Bushel

Lyrics

The dust settles on the loading floor.

White ash woven in a heavy round,
Sitting flat against the barnyard ground.
My shoulder dips a half-inch low
Before my fingers even find the wood.
The body learned the standard long ago,
Exactly what it takes to call it good.
We spent the whole spring staring at the sky,
Begging the clouds to open up and cry.

Every blessing's got a bottom.
Every plenty's got a weight.
You pray for rain, you get the orchard,
Now you've got to lift the crate.
It’s the measure of a good year,
Right up to the painted line,
But it’ll break your back to carry it
One bushel at a time.

There’s a burn mark right below the rim
Where the state man proved the shape was true.
Keeps the buyer honest on a whim,
Means a stranger sees the same as you.
But a fair trade doesn't make it lighter,
The law don't have to haul the cart.
Just me and the bruised skin of the Winesaps
Settling together in the dark.

'Cause every blessing's got a bottom.
Every plenty's got a weight.
You pray for rain, you get the orchard,
Now you've got to lift the crate.
It’s the measure of a good year,
Right up to the painted line,
But it’ll break your back to carry it
One bushel at a time.

We wanted enough to make it through the winter.
We got so much we cannot stand up straight.
The market calls it a miracle.
The muscle calls it freight.

Yeah, every blessing's got a bottom.
Every plenty's got a weight.
You pray for rain, you get the orchard,
Now you've got to lift the crate.
It’s the measure of a good year,
Right up to the painted line,
But it’ll break your back to carry it
One bushel at a time.

Swing it up.
Drop it in the back.
The law says it's even.
The spine knows the slack.
There's another row out there.
Guess I'll...