God’s Field

A Story by Tim Neisinger

A story about the difference in perspectives

1 It was a legend, a tall tale spun off my grandfathers lips as fast and as easily as the fist-sized spiders that spin their criss-crossing webs across our golden hay field. People travelled from miles away, some from clear across the county, just to sit on the rickety old folding lawn chairs my grandmother would set out on the porch and wait, sipping on tall glasses of freshly brewed apple cider while anticipating his arrival.

And slowly he’d appear; a once tall man bent nearly double by age and a lifetime of honest hard work. It was always the same; the ancient wooden screen door would creak open then closed behind him, his filmy blue eyes would squint at his latest audience, (whom he’d acknowledge with a firm nod), and then he’d shuffle over to his throne, (an old, worn out love seat suspended by rusty chains from the porch’s ceiling), sit down, close his eyes and then, in the silence that followed, he’d begin.

“In the Bible, there are many accounts of God’s light. The angles reflect just a little of it, the Sun pales in comparison to it, and even Moses’ face shone with such brilliance that others dare not look directly at him...” His eyes would open slowly and take in his listeners, swallowing them, enveloping them with such sincerity and belief that they were instantly caught up in his story, their minds breathlessly following the shimmering thread of his tale. “Well,, now I’m going to tell you about the day I saw God’s light. What I saw in that field, yes sir, that very field right over there...” He’d swing one grizzled arm straight out, his wrinkly, age-spotted fingers quivering as they pointed out at our one and only hayfield. “What I saw out there was the very blazing fires of God himself! So sit back and get comfortable, ‘cause I’m about to take you on a journey into the heart of God’s Field!”

But this was just a TALE, a fanciful account of a blisteringly hot spring day spent dragging my two generally annoying little brothers, Sam and Eddie, behind my grandfathers sputtering old John Deere tractor with the weathered, clapboard hay wagon attached to its rear as we picked up various sized rocks, (it ALWAYS fell on me to struggle with the big ones), and toss or heave them into the slowly moving wagon.

The work was painstaking and monotonous, and half the time I had to re-gather the same rocks my little brothers had tossed but that had missed the wagon altogether. by sunset I was desperately hot, thirsty and dead tired, (my little brothers having long ago crawled into the wagon where they promptly drank all three glass bottles of Pepsi my grandfather always brought as treats and then spent the rest of the time making scary faces at me through the slats of the wagon).

Finally the old tractor gave a violent jolt, greasy smoke billowing from the blackened, tin-can smokestack as it suddenly rolled to a stop. My little brothers poked their heads up curiously over the edge of the wagon and immediately ducked back down again, giggling as my grandfather let out a string of cuss words, jumped down and gave one giant tire a swift kick. We heard him sigh over the ticking and hissing of the motor and then, JUST as The Sun disappeared below the horizon and night fell upon the north woods of Wisconsin...a hundred, a thousand...no...MILLIONS of brightly lit fireflies billowed up in great clouds all across the field, lighting up up in such great numbers that it felt like a set of celestial flood lights had been instantly switched on.

For a brief moment I felt the awe, the wonder of it all; but then an empty Pepsi bottle went whizzing past my left ear and just like that, it was just another hot and sweaty day.

So if you ever travel up to Dunn County, you can make the trip over to the little town of Knapp, sit in a rickety old folding lawn chair on a white washed porch, sip a cold glass of freshly brewed apple cider and listen to the master story teller of the north woods spin you the tale of how he once bathed in the fiery light of Almighty God.

And who knows, maybe he’s right. Maybe we really were wrapped in his embrace, for no matter where I go or what i do, I cannot help but long for the sunny pastures and rolling hills, the tucked away valleys and fragrant back roads that always lead me back to God’s Field.