By Marisue Alsobrook

Stories Passed Down From Family

My Uncle Finley was a hard working farmer. He didn’t like the government telling him what to plant; he went to church in clean coveralls; he helped his neighbor; kept most of his opinions to himself; paid his tithing and his taxes; didn’t ask for much; saved most of what he made.

Oklahoma Farms

In the 30’s and 40’s in Oklahoma, there were many struggles. If it wasn’t the drought, it was the grasshoppers. One day, while sittin’ around an old cracker barrel at the local feed store, he listened to his fellow farmers telling tales of woe about the grasshoppers eating all their crops. They were singing the blues. Noticing his silence, one farmer said “Well, Finley, are you the only one who’s crop is not being eaten by locusts?”

Uncle Finley sat there chewing for a moment on a piece of straw. Taking it slowly from his mouth, he replied. “Welp, some years ago, I gave my house, my farm and my crops to the Lord. I figure if He wants to graze His grasshoppers on His corn on His farm, …well…it’s okay with me.”

The room was quiet. Once again, Uncle Finley in his somber way, had brought everything into perspective. Slowly shoulders were shaking with silent laughter and soon it erupted. Slappin’ each other on the back, they left the feed store and went back to their life, with a slightly lighter step and a leftover smile on their sun-leathered faces.

Lessons are hard bought. Sweat, tears, disappointment become the price of wisdom.  An average American farmer, Uncle Finley was a wise man.

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