The Farmer sits high overlooking the earth below as his body bounces up and down thanks to the plowed field beneath him. He looks down at the small, brown-haired head bouncing up and down beside him. Perched on a five gallon pail, the neighbour's son sits quietly, watching the tractor, watching the sky, and watching the woods to the left. He looks up and watches the Farmer and they share a smile but neither says a word. Farmer thinks back to when his own sons were small and would come out to the fields, dragging their own five gallon pails behind them to provide a place to sit in the tractor with Dad. Mom had sent them out, hoping for a few moments of peace. Many little heads had bobbed up and down beside him; brown heads, blond heads, and heads sporting piggy tails. The piggy tails had since changed into pony tails and braids. Has any of it made a difference? the Farmer wonders, thinking back on his life. Farmer has rough hands, callused from working every day of his li