Straw Bale

This cross is made from an ordinary bale of straw as it rests in the morning light in a farmer's field in Mt. Angel, Oregon.

My growing-up years included lots of encounters with bales of straw and hay. My father and his three farmer brothers lived on four adjoining farms in northeast Ohio, sharing a combine, a baler, and labor. The boy cousins all learned how to stack bales on the wagon, competing with one another on how tightly and how perfectly and how high we could stack them. We worked together to unload the wagon, often putting the bales on an elevator into the upper reaches of the barn, where we stacked them in rows and piles.

At a certain age, we had fun by re-arranging the straw bales to create tunnels to crawl through.

I don't suppose the uncles or the cousins always got along perfectly, but this bale fills me with warm and positive memories. I am thankful for my family.
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