Monday's Poetry: "Rain on the Scarecrow"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I'm safely back at The Roost following a quick weekend trip to Indianapolis, a round-trip adventure which put just shy of a thousand miles on the odometer of my old flivver.  (How funny - Bill Gates and the privileged children who run Microsoft don't know "flivver!"  Buy a dictionary guys, and update your horrid spellcheck!)

It's been many years since I have driven across Indiana in a rush to get someplace important, and this weekend marked the first time that I had ever dropped anchor and spent the night there.  The state is known for the Indianapolis 500, Notre Dame, Purdue, the lovable Mike Pence, agriculture, moonlight on the Wabash, and John Mellencamp - and not necessarily in that order.  I knew that I had arrived  when, while sitting in a traffic jam on the interstate just outside of Terre Haute,  Mellencamp's "Rain on the Scarecrow," a song which depicts the painful realities of making a living on the farm, began playing on the local radio station.

Here, for your remembering pleasure, is my postcard from Indiana, John Mellencamp's "Rain on the Scarecrow."  It's not as sweetly nostalgic as "Back Home in Indiana,"but it is a realistic and hard look at an authentic slice of America.


Rain on the Scarecrow
by John Mellencamp and George Michael Green

Scarecrow on a wooden cross, blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did, my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five, I walked a fence while grandpa held my hand

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
This land fed a nation, this land made me proud
And son, I'm just sorry, there's no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow

The crops we grew last summer weren't enough to pay the loans
Couldn't buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land
He said, "John, it's just my job and I hope you understand"

Hey, calling it your job, ol' hoss, sure don't make it right
But if you want me to I'll say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing, "Take me to the promised land"
When you take away a man's dignity he can't work his fields and cows

There'll be blood on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow, blood on the plow

Well there?s ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
And ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa, my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin' like that scarecrow in the rain

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
This land fed a nation, yeah, this land made me proud
And son, I'm just sorry, they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
Yeah, this land fed a nation, this land made me so proud
Son, I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow