They Do It So I Don’t Have To


By:Kathy Weisfeld


It begins in winter
sitting with a novel,
a cup of tea,
warm by the woodstove.
I imagine their serious faces
studying their catalogues
so many vegetables, so many varieties.
I live in other’s lives
while they make choices
affecting mine.

In spring,
driving past them in the fields
I smell the damp soil
as they guide their tillers,
plow their rows.
I see them kneeling
in the hot sun
making miniscule holes,
dropping seeds
that will grow
into the food I eat.

In summer,
I leisurely walk
to cool off at the river.
I view their bodies
streaming with sweat,
backs aching.
Their nimble fingers
weeding, staking, harvesting
as I walk by erect,
grateful for their toil,
juiciness,crunchiness, freshness
the vegetables picked for me.

Midsummer and into autumn,
I sometimes see them
hands on hips or spread wide
gazing into their fields.
I try to envision
their farmer’s dreams,
perhaps relief,
from such labor.
We delight in the bounty
begun so many months ago
soon to start again.


Last month this poem was printed incorrectly, so we are re-printing it in it’s entirety.  Enjoy!


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