The sun barely peeked over the horizon in Randolph Township, McLean County, Illinois, casting a golden glow across the frost-kissed fields. This wasn’t just another Wednesday in late March—it was the first day back in the field after a long, quiet winter. The air carried that familiar bite of early spring, a crispness that reminds generational farmers of when they would ride alongside their dad in a rattling old tractor. But today, as he climbed into the cab of his sleek, towering modern Case IH, loaded with GPS precision and climate control, the nostalgia hit differently. The hum of the engine wasn’t the clattering roar of the past; it was a smooth, powerful purr, a sound that bridged decades of memory with the promise of modernity.
By noon, the cab’s air conditioning kept the sweat off the brow—a luxury earlier generations never dreamed of. Dust and heat were as much a part of farming as the crops themselves. A paused to sip coffee from a thermos, the same dented one his wife had filled for every spring. The view from up here was different, too; the elevated seat gives a king’s perch over the land family had tilled for several generations. Randolph Township stretched out before him, a patchwork of history and progress, where silos still stood like sentinels beside fields now carved by gorilla sized machines. Something bittersweet swells — pride in the efficiency, yes, but also a quiet longing for the simpler chaos of those early days, when farming was less about data and more about instinct.
As the afternoon wore on, the rhythm of the work settled into the bones, just as it always had. The tech now guides the wheel, but it's the memories, the generational roots, that steer the day. By the time the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, ore ground is covered than earlier generations ever could’ve in a week. The first day back was done, and though the tools had changed, the feeling—the tether to this land—remained as steady as ever.
Art copyright, Alan Look Photography
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