Making Hay

Beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.  I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other 
doesn't make any sense 
--The Field, Rumi (trans. Coleman Barks) 

How does it feel to feel what I had to learn
Baby, don't say you're sorry
'cause I'm just not concerned 
--Tell It to the Rain, 
The Four Seasons
____________________

Ranger has 20 acres of fertilized grass that he swaps to local cattleman in return for their cutting it and keeping the pasture productive -- the best of bartering.

Recent rains caused the grass crop to prosper, but there were concerns that there would be a sunshine period to harvest the hay. Jumping on a brief window, two trucks, five men 3 trailers one tractor, bailer and thresher showed up and the men worked three nights processing the hay (a chore which they tackled after their day jobs.) That's America, and it always has been.

But on the final night the skies broke open, wetting the hay, meaning mold and mildew will ruin the bales. There was no tarpaulin to protect the hay, and the overhang of my outbuilding was not enough to cover them. A minor tragedy at ten, there will be no news at eleven.

In this comedy of errors Ranger saw a microcosm of modern day existence in the U.S.A. All the work and effort was negated for the want of tarps. The hay ended up like our efforts in the Phony War on Terror (PWOT ©); there was not enough to close the deal. Look at the actions of the latest Medal of Honor recipients, CPL William Carpenter and Sergeant Kyle White.

They had everything that a soldier needed to engage in combat, but they couldn't get the hay out of the field. They were shot up and rattled, and produced nothing for the benefit of anyone. They may as well have been out in the field without a tarp.

Men were killed and wounded, and command outposts (COPs) were abandoned, as ever, after all the needless violence. Even if they had won a decisive unit level victory, there was no hay hauled away. {The same goes for the previous actions of MOH recipients Carter, Romesha, and Swenson.}

Whether in a far-flung COP or my field, all the effort is meaningless unless the sun can shine on our efforts. Nothing can change the rain, the sky or the earth. Life is about fighting for the right reasons, which are always life-enhancing.

The bales of hay are expendable, but our soldiers should not be, even if we pretend and perpetrate the fiction that they were mowed down for a purpose.