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Fred Eaglesmith. Thirty Years of Farming

There’s a little white note on the gate by the road that a man put up yesterday
And when we saw it, we all ran out just to see what it had to say.
And when we read it, our eyes filled with tears, and they fell to the cold, hard clay
Something about a mortgage, something about foreclosure, something about failing to pay.

Oh, and on the post by the general store, they put up a little sign
An auction sale day after tomorrow at the end of the Lincoln Line
Thirty years of farming, thirty years of heartache, thirty years of day to day
Oh, my daddy stopped talking the day the farm was auctioned, there was nothing left to say.

  • Fred and the Flying Squirrels… been a favorite of mine for many years. Saw him last year out at the Sisters Folk Festival.

    “When, exactly, did we become white trash?”

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