Village Squire, 1975-10, Page 30have to decide."
"This is your land, it's your home, and it's been your
livelihood. That makes it your decision," he added.
Alex McLaren said nothing as his family began taking their
leave. Soon his wife went inside and he was left alone with the
stars, the crickets and the soft sigh of a summer breeze in pine
bows.
"My decision indeed," he thought, tamping tobbaco in his
pipe. "I'm really too old to make decisions like this."
As was his custom, Alex McLaren was on his way to the barn as
the first warming rays of a morning sun spilled over the horizon
bringing dawn to a new day. Despite the fresh start Alex felt each
dawn symbolized, he continued to be plagued by a week-old
problem.
As he told his wife before they turned out the Tight, "Life sould
have been a lot easier if that city fella had never set foot on the
place with his 5300 suit, 55,000 car and 5100,000 offer."
At breakfast the offer was never discussed. Conversation
revolved around the previous evening's party and the children. It
had been wonderful to see them all and they seemed healthy and
happy.
"When you raise a family like that," his wife had joked, "what
do you do for an encore."
After a second cup of coffee Alex told his wife he was off to
check fence along the back pasture. But he really just wanted
some time alone with his land and his problem.
I wonder how many times I've walked along these fences? Alex
mused as he set off, hands sunk deep in his overall pockets.
Some of them, though repaired and patched many times since,
he could recall helping his father build. Still others probably
contained portions built by his grandfather when the farm was
first being cleared.
The McLarens had lived on this property for better than 130
years and that fact did not escape Alex as he contemplated its
future. McLarens however would not be likely to live there much
longer, no matter what his personal decision.
Alex picked up a stone and tossed it against the fence.
It wasn't really much of a farm, he had to admit. Too damn
many rocks always getting caught up in the machinery or
breaking plow points. Every spring heralded another week or
more of back breaking stone picking with no apparent progress
ever made.
Then came the seeding. Either delayed by too much spring rain
or retarded by not enough.
Once the crops managed to put down roots there seemed to be
an endless numoer of insects, or diseases, or God knows what
cutting the odds of a profitable harvest. "Just last year I had to
buy hay to see the cattle through till pasture," he recalled.
Even if the crops did get through till harvest you always
seemed to be walking some sort of tightrope to get them off
before the hay moulded, or the grain was flattened, by fall rain.
Of course, there were compensations.
Marginal as it was the land had supported a family of five, and
two families before that.
There was no boss -man telling you what to do or when.
Although one probably worked harder in the end than if there
were.
The real compensation Alex found hard to formulate in words.
Or even through a logical process of thought. It was more a
feeling in his gut.
Although it exacted a high toll in sweat for what it would give
in return Alex was in love with the land. Not all land, just this
semi -fertile, rocky, sometimes parched, sometimes muddy patch
that was "his" farm.
Maybe that was it. This land was his. Even more than that it
was part of his being. Over the years Alex McLaren and his land
had become one in the same.
After all, Alex thought, it says right in the Bible that "The Lord
God formed man of the dust of the ground."
Lighting his pipe Alex turned and started back toward the
house.
"Of course 1 won't have much use for this place much longer.
And I could live a darned site easier on that 5100,000".
As he crossed the barn yard to the house he heard the crunch of
tires on the driveway gravel.
The big Lincoln pulled up in front of the house and a man
climbed out. He wore a 5300 suit and carried a 5100,000 offer.
28 VILLAGE SQUIRE/OCTOBER 1975
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