I met a man....

There seems to be no physical handicap

or change of environment that can hold a real writer down, 

and there is no luck, no influence, no money

that will keep a writer going when she is written out.

                 Kathleen Norris

I met a man at a farm auction today. He asked me when I was going to get back to writing. This is for him.

It’s pouring rain. Where the brave, determined auction goers of which the majority I believe to be farmers, are wandering around dripping wet wearing rain gear, or hiding under umbrellas.

This has always been a difficult day for the families needing to have the auction, but this kind of weather makes it more difficult for sure. Everything is dripping and drenched. Rushing water pours down and out the downspouts of beautiful red buildings, where farmers now huddle trying to keep somewhat dry, trying to support this family. Buildings that used to be busy and full, farm buildings that were more than likely never empty or lacking activity for very long, are now full of people waiting to buy.

Sitting snug as a bug in our farm truck, a sudden rumble in the sky warns me that this storm is not going to go away quietly, it is here to stay. Anyone who had been hoping that it was just a passing storm and would clear, are surely disappointed.

A field of now trampled down grass which was to be second cut hay or pasture is now only a parking lot. Where, watch your step cow patties, cars and pick-up trucks with farm plates sit and the heavy rain pounds on the metal and bounces into the air. Some, not as brave or as prepared as they thought, run back to those pick-ups and head back home, defeated by the weather before the sale even starts.

A fair weather day would indeed have made this an easier day for the sellers to accept. The sale would have seemed to have been over quicker, much like ripping a Band-Aid off. An auction that had to happen now dragging on making those waiting for the day to be over seem much longer than it need be.

Farmers’ young and old stand huddled inside trying to keep dry, while the family and the auction team carry the tables full of soaking wet, dripping things to be sold into those beautiful red farm buildings where the water rushes down and out of the down spouts.

I sit here in the truck sipping my coffee. Writing this for the man I met who asked me when I was going to get back to writing. A man who was dripping wet, while helping the auction team doing the best they could to get this family through a no doubt difficult day.

Later