New Post, Old Story

The following is from a college class I took in 1997? It's about a neighbor farmer of ours that we knew well.

I had never seen a dead body before, unless you count funerals or television. But what I mean is I’ve never seen a dead body outside and undiscovered before.
David was a neighbor farmer in his late fifties. He was a real character who was always quick with joke or a bit of advice. He was also a bit strange. More than once he brought breakfast to morning chores. This usually consisted of cold pancakes, warm milk, and some spicy cheese on crackers. I tried to avoid him on these mornings.

Once, he showed his faith in the purity of our cows by squirting milk directly into his mouth. But in recent months David hadn’t been the same. He didn’t talk as much and wasn’t as animated and peppy. The tattered, old clothes he wore seemed to weigh him down.

The last day I saw him alive was the day after his auction. He sold all of his machinery and livestock. He seemed depressed; broken. David’s dad, whom he farmed with for years, had died in the spring and now my family was running their land. Now that his dad was gone he was left to care for his elderly mother. That afternoon I was at his place with one of my brothers to pick up some hay. We talked briefly and went our separate ways to work.

The next day I recieved a phone call from his sister. David hadn’t come home last night. In fact, he hadn’t been seen since I talked to him. I questioned her about it and went to the pasture across the road where he had set off to work. My dad and two of my brothers came with me and split up to look.

As we searched the pasture that afternoon, the heat and humidity wore us down. Sweat gathered on my forehead, drawing the mosquitoes. As I stepped, frogs jumped in the tall grass and thistles scratched my bare legs causing them to itch. The silence was broken only by an occasional call to David. As we continued, the heifers looked up from their lunch with passing curiosity. Their mouths full of grass, their tails swatting the flies on their backs.

We met near the buildings behind his house. My brothers searched the sheds for signs of David. I stood and thought about where he could be. I knew he would never leave his family, he had to be here somewhere and he was probably in trouble.
An old, rotting round bale caught my attention. It as at the end of a grove of tall Lombardy trees. Surrounding the bale was tall grass and an old one-bottom plow that didn’t sell at the auction. As I walked towards the bale I remember last seeing David walk over in this direction the day before.

Closing in, my attention focused on the foreground of the bale. At first I thought I was seeing an old canvas tarp. But the flies signaled a different story. Before the bale lay David. Flies circled and landed like Vultures on his face and nose. His body was bale and limp. I remember his legs were pulled in like they had failed him.

I turned away. I felt numb. The rest all approached and quickly turned away, heading toward the house to tell his sister and mother. The truly shocking event I witnessed that day was not the discovery of David’s body, but of his sister's cold indifference to his death.

Her matter-of-factness about it angered my Dad and sickened me. We told her we were sorry about David and walked back home. On the silent walk back I didn’t notice the mosquitoes, the thistles, or the heat. The heifers were nowhere to be seen.
Rather, on the walk back I remembered David. Working with him in all seasons on the farm, choking down the cold pancakes, and stifling a laugh at his clothes. A gentle and good man.