The Road to Dumbiedykes 



field of corn that gave such promise 

 at the last full moon now "fired" 

 and on the brink of ruin? What of 

 the curling leaves on elm and maple? 



I have indeed vivid recollections of 

 a hayloft in an old red barn from the 

 door of which we used to watch this 

 great event of the final coming of the 

 heavy rain, and I can hear still the 

 comforting monotony of that steady 

 patter on the roof bringing life and 

 hope renewed into a languishing world. 

 You farm-bred fold know full well, as 

 you watch the slow discharging of the 

 thick gray clouds, the astounding trans- 

 formation now at hand. 



At Dumbiedykes, alas, there is now 

 no barn only a garage. And who 

 could stand or sit for hours in an auto- 

 mobile stable and welcome with grate- 

 ful heart a two-days rain? Nobody, 

 of course. There are no friendly eyes 

 or ears or muzzles in the stalls to keep 

 you company. There is no hay over- 

 head. No feed-bins, straw or meal- 

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