John Mellencamp

When you take away a man’s dignity he can’t work his fields and cows
There’ll be blood on the scarecrow–Mellencamp’s Rain on the Scarecrow

It has been a joy to rediscover the songs of John Mellencamp. His lovely, rather earnest songs record Midwestern daily life, the history of small towns, and the death of the family farm.

Many years ago, when we lived in Bloomington, his drummer helped us move a desk we bought at a garage sale,  and we helped him move a chair.  I remember being surprised that a rock band lived in Bloomington, but in retrospect I am  surprised that more bands don’t live in Bloomington, one of the most beautiful towns in the U.S.

The clarity and plainness of Mellencamp’s lyrics remind me of the simple diction of Bess Streeter Aldrich, Booth Tarkington, and Ruth Suckow, three Midwestern novelists in the early 20th century who wrote about small Midwestern towns and farms.

Here is a video of “Rain on the Scarecrow,” and below the video are the lyrics. (I copied the lyrics off the internet, and the spacing doesn’t look right, but oh well.)

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 the fence while Grandpa held my hand
CHORUS
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 loan
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
Well 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 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
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and 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, 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
THis land fed a nationk 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