Greasing the Plow

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion 
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, 
    Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion. 
                   —Gerard Manley Hopkins, “The Windhover”

 Sillion is usually called the slice or furrow-slice, sometimes the 
   mould. . . . When freshly cut a plastic soil with a high clay con- 
   tent does take on a sheen and, from a distance, the whole field 
  may gleam for a while in low sunshine. 
                    —Farm Direct UK

My father rarely worshipped using words, though he never 
skipped church even when the harvest was late, and surely

not to plow. He taught mostly just by showing. He kept 
a bucket with grease and an old paintbrush to paint

the plowshares and rolling coulters so they wouldn’t rust 
over the winter, a good job after school for the boy

I was, in dirty coveralls and too-big yellow gloves. 
It was strangely pleasing to smear the heavy, smelly,

brown grease across the shiny steel, get it smooth and even, 
seal the polished curves and edges from the air.

Next fall I would back the tractor to the plow, hitch up 
the lift arms, plug in the hydraulics, drive from shed

to field, drop the plow in the ground. The first earth 
scoured the shares clean and I opened the throttle wide,

blasted slowly down the field, hid away the cornstalks 
and bean stubble, turned up the black soil in flat thick slices,

saw it break and steam and shine in the blaze of fall sun.