Looking for harvest

Behind my house and across the street from it are farmer's fields. This year, as the state widens the road on which I live, these fields are fallow. Whether it's because of the annoying construction or just because it's time, I don't know. Rotating crops and letting fields rest is just good farming. After all these years in a small town, I'm still a city girl (as my neighbors will attest), but even I know that much about farming. Just like the people it supports, the earth needs time to rest as well.

Without corn behind my house, not only am I missing a few sneaked suppers, but my sense of time. I prefer time as shown by the fields rather than the hands of my watch. I miss the surprising changes, how I see something every day and then one day it's different. Seedlings become stalks that are taller than me. It keeps me aware that growth is always going on even when unobserved.

That, of course, is my hope for myself. Despite all this seemingly endless muddling about, I am becoming what I'm supposed to be and will eventually produce what I'm supposed to produce. That sounds so fatalistic, yet I know I have a hand in what's growing. My choices have determined what's been planted as well as the events of my past or some thread spinning Fate.

I guess the real question, for me, is what have I planted?