Essay 2

This is the second essay I wrote for my english class this semester. I have some revisions to do to it before I submit it into my portfolio for a final grade but I got a pretty good grade on it the way it is right now.

Farm Girl

I step outside onto the freshly stained wooden deck. It is dusk, and the entire sky is decorated in brilliant colors of red, yellow, orange, and purple. The colors all representative of an Idaho harvest sunset. There is nothing for miles to block my view. The countryside is laid out in a patchwork of fields dotted with an occasional farm house. I close my eyes, and breathe in the smell of the harvested soil that has recently turned over, which scent lingers with others in the evening air. The crisp coolness of the air touches my skin sending a shiver throughout my body. I am reminded that the lazy days of summer have past, and winter will soon arrive. A few feet in front of me is a swing set built from recycled aluminum pipes, tires, and chains. I envision endless hours spent soaring through the sky, laughing and dreaming away my childhood. To my right lies a row of lilac trees that seem to have grown overnight. Each year we pick the purple blossoms, wrap the stems in wet paper towels, and take them to the graves of loved ones who have passed on. On my left stands a row of poplar trees. These faithful and erect soldiers provide shade, protection, and privacy to all who dwell here. These seventy-five foot tall giants can be seen for miles around. They are the last to wave goodbye and the first to welcome me back. I am overcome with sadness as I notice that some of these sixty year old trees are beginning to die. I watch in the distance as the cows mosey from the barn where they have just been milked headed out to graze on a pasture of green grass. I listen to the bawling cries of the baby calves. Their sound is a reminder that they have not yet been fed. Beyond the yard among piles of dirt and overgrown weeds lie discarded machines, broken calf huts, and a multitude of other abandoned farm equipment. This was my childhood playground where hours were spent foraging untamed wildernesses, conquering old rusty equipment, and discovering hidden treasures while trying to curb my wild imagination.

About 15 miles north of the little town of Rupert nestled among hundreds of acres of farm land is a small dairy farm owned by my parents. My parents bought the land, and built our home, the year I was born. My parents were both raised north of Rupert. The place they decided to call home was a prime location, because it allowed our grandparents to live close by. I was the first of the ten children my parents would eventually raise here. My dad farmed our land, but he was also required to do various jobs for other people in order to provide for our growing family. I was seven years old when he finally built our barn, started milking cows, and working full time from our own farm. Until I married this was the only home I had ever known. This small dairy farm in Southern Idaho provided a natural environment for me to grow up in, establish my core beliefs, and root my continual existence in.

To the casual observer this dairy farm may seem insignificant, but to those that depend upon its survival this ecosystem was a matter of subsistence. The farm and the dairy couldn’t survive without the hard work and dedication of our family. Likewise our family was dependent upon the dairy farm for financial and physical sustenance. My dad grew alfalfa and grain on the land, which was harvested and stored throughout the year to feed the cows. The milk obtained each day from the cows was sold daily. The money received was divided between the needs of the family, and the expenses of the dairy and farm. As more effort was put into working the land healthier crops were produced. By feeding the cows a nutrient rich diet, the quality of milk improved yielding in a higher financial return. As needed a cow was butchered. The meat was used to feed our family. We had access to all the milk our hearts desired. The farm also provided plenty of room to raise other foods that were necessary to feed our family. As we worked to milk, feed, and care for the animals on the dairy; and water, cultivate, and harvest the crops on our farm; the dairy and the farm worked in harmony to support and sustain our lives as well.

My dad often told us that he was not raising cows, nor crops, but children. There was always plenty of work to be done, and we learned that everyone must work together if there was to be organization in our home. I had six sisters and only three brothers. The girls were expected to work as hard as the boys in our family. I complained a lot as I performed tasks such as working in the fields, watering the crops, feeding the animals, and milking the cows. Through completing these assignments I learned that I was strong, and capable of anything I set my mind to. As a sprinkler head broke or other complications arose I realized the importance of thinking through challenges, and being creative with the resources available to me. I became aware of how to manage my time wisely, and recognized the importance of completing each assignment. I also learned that nearly all of my success was dependent upon my own attitude. I not only learned to fulfill my responsibilities, but I began to establish a foundation of strong personal values, which I have continued to build upon throughout my life.

I watched as a late frost in the spring killed an entire field of freshly planted seeds, a surprise hail storm knocked down a field of ripe grain, or an early snow storm wiped out an entire year of crops. Because it seemed that so many uncontrollable factors influenced the success of farming, I often wondered why my parents didn’t just move to the city. As I worked alongside my parents, I was able to glimpse into the splendor of the nature. I felt the delight of discovering newborn baby kittens warmly nestled in a bed of straw, and I cried as I watched a baby calf die from an illness. I watched in astonishment as a small seed grew into a field of ripened food ready to be harvested. I felt awed as the majesty of a hawk as it spread its wings, circling overhead. I gasped in horror as that beautiful creature swooped down, pouncing upon its unsuspecting prey. I paced the floors as a thunderstorm flooded the freshly planted fields, and stood awestruck by the beauty of a rainbow arched across the clear blue sky. I experienced exhaustion as I fell into bed each night after a long, hot day of setting water, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the final load of hay was stacked for the season. I was positive that my grease stained hands, dirt caked fingernails and blistered palms would serve as a permanent reminder of the sweat and tears I had sacrificed on the farm. I realized that “this farm is not just so many acres of dirt, easily exchanged for an equal amount elsewhere; it was a particular place, intimately known, worked on, dreamed over, cherished” (Sanders 210). While my hands currently show no evidence of growing up on a farm, my soul has been permanently changed as I witnessed firsthand the miracles of life.

The consistency of the mundane farm routines provided security in my life. I spent many summer nights, in the backyard, sleeping on the ground underneath the big open sky. My dad would spend hours helping me identify the planets and constellations. As I watched the galaxy full of stars revolve around the North Star in an organized and consistent order, I wondered about the mysteries of the universe. I fell asleep wishing on falling stars, and contemplating my own existence. After I had grown and moved far from home, I was homesick, and longed for the security and comfort I felt as a child. As I looked up into the night sky, I discovered that in that unfamiliar place were the same familiar stars I had dreamed on as a child. I remembered many summer nights spent gazing up at those exact stars, and I felt connected to my faraway home in Idaho. I understood what was meant by the quote, “I cannot have a spiritual center without having a geographical one; I cannot live a grounded life without being grounded in a place” (Sanders 213). I realized that even though my life would continue to change, I could ground my life in the consistency I felt during the years that I lived at home on the farm.

Since I moved from the farm 14 years ago, I have spent many of those years living in apartment buildings or in compact neighborhoods where privacy is not mine and my space is shared with complete strangers. The farm has become my place of escape and refuge. My children anxiously look for the same poplar trees to welcome them back. They explore the farm land, climb the old machinery, and feed the animals just as I did when I was a child. The little farm home now overflows with loved ones as my siblings also bring their families home to experience the love and security felt on the farm. While I don’t know what will happen to the property after my parents are gone, my life will always be rooted in the situations I experienced and the foundation of beliefs I acquired because I was raised on a farm.