Amy Lynn Steele tried to choke back the tears as she watched the blue Chevy van make a large swing in the driveway and then head up the dirt road past her farmhouse. With the tires kicking up some rocks, and spewing dust in billowing clouds past the pansies that encircled the black mail box, Amy's in-laws honked their horn twice as they gained speed and threaded their way between the hayfield on the right, and the lower pasture on the left. With no one to see her cry, Amy openly wept; her tears streaming down the smooth skin of her cheeks as she felt the anguish of letting her in-laws take her infant daughter for the day. It was the first time her two month old had been out of her sight, and while deep inside she knew Alyson would be just fine, Amy tasted the saltiness of a tear that had trickled over her lip and entered her small mouth. Wiping the tears away with her hand, Amy longed to give her daughter one last kiss on the forehead, but she knew had other obligations as well.
With new resolve, Amy tried to forget her daughter for the moment as she grabbed a wicker basket she had prepared earlier in the day and stepped across the threshold of their sliding glass door that lead to her back deck. Already her mood had improved as being outside on a warm and sun filled day always did. She started to descend the wooden steps to the back lawn, but before she did, she stopped to remove her shoes. Since they were white canvas sneakers, there was no real need to unlace them before she pried each one off from her feet in turn and nonchalantly tossed them onto the deck, not caring that one landed upside down.
Being a farmers wife, there was not a lot of opportunities to go barefoot on the farm, but whenever she could, Amy did, as much for her benefit as for her husband's. Since it was not quite noon, the short grass of the lawn was still damp from evening dew and Amy knew her canvas sneakers would have been soaked only a few minutes into her hike across the upper hay field.
With a group of sheep nickering near the sheep barn, Amy ducked under a barb wire fence and entered the hay field. Here the grass was much taller, but also a deep dark color from the orchard grass and timothy that stood up tall and bent over in waves as the gentle breeze rolled across the hilly New England terrain. Because of this type of grass, not only was she glad she was barefoot, Amy was glad she had chosen to wear her favorite floral print, black and pink sun dress with a hemline that hovered between the midway point between her knees and waistline. At this height, the orchard grass and timothy, which was just starting to head out, kept her dress from getting wet from the dew. Closer to the ground was the thicker, but shorter, white clover that hung onto the dew with ferocity and sent up a wonderful sent of spring dampened grass that was as intoxicating in aroma as a bouquet of flowers.
Just over the rise Amy could hear her husband working the field with his tractor. Amy often teased that he loved and cared for his 8830 New Holland more then he loved her or the baby. While she knew that was not true, she knew he was content to be inside it, the door closed up tight to block out the engine sounds as the radio played and the plow behind him sunk deep into the soil and overturned the sod.
She could almost tell where he was in the field just by the tone of the two hundred horsepower engine. It labored slightly as he ran up the right side of the field, a portion of ground that was uphill, and eased off a bit as he started down the left side which was of course downhill. As Amy walked steadily upwards, she could see the plume of black smoke as one of the plow points hit a rock, but had to hike a few hundred feet more before she could actually see the blue and white tractor. At that distance she could smell the earthen fragrance of the overturned soil, the smell of diesel smoke in the air, and of course the ever present smell of the fresh green grass under her feet.
Once on top of the little knoll, Amy had a commanding view of the countryside. It was one of her most favorite parts of the farm, a location where she could see almost all of the four hundred acres they owned, their farmhouse and the sheep barns. Here though, she could also see the big blue and white tractor dragging behind it a red, seven bottom plow that cut savagely into the soil, flipping it over and exposing fresh green grass into crumbling dirt. Amy was hardly upset at what her husband was doing, because while the grass field was iconic, she also knew the beauty of the farm was the quality of the soil located here. A deep rich loamy gravel; crop rotation was not only the only viable way to raise sheep; it also broke up compaction, aerated the soil and allowed for a higher tonnage of winter feed for the sheep. Ducking under another barb wire fence, Amy made no hesitation about stepping onto the deeply furrowed field even though she had no shoes to protect her delicate feet from being cut by the many rocks and exposed ledge rock that made farming in Maine so difficult.
Despite the rocky soil she stepped on, Amy swooned at the sight of the tractor. She could remember the euphoria of actually buying the farm from her father-in-law a year before. With a new wedding band on her left ring finger, their excitement manifested itself by making love in all manner of places, including the old farmhouses slate countertops, inside the hay mound of the barn and of course inside the New Holland tractor. Of all the places Scott and her had made love over the last year, it was the tractor that Amy remembered vividly. Perhaps it was the importance of the machine to the farms profitability, or perhaps it was how wet her panties got as she watched her husband drive the thing with such skilful dexterity. Either way, as Amy walked closer to the tractor, anticipating where she could intercept it, she reminisced about having sex in such a powerful piece of equipment.
"Are you ever coming home", Amy remembered asking Scott when she saw the tractor for the first time? Scott's mom had given her a plate of food to take to Scott and specific directions on which roads to take to get to the isolated field Scott was disc harrowing. With the lights of her husband's pickup truck piercing the darkness, Amy had been worried that she was in the wrong field and would get stuck until she saw the tractor working the field, its own powerful lights illuminating an acre or more of the ground as it pulverized sod with a plethora of steel discs that it towed behind it.
"It's planting season Hon, I really don't know when I am coming home except that when this field is done, and it is taking more passes then I expected."
"Well maybe I should have stated that different; when are you coming to bed," she asked as she struck a sexy little pose?
Amy was not wearing anything overtly sassy, but with her thumbs shoved into the front pockets of her denim blue jeans, the pant legs of which were stylishly rolled up to her calves and an outfit completed with a pair of white flip flops, and ankle bracelet festooned around her left ankle and maroon polo shirt, her young innocent look was sexy enough. Illuminated by a light in the rear fender of the tractor, Amy bent one knee, pointed the toe of her flip flop in the dirt, and tilted her head to the right to get her point across. As a grin spread across Scott's face, Amy formed her own smile and looked Scott square in her eye with her own big blue eyes.
"We don't need to go to bed to do what you want."
"No, but it's freezing out?"
