On the south side of his parents' home, closest city Chicago, it was fall and the wheat was ready to be harvested. Eddy Smith was playing the guitar. He was happy, and proud of what he'd grown. Vrrum, vrrum went the strings. Zzz, Zzz went the bugs. Wheat smells wonderful when it's ready. It smells clean. When you're a farmer, it's just you out there. His mom had told him, "Take that guitar outside!" And now the ants, the birds, the rabbits and the gophers were his only company. His mom was happy for the peace and quiet, but his dad wanted him gone so he could harvest the field. So you can't win!