Chapter 1: How Now Brown Cow
THE MORNING has come. At first the sun was hidden behind a gray veil of rolling clouds and rising mists; it's shimmering light revealed the smooth sloping contour of the vast farmland. Quickly the golden rays melted the frosted grass and warmed the amber hills. The chilled countryside awoke.
The winter air was crisp and clear, showing no signs of the coming snow. The small pond had frozen solid but was much too thin for the boys to go skating. They spent many an hour parading across the ice after their chores were done.
The shrill cry of a blue jay echoed in the distance. A red fox, who lived in a rocky hollow by the spillway at the top of the creek, scurried home as a small chicken dangled from his clenched jaws.
On the farm, you followed the rules of nature and changed with the seasons. You worked hard and you reaped what you sowed. This was the way of the Midwest from generation to generation. A man could live off the land, he could take care of his family and prosper. It was a simple life with few complications.
Nothing has stayed the same. For the farmer the exception has started to become the rule. What nature has dictated in no longer simple. He can sense the fear that has invaded the rolling countryside on the broad shoulders of the winter wind. Is that fear an fleeting emotion or rather a glimpse of the oncoming tide of progress? What is fear to a farmer, or to a cow or to anything living thing of nature?
The largest oak in the county stretched her gnarly fingers towards the dawn's light; her branches casting curling shadows on the silence below. The silhouettes of the surrounding pines were jagged and misshapen. Even the forage had turned bleak and lifeless. This was the season of death and anxiety filled the air.
* * * * *
Down by the pond, the ice crystals that generously carpeted the terrain, snapped. Someone was running down by the water's edge. Crashing through the thin ice and into the shallow water, he stumbled backward with one knee on the slippery shore. Righting himself carefully, he glanced up the hill then hurried on.
He was stout, deep-bodied with broad shoulders, a thick neck and short, powerful legs. After the fall he shook his head vigorously and pieces of dewed grass flew from his matted rusted hair. Snorting loudly, he exhales a giant cloud of warm air from his large flat nose.
Red was confused. He was nicknamed Red every since he could remember. Maybe it was because of his temper; probably it was because of his red madly curling hair. Now he was just confused; he needed to regroup his thoughts. He knew he must keep moving or they'd find him again. Red ran around the pond's eastern shoreline and up the embankment to the shelter of the giant oak tree. He rested in the shade for a while.
"Hello?" came a soft voice from behind several pines.
"Hey, my God!" shouted Red, "Someone else!"
"Yes, my name is Brahman," he said, stepping out into the open. "I have wandered--"
"How'd ya git here?" interrupted Red.
"I come from afar."
"How come they didn't catch ya?"
"I was not afraid," said Brahman. "The others fear was their enemy."
"What?!?" said Red.
"I remaind silent in hiding, they simply passed me by."
"Damn it!" cried Red. "I know they saw me, we've gotta run. C'mon, follow me."
"To run would be foolish. One cannot run from one's fate."
"Are you crazy or something?" shouted Red. "Don't you understand? They'll round us up just like everyone else!"
* * * * *
Red looked over the lake to the opposite shore. Nothing moved on the hill, the coast was clear. If he hurried, he could hide down by the creekbed.
"Where will we go?" asked Brahman. "Is it not wisest to remain here in the seclusion of nature's protection-- rather than to flee into the unknown?"
"Yer crazy!" shouted Red. "Look-- here they come now. See that truck!" Braham turned and watched a red pick-up truck racing toward them along the tree line. It was still a quarter-mile away. "In a minute or two they'll be right here," said Red. "I think they seen us. Run for your life ya fool."
"You are just as the others," said Brahman. "Freedom isn't a physical condition but a property of the mind. I will always be free."
Red didn't bother to answer. He raced down the hill to the far corner of the lake, through a dense thicket of brambles and into a small ravine by the creek that twisted along the field's outer perimeter. Soon Red had disappeared behind the scrub pines that lined the creekbed.
Braham watched as an old, weathered red pick-up truck skidded down a gulley and stopped on the edgge of a sandy ditch. It was near now- less than one hundred yards away. He could see the two men inside and one rolled down the window and hollered something at him as they crossed an old cow path. Now past the lake the pick-up scambled up the slippery slope and barreled straight to him. After the driver slammed on the brakes next to Brahman, both men leaped from the vehicle as it slid to a stop.
"Would ya look at him?!?" said the small farmer, staring Brahman in the eyes.
"Just standing there a-lookin' at us," said the driver.
"He's shor makin' it easy fer us."
* * * * *
[upcoming]