On our drive to Ocala—the first stop on our trip—I began to obsess over cows and hay bales. The fields just multiplied; it was beautiful.
The Florida flats molded into hills as Georgia approached, but for miles the roadsides sang the poetry of pastures green and bales of hay.
There’s just something about hay bales… They’ve been around for ages, but when did they get so perfectly cylindrical? They at once remind me of archaic farming and the fruits of modern industry. They often sit on the fringes of a pasture, usually a forest behind. Almost invariably, in the middle of these private roadside pastures lies a single tree, with a wide circumference of shade, like some oasis for cattlemen’s daughters.
They’re hilarious—these trees. What do they stand for? Does anyone ever go out there, sit under their bountiful shade? Whatever they’re ‘for,’ they say so many things. First of all, they don’t resemble any of the other trees you find in the forests unmanicured near the roadside. So they’re planted. The land is cleared, and a single tree is planted to grow up like an island.
It’s a wonderful trend—those stretching branches reaching out into empty space, they give the roadsides character, regardless of what they signify.
(Alex)
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