My Field Is Not Your Playground
So worth sharing. On many levels people don’t understand, big or small.
To begin, this is not my field. Or my father’s field. Or my neighbor’s. But it could be and has been in the past.
Last year, during harvest while driving the grain cart, my father-in-law came over a rise in one field and found a car. It was determined by police that the driver and friends took a ride down the fence line and struck out into our field where they got hung up on a low-spot and killed the engine. The group must have walked back to the road and caught a ride or stumbled home. Unfortunately, this is not an unusual occurrence.
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