Farmer's Wife

The soft spring wind blew pollen filled kisses on the farmer's wife's cheek. Tabitha pulled her face mask up and around her nose, desperate to keep the sneezes at bay. No one appreciated sneezing into their own mask and no one disliked it more than Tabby.

The fields were greener than ever this year and the wheat was thick and full. She couldn't remember the last time they had such a great harvest. Her husband, Bruce, was happier then ever. They never had much, but the past two years had put more in their accounts than they could spend in three life times.

The big red tractor came to a dusty stop outside of the barn where Tabby was tending to the smaller herb gardens. The diesel chugged and belched before the last piston came to a rest and the door opened. Tabby heard the country music on the radio and knew Bruce was going to come around the big any second. She prepared her garden hose and waited. And waited. When nothing happened, Tabby went to the corner and half expected Bruce to pop out of no where and scare her so she had the water ready. When she discovered the cab to the tractor empty, she sighed and turned around. Walking back to the garden she caught a shadow out of her right eye and turned. The water hit her in the back and Bruce was off and running with an empty bucket in hand. Tabby was soaked from head to food, but laughing. She followed her husband into the house where they got into a brief, but playful fight with flour and what was left of some corn meal from breakfast.

Later that afternoon, while on the patio, Bruce nursed a cold beer and rocked in his chair. Tabby listened to music and was clipping the ends of the green beans for dinner when Bruce finally spoke. "You know-we don't have to keep doing this," he said using the top of his bottle as a pointer to wave at the crops before him. Tabby agreed, "True. We don't. We have enough to do -whatever. But what would people like us do?" Bruce chuffed. He thought about that all the time. He was a gifted farmer, it seemed, and his green thumb had always been a blessing. His grandfather and his father before him also had a gift, but the Earth refused to cooperate. Bruce's mother used to say, before she died, that Bruce just knew and understood the ground. She said, "you know what She needs. That's why the ground grows around you."

Bruce took a long sip. "You're right, Tabby. I like this. I prefer this. These warm days, the cold ones too. I love the looks of the farm and I love my tractor." Bruce smiled, "and I have grown fond of you too." The last comment drew a pinch and a gentle giggle from his red-headed wife.

"I'm glad for all of this, Bruce. I am. I don't want to go anywhere else." Tabby sung to herself. She was about to break the news to Bruce about their milk cow when her cell phone vibrated. She picked it up and read the email. "Oh, good news! The Army is bringing in another three trucks of zombies tomorrow. That is enough to finish the back 40!"

Bruce laughed. "I thought it would take us years to get these fields primed. This is your fault, you know, Ms Scientist. Finding that contract and the idea of burying these Z-bags while they're still kicking and moaning. There is just no way we would have met the corn quota or the lettuce quota without you! The whole world owes you a debt of gratitude."

Tabby didn't miss a beat, "No, they owe you. There probably isn't a table in the world that hasn't got at least one part or partial Z Farms product on it. Hey-when are you going to let me use the dozer to bury those puss pocketed bastards?"

"Uh, when you stop cackling away like a psychotic witch when you do it, "Bruce said teasing his wife.

Life on the farm wasn't always perfect, but when the sun was shining, the soft spring winds blew, and the grounds murmured, it was paradise.