I once rode my horse bareback through the wheat fields...spring-green wheat shoots beating against my bare legs as my horse and I moved through the field. The soft noise of spring green against my legs encouraged my horse to go faster under the sun and blue of the day.
I grew up on a small farm in southwestern Ohio. A very common occurrence some forty years ago, but small farms are nearly nonexistent now. The US government took our farm in the early seventies through eminent domain in order to build a dam and create a lake to flood our wheat fields. Politians won election by bringing those government dollars to their constituency. And, what do you know, they were all Republicans at the time. My family, my horse, and our wheat field just happened to be in their way.
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The first time I saw my father cry, his mother had died. The second time was when he recognized that there was no way to win against the US government ... and his farm was going to be a lake. The government beats you in court with lawyers and money that you can never afford. We believed in fairness and the American dream. We were dupes.
My father was a kind and gentle man, a farmer. He loved the earth. His farm meant everything to him. I used to walk barefoot behind the plow and tractor when my father plowed the first field in spring. The earth was cool against my feet and the smell of fresh earth was joy.
We owned 110 acres in Clermont country ... acres with Clover Creek winding around the eastern edge and woods where I knew every significant tree. There was the old sycamore by the creek where four children could fit inside the empty lower trunk and the hedgeapple tree on the edge of the ravine... with odd, lime fruit that wasn't good for anyone.
Ray Cross was the first government representative to visit us. He was like the hedgeapple ... not good for anyone. He demanded to see my father, though he hadn't set an appointment. My father came from the fields. Ray told him that he was known as the "old rugged cross" and that he would pay my father $23,000 for the 110 acres that had been my father's life. At the time, $1000 per acre was the norm.
When we refused to sell, the government took our farm. We weren't the owners anymore though no money changed hands. We had to pay rent for our house, for the number of cattle grazing, for the number of acres planted. My father put a gun to his head and he was successful. He mourned the loss of spring-green wheat. I went to my father's funeral on the day I was to graduate from college and, by then, we had already spent seven years fighting the US governemt.
And, yet, I believe in the US government when America acts well. I worked with others to found Rivers Unlimited. Everytime I cross a bridge over a river when traveling Ohio highways and a sign says, Scenic River ... I know that I did well and I honored my father. There were no scenic river designations prior to our small group of the early seventies. We repeatedly used the National Environmental Policy Act in attempts to stop the US Army Corps of Engineers. The dam that flooded our property was the last one built in Ohio. The remaining rivers are free. I know that change can occur with hard work. But, the work can be long and painful.