excerpt

Within days Sarah was sitting her western saddle as if she had
been born to it. Each morning she hurried through her housework
so that she could take Flicka out for a couple of hours in the afternoon.
She explored the farm thoroughly, and was full of questions
about the things she saw when she talked to Ben at supper time.
He didn’t resent her questions any more, and sometimes seemed
almost eager to fill in details of the farm that she may otherwise
have missed.
He explained why one field lay fallow while those around it were
lush with ripening grain. “It’s called summerfallow. Every year I
leave one field unplanted so’s I can cultivate it through the summer.
That way the weeds are killed and it’s ready to be planted again the
next year.”
“Do all farmers do that?”
“Sure, been doing it that way for years. Some have stopped,
though, since the dirty thirties.”
“Why is that?”
“’Cause they said that’s what made the soil blow away in the dry
years. Gotta get rid of the weeds some way, though.”
“I thought farmers were using chemicals to kill weeds. I believe
they were in Ontario.”
“Yeah, some are. Stupid, that’s what it is. Nothing good’ll come of
it. I ain’t gonna use them, anyway.”
Sarah shrugged and said nothing. But she wondered just how
progressive were Ben’s farming practices. As well as the dilapidated
buildings, some of his equipment looked as if it had been around
for too many years.
In the cool of the evenings they would often walk in the fields
and along the cow tracks in the pasture. Once, while walking along
the edge of a poplar bluff, Sarah stopped to pick some wood violets,
still blooming in spite of the hot, dry days.
“She pointed to other plants on the edge of the poplar bush.
“What are those white flowers, Ben? They look like morning glory.”
“They are. Wild ones. Lots of them in this area in wetter years.”
“Oh, they are lovely.” She added some of the blooms to her violet
bouquet.
They were silent for a few minutes until Sarah noticed the worn
down cattle trail they walked beside. “Why do cows always keep to
the same path, Ben? Even when they’re in a wide open area?”
He glanced sideways at her as he scratched his head beneath the
battered straw hat. “You do ask the darnedest questions. I dunno
why they do, you’d better ask the cows.”
“Oh, Ben,” she protested, laughing.
“Well, don’t us humans stick to the same roads? We don’t go
wandering all over the place either.”
“Yes, of course, but we don’t walk one behind the other.”
“Oh yeah?” His face darkened. “Some of us do,” he said sullenly.
Sarah kicked savagely at a dry clump of evening primrose. Why
did she always manage to say the wrong thing and spoil the moment?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530