This story happened in our neck of the woods a few years back, and it made headlines all across the country. I wouldn’t say it was all positive buzz, but it sure gives you something to chew on. Are we really labeling the right creatures as animals? And is just walking upright and talking enough to call yourself human? It all went down in early spring, when farmers gear up to till the fields for planting season.
Out in the heartland of Iowa, tractor operators were hitting the dirt after a brutal winter, harrowing the soil to aerate it and get it ready for fertilizer. That’s where Jack comes in—a sturdy, middle-aged guy who’d spent his whole life in the countryside, raising a big family. He was out there on his trusty John Deere, just like everyone else. With a practiced hand, he hitched up the harrow to the back and headed out to the fields. He got assigned the edge plot, right up against the woods. «Sweet,» Jack thought, «less folks around, more fresh air to breathe.»
Jack had never been much of a people person since he was a kid; he preferred his own company and the quiet of the open land. It was only at home, with his wife and their two daughters—one in middle school, the other a toddler son—where he really let loose. Playing games with the kids, he’d lose track of time, laughing like crazy and coming up with wild new adventures together. Sometimes, he’d chase them around the yard pretending to be a monster, or build forts out of old blankets in the living room, their giggles filling the house with pure joy.
His wife would sometimes get a bit jealous, teasing him,
- «Seems like you only light up for them. With me, you’re all distant and cool.»
He’d just pull her close in a silent hug, holding her tight, letting his actions speak louder than words. Once he got to his spot, Jack figured he’d take a quick smoke break before diving in, leaning against the tractor and watching the clouds drift by.
He shut off the engine and stepped out into the crisp air. That early spring freshness hit him hard—the kind you only get when the snow’s just melted, and the ground’s soaked with thaw water, bursting with energy, ready to sprout new life. Birds were chirping in the distance, and the faint smell of damp earth mixed with budding wildflowers. Jack scanned the horizon. «Man, this is the life,» he mused. «What could beat being out here, just you, the soil, the sun, and Mother Nature?» «Nah, I could never wrap my head around those city slickers, crammed in stuffy offices, always rushing and late for everything. Give me wide-open spaces any day.»
That’s what Jack was pondering as he climbed back into the cab and fired up the tractor. He rolled onto the field, lowered the harrow, and was about to throttle up his iron horse when odd noises caught his ear. «What’s that?» he wondered. «Wolves howling? But why now?» He leaned out the open door, straining to listen. «Yeah, sounds like a pack of gray wolves. Weird, especially this time of year.» Shrugging it off, Jack settled back in and hit the gas, revving the engine.