I can't sleep…
Cold stove of 4:00 a.m., black iron, the lids in place on everyone but me, and down the chimney, through the damper’s pinch, the distant hoo-hoo-hooing of an owl. And soon, among the sticks of kindling in the box of words, the mouselike scritching of my pen.
~ Ted Kooser, February. The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book
Photo Credit: The Wild Free Spirit
Huffington Post, Heartbreaking Portraits Capture Two Identical Twin Farmers At The End Of Their Lives:
They are identical twins János and István Lukács in 1985. At the time, they were in their sixties.
They worked together on the Hungarian countryside, living in the same house they’d inhabited all of their lives.
Photographer Janos Stekovics followed along while the Lukács brothers accomplished their daily tasks. They’d wake up at four in the morning, tend to the animals until noon when they’d eat a lunch of bacon and bread, and continue working until dinner. They slept in a farmhouse built by their parents, with clay walls and kerosine lamps. Sometimes it got so cold the two slept in hay beds in the barn with the horses.
Stekovics developed a deep reverence and fondness for these brothers of another time, often photographed in matching ensembles from jeans and boots to humongous fur coats. Despite their identical appearances and predilection for wonderfully complimentary poses, the two maintained distinct personalities. As Feature Shoot explained: “Where István was more gregarious, János was more of the silent and stoic type; István preferred to keep the house, and János cared mostly for the animals. Neither ever married.”
DON’T MISS THE FULL STORY AND OTHER PHOTOGRAPHS:
Heartbreaking Portraits Capture Two Identical Twin Farmers At The End Of Their Lives
A cock. A non-castrated capon. A cockerel. A reptilian, evil bastard.
His siren call would come before sunrise, echoing up the mountainside and back down again. And rush in, with piercing cock-a-doodle-do gusts into my room. My eyes, wide open, stare at ceiling. I shiver. The S.O.B. grabbed the psychological edge at 5:30 am.
His battle lines were indisputable. His was the coop. Yours was outside. You crossed the demarcation line, the clink of the metal hook on the dilapidated wooden door, and he was coming.
He attacked all comers. He feared no one. All generations buckled: Deda, Father, and his pubescent sons.
He could smell Fear. The perspiration would stream and thicken in the soft armpits tasked with gathering eggs in a red, long-handled, five pound Maxwell House coffee can. Good to the last drop!
His flock of fifteen continued foraging, unfazed by the battle preparations. Continue reading “The War”
“It’s a tradition that’s been handed down. Rice farming in the community has been a really big deal. That’s what has driven our community for quite some time. I couldn’t wait to get into the field with my Dad. That was probably one of my favorite pastimes. He was there. He worked a lot. He worked very hard at what he did. He was always there to give me a hand…and give me just enough room to hang myself. When I originally left to go to school, that was my intention, was to go to school. Fortunately, I was able to take those opportunities, and branch out and see different walks of life. I went into the restaurant business. Did that for a while. Then I went into the music business. I was always searching for something. Not always knowing where I was going or what I was trying to do. Just going and doing and trying to find that niche. Where do I fit in? It’s a big question. Eventually when I was working on a documentary much as you guys are doing yourself, we went out into the jungle in Northeastern Cambodia. It’s a rice farming community as well. They plant everything by hand. Everybody is there together. Everybody is doing everything together. To help one another. Yeah, they butt heads, they fight just like everybody else. But their measure of worth is completely different. And I realized that I had been missing the picture for a while. When it hit, I knew what I needed to do. I didn’t need to be anywhere else but here. Kinda have to figure out what you want to do. That was it.
As it grows. As you harvest. And make preparations for the following year, it’s the cycle of everything moving together. This is our land.”
~ Herb Dishman, China, Texas
~ Music: Bon Iver – The Wolves
<hr />