I feel compelled to give the complicated back story about how I came across this, instead of just saying, “I came across this…”
My parents are moving up to where we live. My sister and her three chittlin’s live in the area too, so they’ll be near all five of their grandbabies, and no further from my brother who lives about 90 miles away. My dad is retiring from his current job, and they both plan to find work here.
They are sorting through, and most importantly, PURGING, all the stuff they have stored in their rather large house in which they’ve lived and been storing stuff since ’91.
The drawback to that is, every time they come visit, they bring me several boxes of stuff for me to sort through! I didn’t even know they saved all that! For instance, included in the last batch of boxes were all my childhood stuffed animals, a wooden piano with my sixth grade picture on it, several bales of flannel to use for making blankets, my set of Little House books (sigh, I love my Little House books) and a magnetic photo album engraved in my childish nine year old handwriting: This is the book mark collection of Jessica Dawn!!!! DO not take!!! replete with lots of underscores and exclamation points and chock full of the free kind of bookmarks the library gives out–
Among these treasures too however, were some poems I had written. I used to be quite the prolific poetess. Time and brain cells don’t lend themselves much to poetry these days.
Anyway, and here is finally the point of my post, I wrote an untitled poem in seventh grade that seems a rather uncanny prediction, in light of the Farm Fresh life I now lead:
My work is never done,
You see, I’m a farmer’s son
Up at dawn, I start my day
I do my chores, then go to school
I hear my friends talk
of their dates
Girls don’t want to go out with
a shy farmer’s son
who smells like barns
and sheep and hay
So I don’t ask
I am a farmer’s son
We watch the sky
and pray for rain
and good crops
and good profit
I work hard
and don’t get paid
When we have a good season
or a healthy lamb or newborn calf
or she smiles at me
I’m glad that
I am a farmer’s son
Even 20 years ago, God was cultivating my heart to marry a farmer’s son.