I watched another drop of blood run down my hand and fall on the red dirt. I thought about what it meant. Then Joe and I went back to fixing the fence. We finished the job, because that's what needed to be done.
Then we went home and washed both our injuries and got out the ice packs. But I keep thinking about bleeding for the land.
People talk about bleeding their team colors. We live and work in the red dirt.
This drought is bleeding our land of life. Two years now, and no one knows how much more. The springs have gone dry, and the pond is going to follow. I can't bleed enough or cry enough tears to stop it.
How do we walk through the herd of cows we've raised since the day they were born, and decide which ones go to the sale and slaughter? How do we know if selling half of them is enough to save the other half?
We swing from despair to planning for the future. And we keep doing what needs to be done.
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