My work as a teacher and a writer is a lot like the work of a farmer.
The hours I spend in front of my students and in front of my writing notebook are like the hours a farmer spends walking down newly plowed rows broadcasting seeds.
I teach and write and plant with great courage and deep hope.
I stand eye to eye and toe to toe with -
economic poverty
adverse childhood experiences
learning disabilities
self-doubt
a blank page
solitude
rewrites
weather
insects
blight
I live heart to heart and life to life with -
the ‘a-ha’ moment
kickball
trust
satisfaction
the finished story
the acceptance letter
acclamation
sunrise
sunset
harvest
Small Story
I look out the window and see him kneeling in the garden, planting the plants.
His skin is the color of newly plowed rows.
Sweat drips off of his forehead and mixes with the sun and soil, nourishing the seeds so they can grow.
When he comes into the house, he smells the humble smell of dirt.
His heart is faithful and soft, like a big, beautiful Better Boy tomato swaying quietly in the whispering winds of a southern, summer sky.
His soul is bright and gentle, like a yellow ear of sweet corn wrapping itself gently in tender husks, protecting itself from the searing sun and woolly worms.
His mind is persistent and broad, like an engine running a plow, working through problems, fixing anything.
His strength is helping and enduring, like a Farmall tractor that keeps him from struggling behind a mule and a plow.
Yep, he's a farmer.
I’m a farmer, too.
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