shortage of work to be done.
Most of my full time workers have worked for me or my father for over 35 years.
When my father passed away and It was up to me to take over the farm.
We have seen some very hard times, and it can be trying on ones soul.
As soon as I could I replaced all the negroes with machines or mexicans.
At night In deep sleep, I rip deer apart with my bare hands.
