American farm

American farm

On Thursday afternoon, the sunshine covered the ground like a gold armor dress and some squirrels were chasing and foraging. The wind touched my face slightly and the leaves on the tree were greeting me passionately. I temporarily forgot the low marks of my final draft in the class and walked straight to the school bus with a brisk pace. Today we were going to the Butler County Fair to experience the “Farmer Culture” there.

On the bus, a big picture came out of my mind: a vast prairie with some pale brown fences, the light blue sky meeting the margin of prairie, a few big trees standing with a mushroom shape, a fresh breeze puffing across the small lake, a flock of sheep walking around the lake, and in the distance a farmer lying behind a cabin, face up. I wanted to run on the grass, roll on the grass, talk with the sheep, and walk along the water side. The steam would rise from the grass and I would breathe the nature greedily.

The bus stopped and we got out one by one like a group of pupils. The smell of green grass mixed with cow dung and horse dung got into my nose, which reminded me that I was in an American farm. I could not believe what I saw. There was no prairie but few grass, no lake but some liquor stores, no free sheep but some fettered goats, no farmers but many children with their “pets”.

A merry-go-round was set at the gate, small, smelly and gloomy, with some mules spinning under a pointed roof. Were they real mules? Absolutely yes. They were so poor that only could walk around drawing circle in a narrow space. The mules all lowed their heads breathlessly, swinging their tails feebly. One of them just looked at me with some whispers, seemingly saying that save me and free me as soon as possible, I really need freedom. It reminded me of the Gettysburg Address given by Lincoln, which claimed that everyone should be equal.

When I lost my mind in the path, whoosh! The sound of motorcycle pulled my mind back and I went into the Motorcycle Center. The engine voices became in a chorus of sound, rising to a humming noises. “Wow!” a shout from the crowd caught my attention. A boy with a cup of drink in his hand, standing up, and pointed a specific direction by his index finger. My sight followed his index finger and saw a man without any clothes on his upper body driving his motorcycle with big buzz. I couldn’t help standing up and the man drove towards a quarter of a round plank. I put the hands in front of my eyes immediately and opened a gap to see what happen. The man was flying in the air and he used his hands to finish some difficult movements at the same time! How dangerous it was. A small mistake might lead him to death. The second turn, he was ready again. He pushed the pedal down at full blast. The tattoo on his body was like a dragon, long black body and fierce expression. He was so thin that even the breeze could blow down him. The motorcycle was like a wild horse running to the a quarter of a round plank. The sound of engine let me produce illusion that I were in the autodrome and all players were ready to crossed the finish line by their maximal speed. Admittedly, speed is quite important that keep the players safe. In the air, which was considered to be difficult and nearly impossible to control human body by oneself, he separated himself from the motorcycle, twisted his waist and extended his two legs to the opposite directions. At that time, he was like a diver. “Cool!”The word came out of my mouth with any hesitation.

But I had to go, my heart could not afford it.

But I could not forget the scene of the poor mules and the adventurous motorcycler.

It was a picture of American farm?