I watched them hunker down in the furrow, start scratching in the dirt. You know how a farmer does, using the handle of his pliers, maybe an old pocketknife or screwdriver. They find a few seeds right at the depth they want them to be. Pushing the dirt back over the seeds and patting it a little, they walk 50 yards farther into the field, start scratching again.

Sometimes on a clear morning, I see a screen of smoke in the valley, and I know a rancher and his loyal wife are burning pasture, or a farmer is torching his irrigation ditches, maybe burning off stubble before working his ground. It’s a rite of spring, how it’s always been and how I hope it stays. Each time I send up a prayer for the safety of all involved and put in a request for a relatively windless day.