Are we all farmers?

I’ve been reading a lot about the plight of farmers lately.

Prices are lower and the demands are greater.

It ain’t easy.

I guess it never was, really. They get up early. Work hard all day. Physical work.

Maybe some time with the family or neighbors. And then rest until it’s time to start again.

Moms. Some work outside the home, some don’t. Either way, the demands are great and the rewards are sporadic.

I mean, some days the sloppy kisses and amazing hugs wash away the physical and mental exhaustion. And some days, there’s no immediate reward. Some days, you know that you’re just tending your crops and soon, very soon, they’ll give you back something to make it all seem worth it.

String beans. Lettuce, tomatoes, lima beans, milk.

Or a scribbled piece of paper with a picture of you and a heart in purple, green and black crayon.

Sure, the love is always there. Just as the knowledge that the crops and animals that the farmer tends are sure to respond to your tending and care. It’s the cycle. The circle. The way it is.

And knowing you’re raising great kids should be reward enough.

And it usually is.

But sometimes, you’re so tired. So bone tired that it is hard to remember.

Yes, I fold laundry in between trick-or-treaters. And yes, I get up at 5:30 to get dinner started in the crockpot.

But it’s all worth it.

Every fucking exhausting, hopeful, frustrating, amazing minute.

And just like the farmer, I know my work will pay off. My guys are going to be amazing.

They already are.