As the bell tolled for an earthly life that had passed, his children and grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and friends huddled together as the bitter wind whipped against their faces, stopping tears in their tracks. They lifted him into the coach for his last ride over the hill past his home to his final resting place.
The day had a wintry feel, even though the sun shone bright against the white coach. It was just early November. It was the peak of the harvest. And harvest was his favorite time of year. As the coach waited to leave, a truck loaded with corn passed by. The coach pulled out onto the highway. A semi-tractor and grain trailer stopped to let the coach driver enter.
In the journey over the hill, the cornfields were filled with machinery and farmers hustling to gather the grain. Yellow corn flowed from the combines to the trucks. A scattering of the yellow kernels littered the blacktop road where a truck had taken the corner too sharply.
The hum of a corn dryer whined in harmony with the pastor’s last words as his earthly body was committed to the soil. Soil that he’d so passionately farmed for most of his lifetime.
What a proper setting for the last ride over the hill past his home.
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