Deep Roots

What is it about going for a drive that also check on the crops of the farmers my I wish there was a way for me to bottle up these can be so soothing? Is it the consistency husband consults for. Much in the same memories to cherish them forever — a way I could of the landscape in the countryside? Or way as my father did when I was a child, pull out a memory, recalling all of the details to maybe it is the amusing way the land- my husband will creep by fields, offering share in a moment’s notice. It is possible, however, scape can change so rapidly? How about commentary as to who owns it, what vari- that a memory which is distant or foggy can be the endless sea of green in late June? Or ety of seed is planted, and what he recalled more sweetly than was reality. expects the yields to be. Early in summer, he’ll talk about stand counts, what the planting conditions were like for a certain field, and how well the seeds are coming up. Sometimes he will purposely drive us past a freshly cut field of alfalfa and roll down the windows, knowing that my favorite smell — the smell of freshly cut alfalfa — will be lingering in the air. Our conversation will turn to our days spent working on dairy farms and we will the golden horizon in late July when the small grains are ready for harvest and the tassels on the corn wave in the breeze as if to say “hello?” Or my favorite scene of all, which comes in mid-September just as the soybean fields start to turn yellow and appear to glow against the gray clouds — reminding us that a season change is upon us. I am hard pressed to find a more simplistic joy than going for a drive. DEEP ROOTS By Whitney Nesse One of the attributes of God I love most is his attention to detail. He knows and recalls every detail about each one of us. So much so that Psalm 56:8 says, “You have kept count of my tossings, put my tears in your bottle” (emphasis added). God cares so deeply for us and is so detail-oriented that he has collected each one of our tears. David, the Psalmist whose words are inspired by the Holy Spirit, is suggesting here that the God of the universe has a lachrymatory or a glass vial for each one of us

I remember as a little girl, my family would finish fondly reminisce, telling our kids about haying season which contains the tears we’ve cried. They are supper, all five of us kids would be bathed and in and long days of putting up feed for the next year. happy ones, sad ones, lonely ones, joyful ones — all our pajamas, and my parents would load us in the van and we would go on a “crop tour.” My dad would drive us past every field he had crops in and he’d take an assessment of how things were looking. Later in the summer, we discuss the weather as we drive — talking about the abundance or lack of rain. My husband will inform me about which herbicide protocols have been working best and how he of them. Just the thought of that blows me away. I cannot help but stand in awe of a Savior whose thoughts of me outnumber the grains of sand, who cares so intimately that He collects my tears. I real-

Sometimes we would stop and my dad would get might switch things up for the next year. As we ize that as I age, the memories I have will grow out and pull a weed growing close to the road. Other drive, I soak up the scenery, musing at the land- faint, foggy and run together, or perhaps will be times he would look out the window with pride and scape and often find myself saying, “it doesn’t get remembered more sweetly than reality. Something I say things like, “have you ever seen such a good much greener than this.” have noticed, however, is that I never forget to stop stand of corn?” During years with not enough rain, he would point out the corn on the sandy hilltops that was starting to “pineapple;” and in years which featured more than plenty of rain, he would talk about how big the drowned spots were Possibly my favorite part of these drives now days is looking back from the passenger seat and seeing five little faces, all with sun-kissed cheeks, smiling back at me; and I hope that our evening “crop tours” are creating memories which will not soon be forgotten. at the Dairy Queen! Whitney Nesse is a sixth-generation livestock farmer who is deeply rooted in her faith and family. She writes from her central Minnesota farm. v

Late in the summer, he would stop by the corn fields, disappear in the first few rows, and return with an ear of corn in hand. He would shuck it, www.TheLandOnline.com climb back into the van, and start counting kernels to see how that particular field might yield in the fall. I always looked forward to those evening drives in the summertime because they usually ended with a Dairy Queen treat.

As an adult, my husband and I have carried on with the tradition of going out for evening drives in the summertime. Once we’ve finished supper and all of our children are bed-ready, we pack everyone in the van and go for a drive. Our evening drives take us across a much more broad landscape compared to our expeditions when I was a little girl. Now, we not only check on our own crops, but we