Blowin' in the Wind

From the time I was a small girl, I've felt like I hailed from a legendary heredity. Not just from one side of the family, either, but from both. I guess maybe everyone feels that way.
My husband's grandfather, Jack Allen, was definitely of the brand legends were made of. Though Jack was gone before Rowdy and I met, the tales of his larger-than-life rise from the Great Depression to cowboy extraordinaire still dominated the family's recreation. Recently I was at his ranch, a massive patch of land he pieced together over the years, and this tractor scrap just sort of spoke to me. The rusted, aging metal hanging from an old fence, swaying with salted wind above Oklahoma prairie whispered a picture larger than the grandeur before me. With each blunt drag into the hard earth, a little bit of duck feet chipped away. Just as we do in life, each time we emerge ourselves into our life's purpose, we create more life for future generations as little bit of our own vitality fades away. Newer grass grows up, but we then we are gone forever. The circle of life goes on and on, we are part of something greater than ourselves.
But, then again, maybe it's just scrap metal.