I have always loved a good fairytale and believe in the magic of the imagination. Call me a dreamer or an old soul and maybe I am a little of both. As a kid I remember coming home from school and putting on my cowgirl boots and my sister's hand me down yellow dress, an apron and running out to play and pretend I was Laura Ingalls Wilder. I am not sure what drew me to pretend to be her. Maybe it was because I WAS living the life of a farm kid and we played the Oregon Trail at school. Not exactly circa 1800's but I had cows and an imagination and fields to play in, so that was close enough for a 10 year old to feel like I was "half pint." I've always been fascinated by history and my paternal grandmother would tell me stories about the items in her house. Everything had a story. Everything. You would know parts of the story just by turning the picture frame over, or lifting up the tea cup to see the white medical tape on the bottom with a little note about the history of that item. I am thankful for those memories because I realize now, as an adult that I look at the world as having layers upon layers of stories.
When I am walking out in the fields at the farm I often think about the history of the land. Who has stepped here before me? Who swam in this cold spring at Prices Creek before me or went there to collect drinking water? Many people I would assume. I don't think you can be a farmer without believing in magic or having an imagination. There is just something magical about being a key player in mother nature and knowing that I get to witness life and death on a daily basis. There are so many times that farming can be brutally hard; like when a beloved animal dies, disease strikes, weather works against you, or when prices plummet. It breaks your heart every time. You'll question your methods, think about alternative ways to compensate for the losses, cry, get angry, and seek advice. But, when those moments pass you'll begin to remember the magic of why you do this in the first place.