what farm boys do for fun

So they read about it in a book, the way it begins most times around here.

They ask me to take them to the country hardware store more than a few times.

They come out with smiles and supplies and free lollipops and I come home full of the dreams of these days.

There is duct tape and epoxy, funnels and tubing. Multiple attempts and tweaking.

Then a parachute made with plastic, rivets and rope. Folded into the nose of the skyward pointed.

Then an air compressor from the shed, water in recycled bottles, a launch pad. More reading. Revising.

Then Opa comes and farm boys prepare for lift off out by the wheat fields and the barn and the pigs.

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Picnik collage

There is waiting.

And watching.

And pressure.

And is that the water bubbling, churning? Building through each of the stages of the rocket?

And we hardly breathe.

Until!

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Picnik collage

The applause!

And that wisp of parachute unfolding high and full of wind and boys and July — all that pressure made into perfect wonder.

All these wild, happy days making the effort worth it.

And we only keep looking up.

Then a boy runs to catch what comes down, drifting down to us like a gift there in the barnyard, us with clapping hands.

Us water wet with this spray of exploding grace.

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Related post: What Farmers do for Fun

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