Aidan Flannerty stuck his hoe in the ground to rest upon it while he simultaneously wiped the sweat from his brow and shielded his eyes from the blazing hot sun. All signs pointed to a bad winter in the near-offing, so he endured the heat in order to get some food harvested in advance of the weather. He often rued the day he'd signed the deed for this parcel of land, but at the time the Dakotas were cheap and he'd had nought to lose.
That was before he'd worked that land for the first stretch of years. He'd found it harsh and unforgiving, and even if the entire territory wasn't like this, he still swore oaths directed at it as though it had lured him in like a fey temptress.
Now he'd just spied a strange new phenomenon to contend with, an act of vandalism so bizarre that he was too astonished to be angry.
"Lord in Heaven," he crossed himself. In front of him was a perfect circle, right in the middle of his cornfield. The ground was blackened and covered with flattened plant remains. He wondered if this was the way some Americans felt was appropriate to greet a native son of Ireland.
Through squinting green eyes he gaped at the formation and wondered. Why a circle? Why at all?
He scratched at his thick red beard and recalled an article he'd read recently about an event like this occurring all the way in Surrey. Guildford, to be exact. Kin had sent it to him, kin he'd be sending for just as soon as he could raise passage...
His thoughts turned to rage as he smacked the ground with the hoe. As soon as I can raise passage from this silly patch of land!
He stopped abruptly as a wagon drew up on the road. He couldn't see it, but it was within a hundred yards, easy enough to hear even over the angry din in his head.
"Hooo!" called the driver in a familiar deep baritone. Aidan frowned and leaned on the hoe again to catch his breath. Soon a commotion in the stalks in front of him revealed his neighbor John Guliver.
Guliver was a very tall man, but humble. He wore simple, plain black clothing, including an odd black hat with a buckle on it that marked him as a Quaker. He was clean-shaven, whereas a man from the Amish community would have had a full beard on his face. Aidan often thought it peculiar how two groups reading from the same book sought to honor God in precisely the opposite way.
John caught sight of Aidan's foul mood and subdued his typically amicable greeting. Then he opened his mouth in a way that could be employed in the capture of flies as he got a good look around.
Aidan stood up straight and looked him in his ice-blue eyes. "Supposin' this wasn't you, then?"
John was even more stunned by the question. "I would never destroy my friend's land." When Aidan got particularly squinty-eyed he added "I did not do this, Aidan."
Aidan's hands flew out to his sides. The hoe hit the ground as he spun in a perfect circle to gesture at the whole thing. "What kind of madperson does this, then? Ruins a man's livelihood--destroys food?!" He'd come back around on the last couple words and emphasized them like they were some kind of manic epiphany. John remained utterly calm.
"I am sorry this has happened to you, friend. I can help you if you become destitute. If you seek answers, you must leave it to a higher authority than mine to give them to you." Before Aidan could become more furious, he added "I know this is not what you wish to hear. Join me at supper and I shall tell thou what I know."
One supper hardly addressed the dilemma of all the suppers that would be lost if Aidan's corn yield fell behind for a whole year. But if the Quaker man wanted to feed him, it was still a blessing a man had to heed.
He arrived at John's simple, bare-board domicile with his hat in his hand. The door opened to reveal a space well-lit by candlelight, and John stepped aside to admit his guest--and to reveal that they were to have company. Aidan was flabbergasted, for there at the table sat Mayor Buckley, Sheriff Worthingham and the fair farm girl from the other side of town, Ellen Rose.
Aidan stood at the head of the table, his face frozen in shock, while John pulled out the chair in front of him and beat the dust off of it. Then he gestured to it with an open palm.
"Sit," he boomed cheerfully.
Aidan glanced at him, bemused, then back at the group of people. "Top o' the evenin'...to...all of ye." Then he took his seat.
Ellen smiled at him so beautifully that he had to look away. Her curly red hair and freckled face made her a bit overwhelming for a humble man in Aidan's well-worn shoes. His eyes came to rest on their corpulent mayor, whose brown mutton chops and steel-gray, stern eyes provided a stark contrast. Still, his current expression was inviting.
"I understand your land has been vandalized," the mayor began. "Unacceptable, dear fellow. Thank you," he broke off and addressed John, who was busy pouring them some water. "I don't have any patience for such barbarism. I'd like you to know that I've asked Sheriff Worthingham to investigate immediately, as a personal favor to me." He inclined his head proudly as though certain he had just earned himself a vote in the next election.
Aidan scratched his chin. "That's mighty generous of ye, Mister Mayor. Thanks indeed! Now I've been thinkin' right hard on the matter, and I'm wonderin'--well, it needs to be said if ye saw the damage that was done--well, it's a fine circle. Not irregular, but perfect, as though it weren't the hand o' man what put it there. D'ye have anyt'in at all akin to otherworldly folk 'round here I'd best be knowin' about?"
Buckley and Worthingham exchanged an uneasy look, and then Worthingham addressed him.
"There was a time I'd have dismissed such a suggestion. But in the States we do have a peculiar phenomenon. Latest name for 'em is 'Mutations'. I'm not sure how much stock I'd place in old folk tales, but Mutations are a fact of science. I'd go so far as to say I could name one off the top of my head could destroy your crops in a perfect circle if he was of a mind to."
John sighed; this line of reasoning did not appeal to him, but he let Worthingham continue.
"Sammy Cash can make fire come outta nowhere, spring up in a perfect circle an' hold it there. Folks've said after he's been through they might find what's called a 'crop circle', like a signature on their land."
Aidan nodded. There were similar legends in Ireland. He couldn't attest to a single one, though a few of the local drinkers back home had tales to tell. Now, everyone enjoyed a nip of whiskey back home, truth be told. Most far greater than a nip. But it was only the men most far gone who shared fey tales, and usually the setting for the tales was a previous drunken evening.
The Mutations in the States? Those were real. Everyone knew they existed. They'd all seen one somewhere or at least heard a second-hand account.
"Now I don't reckon you're of a mind to apprehend Sammy Cash, are you?" The mayor chuckled. But Worthingham took umbrage and leaned his pot belly into the discussion.
"Why shouldn't I? Freak of nature comes burns a man's crops to dust, he's got to be brought to account for it!"
John settled into his chair with perfect posture, hands folded in front of him. All his guests knew that it was time to say grace.
"I'd like to thank our Lord this evening for good friends, good food, good neighbors and best of all the Good News. Some of those I care for have fallen on hard times. I would ask that you look after your lost sheep and lead them back to a path of contentment. Forgive us our sins; look to the good deeds of the future. Amen."
Silence followed grace--this was a universal constant. Not long after the unaccompanied clinking of utensils upon bowls had begun to unnerve Aidan, John spoke up again.
"Aidan, are you aware that Ellen is of a mind to become married before winter sets in?"
Aidan's food stuck in his throat when Ellen gave him another lovely smile. The implied prospect was a promising one, to be sure, but in a crowd like this and with a woman who brightened the room so, it gave him the jitters.
"Aye? Er--you don't say?"
"Well, she can speak for herself," offered John.
And speak she did.
"I would be honored to be welcomed on your farm, if you'll have me. Your current setback doesn't bother me one bit. Why, I'm sure that if you only had a woman to properly see to your house, you could fix the necessary attention on restoring your land."
She was well-spoken, and her little speech ended with the same sweet, unassuming smile with which it had begun.
Aidan, wide-eyed, seemed to deflate in his seat. It was a heart-stopping offer, not to mention practical. That it should come to him out of the blue like that...
He didn't know how he could be so lucky, but he suspected that his friend John must have put in a good word for him. Quakers could surprise a person with their goodwill. He cast about with his eyes, but those in the room simply stared back, their only expressions ones of suspense.
He stood. "I shall gladly accept your offer," he smiled and bowed toward the lady. "Me luck seems to have multiplied since the morn, 'tis all I can say beyond that."
There were cheers all around, and he received congratulations from the mayor, the sheriff and the town's number one citizen. A red-letter day indeed.
Once the revelry died down a bit, they returned to the matter of the crop circle.
"A few reports over the years have pointed to flying vessels," the sheriff posited. When everyone looked at him in confusion, he elaborated defensively. "Well some accounts were obvious fabrications to delight the reader. Others, though...well, they bear the ring of truth. Men have been experimenting with manned flight for ages. Isn't it possible these circles exist to guide their craft? Or that they could drop something from the sky to make such rings?"
"Hold on, hold on," the mayor interrupted. "To what end? I doubt these craft are capable of extreme distances, unless they're balloons--those have been around a long time indeed. I flew in one at the World's Fair, don't you know. Anyway, why should they need markings? They don't return often enough that we're accustomed to them, not to mention we can conceal them over time with fresh crops. And why a circle?"
"It's like a fairy ring, but without the mushrooms," Aidan said with a newfound clarity.
"I doubt the existence of fairies, Aidan," John replied gently. "Though, given the existence of Mutations, I suppose it's not too much to postulate that fairies are the descendants of a Mutation from long ago. I choose, however, to focus on the circle."
John was able to speak at great length because he was, although not a man who sought attention, a great orator. He could command and captivate a room with the simplest of his thoughts.
"To me, the circle is evidence that there exists, at least in our minds, perfection. It is evidence of the Creator. I know that there is no such thing as a perfect circle, or at the very least that it would be foolhardy of me to presume I can judge any circle as being perfect. For a circle must be composed of an infinite number of points, or degrees--not a series of lines, no matter how short. For that is no circle, but instead a polyhedron. We have attempted to simplify the mathematics of this by insisting that a circle may be defined as having three hundred and sixty degrees--this is but a shortcut.
"Then how do I measure it, and account for minute variances which I cannot see? It would be quite impossible. All this, naturally, begs the question of how I can claim that one things which cannot be shown to exist can prove the existence of something else that likewise exists without demonstrable evidence.
"Mathematics can render for us a perfect circle. It cannot make such a circle manifest, but it can tell us all of the properties this circle should have. Likewise, the human mind can conceive the circle. Why should we enter a world in which we can conceive and calculate such a seamless symbol of something that perfectly represents the Alpha meeting the Omega in a closed circuit, were it not for the existence of perfection? Obviously perfection exists, in fact, though we cannot see it, cannot touch it.
"Perhaps the circles left in farmers' fields are to remind us of the perfection that cannot be imitated. Some men need larger signs than others. The Creator always finds a way."
His words were met with blaring silence. Aidan recalled Father Patrick back in Ireland with his fire-and-brimstone homilies, and how little they compared with John's stunning reflections.
"So we've got God, fairies and Sammy Cash to mull over," the mayor mused. "Fairies would indeed take a lot of whiskey to wash, and I'm no believer in Irish folklore anyway," he added with a wink. "Now I don't fully appreciate that the perfection of circles has a lot to do with this unless, like you pointed out, we could measure the thing on Aidan's farm for accuracy. So I'm resting my case with Cash."
The sheriff nodded. "Fascinating stuff, John, like always. And you know, I agree. But I'll be out looking for Cash soon as daybreak tomorrow. Don't think I'll be able to catch him, though--so say a prayer, will you?"
John was next to nod. They all knew he didn't condone killing, but they also knew the sheriff to be a good, honest man who didn't use bullets he didn't have to.
Aidan wasn't worried anymore, anyway. He knew he'd become fixed to a whole new yoke that day, but what a glorious yoke it was. Things had gone well enough the day's little disaster. Now they had come full circle.
That was before he'd worked that land for the first stretch of years. He'd found it harsh and unforgiving, and even if the entire territory wasn't like this, he still swore oaths directed at it as though it had lured him in like a fey temptress.
Now he'd just spied a strange new phenomenon to contend with, an act of vandalism so bizarre that he was too astonished to be angry.
"Lord in Heaven," he crossed himself. In front of him was a perfect circle, right in the middle of his cornfield. The ground was blackened and covered with flattened plant remains. He wondered if this was the way some Americans felt was appropriate to greet a native son of Ireland.
Through squinting green eyes he gaped at the formation and wondered. Why a circle? Why at all?
He scratched at his thick red beard and recalled an article he'd read recently about an event like this occurring all the way in Surrey. Guildford, to be exact. Kin had sent it to him, kin he'd be sending for just as soon as he could raise passage...
His thoughts turned to rage as he smacked the ground with the hoe. As soon as I can raise passage from this silly patch of land!
He stopped abruptly as a wagon drew up on the road. He couldn't see it, but it was within a hundred yards, easy enough to hear even over the angry din in his head.
"Hooo!" called the driver in a familiar deep baritone. Aidan frowned and leaned on the hoe again to catch his breath. Soon a commotion in the stalks in front of him revealed his neighbor John Guliver.
Guliver was a very tall man, but humble. He wore simple, plain black clothing, including an odd black hat with a buckle on it that marked him as a Quaker. He was clean-shaven, whereas a man from the Amish community would have had a full beard on his face. Aidan often thought it peculiar how two groups reading from the same book sought to honor God in precisely the opposite way.
John caught sight of Aidan's foul mood and subdued his typically amicable greeting. Then he opened his mouth in a way that could be employed in the capture of flies as he got a good look around.
Aidan stood up straight and looked him in his ice-blue eyes. "Supposin' this wasn't you, then?"
John was even more stunned by the question. "I would never destroy my friend's land." When Aidan got particularly squinty-eyed he added "I did not do this, Aidan."
Aidan's hands flew out to his sides. The hoe hit the ground as he spun in a perfect circle to gesture at the whole thing. "What kind of madperson does this, then? Ruins a man's livelihood--destroys food?!" He'd come back around on the last couple words and emphasized them like they were some kind of manic epiphany. John remained utterly calm.
"I am sorry this has happened to you, friend. I can help you if you become destitute. If you seek answers, you must leave it to a higher authority than mine to give them to you." Before Aidan could become more furious, he added "I know this is not what you wish to hear. Join me at supper and I shall tell thou what I know."
One supper hardly addressed the dilemma of all the suppers that would be lost if Aidan's corn yield fell behind for a whole year. But if the Quaker man wanted to feed him, it was still a blessing a man had to heed.
He arrived at John's simple, bare-board domicile with his hat in his hand. The door opened to reveal a space well-lit by candlelight, and John stepped aside to admit his guest--and to reveal that they were to have company. Aidan was flabbergasted, for there at the table sat Mayor Buckley, Sheriff Worthingham and the fair farm girl from the other side of town, Ellen Rose.
Aidan stood at the head of the table, his face frozen in shock, while John pulled out the chair in front of him and beat the dust off of it. Then he gestured to it with an open palm.
"Sit," he boomed cheerfully.
Aidan glanced at him, bemused, then back at the group of people. "Top o' the evenin'...to...all of ye." Then he took his seat.
Ellen smiled at him so beautifully that he had to look away. Her curly red hair and freckled face made her a bit overwhelming for a humble man in Aidan's well-worn shoes. His eyes came to rest on their corpulent mayor, whose brown mutton chops and steel-gray, stern eyes provided a stark contrast. Still, his current expression was inviting.
"I understand your land has been vandalized," the mayor began. "Unacceptable, dear fellow. Thank you," he broke off and addressed John, who was busy pouring them some water. "I don't have any patience for such barbarism. I'd like you to know that I've asked Sheriff Worthingham to investigate immediately, as a personal favor to me." He inclined his head proudly as though certain he had just earned himself a vote in the next election.
Aidan scratched his chin. "That's mighty generous of ye, Mister Mayor. Thanks indeed! Now I've been thinkin' right hard on the matter, and I'm wonderin'--well, it needs to be said if ye saw the damage that was done--well, it's a fine circle. Not irregular, but perfect, as though it weren't the hand o' man what put it there. D'ye have anyt'in at all akin to otherworldly folk 'round here I'd best be knowin' about?"
Buckley and Worthingham exchanged an uneasy look, and then Worthingham addressed him.
"There was a time I'd have dismissed such a suggestion. But in the States we do have a peculiar phenomenon. Latest name for 'em is 'Mutations'. I'm not sure how much stock I'd place in old folk tales, but Mutations are a fact of science. I'd go so far as to say I could name one off the top of my head could destroy your crops in a perfect circle if he was of a mind to."
John sighed; this line of reasoning did not appeal to him, but he let Worthingham continue.
"Sammy Cash can make fire come outta nowhere, spring up in a perfect circle an' hold it there. Folks've said after he's been through they might find what's called a 'crop circle', like a signature on their land."
Aidan nodded. There were similar legends in Ireland. He couldn't attest to a single one, though a few of the local drinkers back home had tales to tell. Now, everyone enjoyed a nip of whiskey back home, truth be told. Most far greater than a nip. But it was only the men most far gone who shared fey tales, and usually the setting for the tales was a previous drunken evening.
The Mutations in the States? Those were real. Everyone knew they existed. They'd all seen one somewhere or at least heard a second-hand account.
"Now I don't reckon you're of a mind to apprehend Sammy Cash, are you?" The mayor chuckled. But Worthingham took umbrage and leaned his pot belly into the discussion.
"Why shouldn't I? Freak of nature comes burns a man's crops to dust, he's got to be brought to account for it!"
John settled into his chair with perfect posture, hands folded in front of him. All his guests knew that it was time to say grace.
"I'd like to thank our Lord this evening for good friends, good food, good neighbors and best of all the Good News. Some of those I care for have fallen on hard times. I would ask that you look after your lost sheep and lead them back to a path of contentment. Forgive us our sins; look to the good deeds of the future. Amen."
Silence followed grace--this was a universal constant. Not long after the unaccompanied clinking of utensils upon bowls had begun to unnerve Aidan, John spoke up again.
"Aidan, are you aware that Ellen is of a mind to become married before winter sets in?"
Aidan's food stuck in his throat when Ellen gave him another lovely smile. The implied prospect was a promising one, to be sure, but in a crowd like this and with a woman who brightened the room so, it gave him the jitters.
"Aye? Er--you don't say?"
"Well, she can speak for herself," offered John.
And speak she did.
"I would be honored to be welcomed on your farm, if you'll have me. Your current setback doesn't bother me one bit. Why, I'm sure that if you only had a woman to properly see to your house, you could fix the necessary attention on restoring your land."
She was well-spoken, and her little speech ended with the same sweet, unassuming smile with which it had begun.
Aidan, wide-eyed, seemed to deflate in his seat. It was a heart-stopping offer, not to mention practical. That it should come to him out of the blue like that...
He didn't know how he could be so lucky, but he suspected that his friend John must have put in a good word for him. Quakers could surprise a person with their goodwill. He cast about with his eyes, but those in the room simply stared back, their only expressions ones of suspense.
He stood. "I shall gladly accept your offer," he smiled and bowed toward the lady. "Me luck seems to have multiplied since the morn, 'tis all I can say beyond that."
There were cheers all around, and he received congratulations from the mayor, the sheriff and the town's number one citizen. A red-letter day indeed.
Once the revelry died down a bit, they returned to the matter of the crop circle.
"A few reports over the years have pointed to flying vessels," the sheriff posited. When everyone looked at him in confusion, he elaborated defensively. "Well some accounts were obvious fabrications to delight the reader. Others, though...well, they bear the ring of truth. Men have been experimenting with manned flight for ages. Isn't it possible these circles exist to guide their craft? Or that they could drop something from the sky to make such rings?"
"Hold on, hold on," the mayor interrupted. "To what end? I doubt these craft are capable of extreme distances, unless they're balloons--those have been around a long time indeed. I flew in one at the World's Fair, don't you know. Anyway, why should they need markings? They don't return often enough that we're accustomed to them, not to mention we can conceal them over time with fresh crops. And why a circle?"
"It's like a fairy ring, but without the mushrooms," Aidan said with a newfound clarity.
"I doubt the existence of fairies, Aidan," John replied gently. "Though, given the existence of Mutations, I suppose it's not too much to postulate that fairies are the descendants of a Mutation from long ago. I choose, however, to focus on the circle."
John was able to speak at great length because he was, although not a man who sought attention, a great orator. He could command and captivate a room with the simplest of his thoughts.
"To me, the circle is evidence that there exists, at least in our minds, perfection. It is evidence of the Creator. I know that there is no such thing as a perfect circle, or at the very least that it would be foolhardy of me to presume I can judge any circle as being perfect. For a circle must be composed of an infinite number of points, or degrees--not a series of lines, no matter how short. For that is no circle, but instead a polyhedron. We have attempted to simplify the mathematics of this by insisting that a circle may be defined as having three hundred and sixty degrees--this is but a shortcut.
"Then how do I measure it, and account for minute variances which I cannot see? It would be quite impossible. All this, naturally, begs the question of how I can claim that one things which cannot be shown to exist can prove the existence of something else that likewise exists without demonstrable evidence.
"Mathematics can render for us a perfect circle. It cannot make such a circle manifest, but it can tell us all of the properties this circle should have. Likewise, the human mind can conceive the circle. Why should we enter a world in which we can conceive and calculate such a seamless symbol of something that perfectly represents the Alpha meeting the Omega in a closed circuit, were it not for the existence of perfection? Obviously perfection exists, in fact, though we cannot see it, cannot touch it.
"Perhaps the circles left in farmers' fields are to remind us of the perfection that cannot be imitated. Some men need larger signs than others. The Creator always finds a way."
His words were met with blaring silence. Aidan recalled Father Patrick back in Ireland with his fire-and-brimstone homilies, and how little they compared with John's stunning reflections.
"So we've got God, fairies and Sammy Cash to mull over," the mayor mused. "Fairies would indeed take a lot of whiskey to wash, and I'm no believer in Irish folklore anyway," he added with a wink. "Now I don't fully appreciate that the perfection of circles has a lot to do with this unless, like you pointed out, we could measure the thing on Aidan's farm for accuracy. So I'm resting my case with Cash."
The sheriff nodded. "Fascinating stuff, John, like always. And you know, I agree. But I'll be out looking for Cash soon as daybreak tomorrow. Don't think I'll be able to catch him, though--so say a prayer, will you?"
John was next to nod. They all knew he didn't condone killing, but they also knew the sheriff to be a good, honest man who didn't use bullets he didn't have to.
Aidan wasn't worried anymore, anyway. He knew he'd become fixed to a whole new yoke that day, but what a glorious yoke it was. Things had gone well enough the day's little disaster. Now they had come full circle.