A Thousand Acres

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The land my father owned,

a thousand acres...

paid for no encumbrances.

It was as flat and fertile...

black and exposed as any

piece of land on the face of the earth.

Covered by a beautiful dome sky...

it seemed to me that when I was a child,

it was the centre of the universe.

I was eight when I first saw

the farm in the world this way.

I remember Sunday afternoons,

and the long leisurely drives...

my sister, Rose, who I adored,

sitting against me in the back seat...

my mother and father and baby sister,

Caroline, in the front.

Their voices were unhurried

and self-confident...

and our lives seemed secure and good.

The next year, my mother died.

Her name was Marion.

May, Daddy called her.

She died before she could confer on us...

that my father was only a man,

like any other...

with habits and quirks,

of ever-shifting moods...

good judgement and bad.

Caroline moved to Des Moines after school.

Rose and I had lived on this land

all of our lives.

We never imagined living anywhere else.

There were three houses on our farm. My

father lived alone in the biggest one...

the house where he was born,

and where we all grew up.

Rose lived directly across the road with

her husband, Pete, and their two girls.

My house was a quarter of a mile

up the road.

A 10-minute walk every morning

to cook breakfast for my father.

Daddy?

Daddy?

Daddy? What are you doing out here?

It's after 6:
00, Daddy.

You weren't in for breakfast.

Yeah.

Couldn't keep that sister of yours...

off these grates when she was small.

No matter how much we whipped her,

she was always over here...

- poking things through the holes.

- I remember.

All this land was underwater,

every last bit of it...

the first time my great-grandfather

came out here, Ginny.

Took him 25 years...

to lay the tile, dig the drainage wells.

No machines. He did it all by hand.

- No such thing as luck.

- They made their own.

They made their own.

Your mother loved every acre of it, Ginny.

Look, that must be Harold out there

on his new tractor.

There's no fool like an old fool.

So when's Harold's little party?

Noon. It's not going to be so little.

Probably have to bring our own liquor.

You're going to be there, aren't you?

I believe I will. As a matter of fact...

I'm going to have a little surprise

for you and your sisters.

We haven't much time.

You better shower.

- Smells good.

- I'm going ahead with Ginny.

All right.

You missed one there.

Is it that ugly?

I didn't mean it like that.

- I'll take the girls, okay?

- Okay.

- Hey, Rose.

- Hi. The girls are coming with Pete.

Tabouli.

- What did you make?

- Swiss steak. For the prodigal son.

You look pretty.

Nothing like a scandal

to make me feel better.

What's more surprising...

Jess showing up out of the blue,

or Harold throwing a party for him?

Isn't the party for his tractor?

Harold, what have you got there?

It's a 9350, top of the line.

Built by Steiger, so you know it's reliable.

Case International bought them out...

and they turned that ugly green

into this nice red.

Got a tape player up there, so I can

listen to Bob Willis while I'm ploughing.

Go on, fellows, take a look. Come on.

Maybe later.

- Hi.

- Hey, there.

Hon, look at that.

Sure is nice to be home again,

ain't it, Jess?

He's got no plans of going back, neither.

Trying to talk me into

ploughing them 10 acres of my beans...

so he can try this,

what do you call that, organic farming.

Organic farming.

Jess Clark returned home after

leaving without a word at the age of 17.

His father, Harold,

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