I love a farmer.

I loved a farmer.

I love a farmer.  

I’ve watched in awe of a farmer.

I’ve run in excitement out to a tractor so I could sit beside my brother as he made the next pass through a field.

I’ve watched amber waves of grain blow in the wind and also a farmer plow a wheat field under because of the lack of rain.  

I’ve watched a farmer spend his days planting straight rows and his nights down on his knees praying for rain.  

I’ve seen grease on jeans, under nails and those same hands holding newborn babies.

I loved a farmer.

I love a farmer.  

I’ve watched in awe of a farmer.

I’ve watched as my Granddaddy planted rows of wheat, my nephews rows of cotton, and my cousin rows of maize.

I’ve watched them drag themselves into a house as the sun was going down knowing they would be going back out to do it again tomorrow.  

I’ve watched a farmer cut barbed wire fences, raise cows, chase pigs and sit up all night with a newborn calf to watch it die.

I’ve watched a farmer sit in his truck, eat a snickers and enjoy the sunset over a freshly plowed field.

 

 

I loved a farmer.

I love a farmer.  

I’ve watched in awe of a farmer.

I’ve watched my uncle run to get the fire truck out of the barn to put the fire out before it reached the neighbor’s house.  

I’ve seen lights on tractors and trucks at midnight trying to get the wheat, hay or milo out before the hail started.  

I’ve watched as a farmer worked every day, sun up to sunset, and then drove 15 miles to church on Sunday.  

I’ve watched farmers tell neighbors to “Call if you need anything.” and actually mean it.

AND…

I loved a farmer’s wife.

I love a farmer’s wife.  

I’ve watched in awe of a farmer’s wife.

Photo (45)-2

I’ve watched her cook meals, clean boots, shoo flies and try to keep flying chaff from chocolate chip cookies in the middle of a wheat field.  

I’ve watched her feed 15 hungry men on a $10 budget.  

I’ve listened to her sing hymns, rock babies and iron blue jeans to be worn in a field.

I’ve watched as she was still up washing dishes when I went to bed and cooking breakfast when I woke.

I loved a farmer’s wife.

I love a farmer’s wife.  

I’ve watched in awe of a farmer’s wife.

I’ve watched as she loved her man when the crops were good but also when they didn’t know how they would make the bank payment.

I’ve watched her drive a truck with holes in the floorboard and no power steering while tending to the small child sitting beside her.

I’ve watched a farmer’s wife get a job outside of her home, work 12 hour days, come home and take care of a family and her farmer.

I’ve watched her bake pies, can jelly, hem a pair of jeans and somehow manage to paint her fingernails.  

I loved a farmer.

I love a farmer’s wife.

But, y’all, I don’t know how they do it.

I’ve sat on a combine in 112-degree heat, in the middle of June, with no air conditioner and wished I’d never volunteered to help a farmer.

I’ve asked if we could please just have a sandwich or McDonald’s or anything that I didn’t have to cook.

I’ve secretly prayed for rain just so we could sleep in one day during the middle of harvest.

I’ve tried to figure out what WO449 stood for on a radio, if the wind would stop blowing, and how someone could live every day in this red dirt.  

I loved a farmer.

I love a farmer.

I loved a farmer’s wife.

I love a farmer’s wife.

And I am honored to call all of these amazing men and women mine.  

 

IMG_4348

And I love being this future farmer’s Nene.  He’s the real reason for this post!!

Advertisements

One thought on “I love a farmer.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s