This was an article that came into my fb feed a couple of years ago. It's poignant and, for me, heart-breaking.
Between the uncooperative weather and the breakdowns, it seems that most farmers are wondering if harvest will ever end.
They are weary.
They are broken.
They are defeated.
But they will not quit.
They will rise before the sun, kiss their families goodbye, grab their lunchbox, and head back to the field.
They’ll battle the mud, the rain, and the snow. They’ll fight breakdowns and stresses out of their control.
But they will not quit.
They’ll miss supper around the table, bath times and bedtimes.
But they will not quit.
They’ll work late into the night, and do it all again the next day.
Because that’s what farmers do. Even with the odds stacked against them, exhausted and broken, they will not quit.
I'm not a farmer, but this was essentially my life for years.
I wondered if the need for me to keep on keeping on without respite would ever end.
I was weary beyond what I thought I could endure.
I was broken, inside and out.
I don't recall being defeated, but it was close.
I did not quit.
I got up well before the sun, kissed my sleeping daughters without waking them, grabbed my day's food supply, and went to work - sometimes relatively nearby, sometimes 40 minutes away, sometimes two hours away. Regardless of distance, I had to be on the job by the time the sun came up, and stay on the job until after the sun went down - for much of the time, that meant six in the morning until ten at night.
I battled mud, rain, snow, hail, high winds, extreme heat, intense cold, watched tornadoes getting closer, mechanical breakdowns, emotional breakdowns, physical breakdowns, stressors and pressures beyond my control.
I did not quit.
I missed breakfast, dinner, and supper with my family, bath times and bedtimes, birthdays, holidays, school and athletic events.
I did not quit.
I got home late at night, kissed my daughters without waking them, slept for a few hours, and got up to do it all over again the next day.
Because that's what single moms do. Even with the odds stacked against us, exhausted and broken, we do not quit.
My daughters, now grown, don't understand and still resent the lost time. So do I resent it. The best I can hope for is that they never EVER understand. Because, in order for them to truly understand, they would have to live it. I can deal with their resentment a lot better than I could deal with them having to live that.
