An unusual silence hovered over us as we sat at the supper table that night in early May. A warm breeze drifted into the kitchen window, a reminder of the heat of the past week. Heat and wind that brought no rain. Old Man Winter had grudgingly bestowed mere inches of snow to renew the South Dakota prairies. With a farmer’s never-waning faith, Dad and his sons had planted the oats, barley and wheat into dry dirt. Each passing day lessened the chances that the grain would sprout and grow. Would they need to replant? Should they even bother to plant the corn?
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