A Meditation on the Land —remembering a farm foreclosure. For Darrell Ringer, 1953-93 “Thank you,” he said, while the black eyes drilled from the shadow of his ballcap as we stood in the sunbaked square of a Kansas town where we’d just rallied against such business as no one with honor should dare to defend—then drove over pocked macadam, between shoulders cascading with purple wild flowers, wheat turning green to gold—the field after field, the rich carpet called forth, turned...
