The Farm

One day,I'm going to write a song called, "The Farm."

Just wait, it will happen.

In 1997, my father died. I was asked what I most wanted to include at the funeral. I couldn't come up with anything. I felt lost--like I should add something to such a meaningful service.

I woke up in the middle of the night the day before the serive with something stuck in my head.

My father should be buried under "Matteson Farm dirt."

The next morning, I approached my mother. I said, "I realize this will sound strange, but Dad needs to be buried under 'farm' dirt."

She said, "OK, Linsley, we'll make that happen."

It came to me in the middle of the night, almost as if Dad had approached me to tell me something no one else would hear or say. So, I said it.

Two days later, he was buried under "farm" dirt with a handful of pecans.

God bless him.

What I didn't know before that day was that long before I was born, my great-grandfather, my father's grandfather had specifically asked to be buried under "Matteson Farm dirt."

In 1999, my grandfather died, and asked, once again, to be buried under dirt from the farm.

Yesterday, I stood up at a funeral and poured dirt from Matteson Farms over my grandmother's casket.

It's a wonderful gesture. To have the ground that sowed your fortune be placed upon your grave.

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I want to be cremated. And please don't pine over a casket for me. Please don't embalm me.

Please place my remains in a beer can and sink them to the bottom of Lake Greeson--from whence we came.

But, in that can, please add a little dirt from Matteson Farms. We should all remember every facet of our lives.

My life goes from Matteson Farms to Lake Greeson to Fayetteville to DC to Little Rock and, no doubt, places far away from here.

But, at the end of the day, I want to be in a place I always loved.

A place people will love long after I've gone. Just place a little farm dirt along with me.

I'm a Matteson. And I need that little bit of "farm" to go with me, too.

L.