Field of Faith

Would she still be a farmer’s wife if they didn’t work the farm?

Finally, he squinted in her direction and killed the engine.

It took a minute for him to lift out of the seat and hoist himself down the side of the tall yellow beast. There was a time, many decades and children — and grandchildren — earlier, when Omer could get off the seat in a single leap. “Here.” Noa handed Omer one of the glasses from her tray and took the second for herself. They leaned against the tractor, and the sweet, cold limonana cut through the beams of heat that had burrowed into the field.

“How’s your day going?” Noa asked her husband.

“It’s good,” Omer said. But his eyes were locked into the distance. The day was usually good, even if the work was hard. “I’m tired though.”