This is the hard way to farm! Maybe Dad was right when he referred to the land as "bog clods".
If the land was plowed when too wet, it really was terribly cloddy. There was so much clay - we used to find spots along the ditch bank to make our mud pies and clay dishes. I'm sure some of that would have made good fired pots. (The official title, "Penrose Bog Clods")
It looks to me as tho Grandpa is plowing the piece just west of the blacksmith shop, which became part of their "front yard" where Grandma's rosebushes were planted. See, there is hope for any piece of dirt.
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