Pleasant weekend weather and a blue sky this morning. Light on the green of trees, green of grass. Cool tang of morning. I suppose we talk about the weather because the weather is central to middlewestern lives. It can make us or break us. Drought and hail can take its toll on our crops, as can flooding. Some of us can lay back in the sun on sandy beaches, but not the farmers. Farmers watch the sun dry the hay ground, dry the hay. They watch the sun turn a kernel of corn to a full grown plant, turn a field of rye from green fuzz to ripe seed head. The bridge in Fairwater is still out. I still take the long way through town. North of the village, a moist green smell where the canning company is spraying waste water on the west side of Highway E. Farther north, one of the fields must be beets instead of soy beans; I cannot tell from this distance. They are re-roofing the house just north of Five Corners. The first task is to tear the old shingles off. It is a good day for that, and the workmen have some shade from trees around the house. In Ripon, the debris of Riponfest is left in Barlow Park; the city has celebrated and now looks a little bit hung over.
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