ayes
Groggily, I roll out of bed and slip into my black-and-white bikini. After shuffling into the kitchen, I slurp down some
cereal. Then I apply a healthy dose of sun block, put on my flip-flops, tie on my blue bandana and grab the water jug.
Katie Moyer Jayplay writer
When I step outside at 7 a.m., the morning sun seems to weigh on me as I make my way through the stubbly pasture toward the tractor. My dad had called earlier to wake me, saying that it was supposed to be the hottest day of the summer so I should get
started mowing the fields early. Remembering his words as I climb up into the seat of the Farmall 706, which my dad named "Rusty" for obvious reasons, I wipe away the beads of sweat already trickling down my forehead. I start up the tractor, let Rusty get some of that black smoke out of his lungs and begin another day of summer work. With no air conditioning and no canopy to protect me from the sun, I know that today I'll be earning my tan.
My grandpa farmed
Since my family moved out of town to our small patch of 106 acres when I was 9 years old, I have grown to truly
appreciate a hard day's work. Living out in the country has its disadvantages, like the hassle of driving 15 minutes for gas and groceries, and not being able to hang out with my friends as much in the summer. But because of my experiences growing up, I developed a strong work ethic and an intimate knowledge of animals' natural life cycle.
My grandpa farmed for 35 years and my dad worked for him all the way through college. Dad had to quit school at Kansas State because grandpa was in a combine accident and needed help on the farm. He and my mom are small business owners now, but dad couldn't completely give up the farm life. As a result, my family has bought and sold Hereford and Black Angus cattle for more than 10 years.
Talk to my friends, and you'd think they believed their meat simply comes
already wrapped in plastic. I, on the other hand, know where my meat comes from. Our meat comes from the cattle my family raises. We have always felt close to the animals we owned and we all take part in caring for the cattle. They depend on us to feed them and take care of them when they're sick. If a calf gets separated from its mother, we hear its bellowing cries and reunite them. And those that stay with us for a while, we usually name. Donna was my favorite.
I admit, I feel sad sometimes when I see my dad rumbling down the driveway with stock trailer in tow, knowing that the animals inside are heading to certain death. But this has given me a more personal understanding of life's cycle.The meat on our table is a result of my family's work in raising the cattle.And as a result of our work on the farm, my parents have taught me to value the fruits of my labor.
When I was in the fourth grade, my dad bought me my own litter of six pigs. Because they were my responsibility, I was up with the sun every morning with a 50-pound sack of grain slung over my
back. I fed them before school and then again as soon as I returned in the afternoon. My parents also depended on me to care for our two horses. I would spend hours on the weekends mucking out their stalls and putting down fresh straw for them. They repaid me by giving me midnight rides with my friends after we had snuck out of the house. Such is rebellion on the farm.
While a lot of my friends here at the University have spent lazy summers lying by the pool and bar-hopping, I spent my summer hours on the tractor and working cattle. But I wouldn't trade that time in for anything. Though it may have been dreadfully hot, exhausting and dangerous at times, my country-girl way of life has given me the desire and the ability to work hard for what I want, and not to mention, a damn good and well-deserved tan.
09.22.05 Jayplay
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