That old rusty wheelbarrow in the front yard lies on its side as if waiting for someone to prop it back up. I wonder if Johnny Flanagan wrote a song about it. If he hasn’t, I bet he would find inspiration.
It’s been there, but sitting upright most of the time for the past 4 years that I have been here. During the Spring and Summer, it is filled with a variety of flowers and stays in bloom until that hot Texas sun dries up what little moisture is there. Sometimes the shade protects it.
I found the wheelbarrow this fall, tipped over and this is where it’s been sitting, where it has always. A chunk of dried dirt remains inside unmoved. Some dirt has spilled out but the memories have not. This tool used for many years to carry wood, dirt, feed, tools, and so many other items has seen family and friends visit, kids grow, missionaries come and go, and has heard the beautiful music over and over again of the Flanagan’s gospel songs.
It’s weathered, rusty, creaks when you move it, the wheel is worn, but it still has its place at the farm and in the life of the family.