My parents were farmers and they worked hard. Every day of the year. Christmas Day was the same as any other day….chores had to be done, cows had to be milked, dishes had to be done.
My mom and dad both worked equally hard to run our farm and make a happy home for all of us. Even though we weren’t “the rich kids”, we never wanted for anything, were always well fed and had pretty Sunday clothes.
As kids, we didn’t have to work much with the dairy and fields side of the farm, but in the summer, we did a lot in the yard and garden.
Watching my parents taught me how rewarding it feels to work hard, to keep going until the job is done, to feel the worth of a day of honest labour. I’ve carried these values with me into my adult life and I’m not afraid to dig in and put in a full day of work when I need to.
Today I worked hard; manual labor, down and dirty in rocks and mud, scratches, scrapes and sore muscles. I thought about my parents while I was working. I felt pride, knowing they taught me well and would be happy to see me covered in dirt, happy and content with life.