Eight years ago today my Daddy walked me down the aisle to you. I had dreams of what life on the farm was going to look like. But loving a farmer is not what I expected.
That first planting season was hard. The first harvest even harder. The next few years were grueling, as the acreage grew, the herd expanded, margins shrunk.
For a few years I thought I would change you. I naively thought I could change this century old, sunup to sundown schedule. But loving a farmer is not what I expected.
Slowly though, something was changing. It wasn't you. And it sure as hell wasn't the demands of this lifestyle.
It was me. I was getting stronger. I was getting tougher. I was no longer just watching your passion for this God given way of life, I was feeling my own fire for it.
Over time, you, and this farm, were making me into the woman I had always wanted to be.
I was once told love is like a fine wine. But loving a farmer is not.
Loving a farmer is much more comparable to bourbon. That first drink is harsh and bitter, it burns all the way down and hits you deep in the gut.
Yet, there's a hook.
And then slowly, if you stick with it, your taste starts to change. The harshness is replaced with a smoothness, a warmness, a high that only bourbon can deliver.
Like Garth and Trisha sing, loving anyone else after you would be, "Just not the same high, but going forever, from whiskey to wine."
I rolled over last night and you were gone. At one in the morning, you were in barn, tending to a new set of twins.
You were in the barn because you knew I couldn't stand the thought of loosing Diamond, the 8 year old ewe named after the rock that never leaves my finger, on our anniversary. You were in the barn, so I could be in bed.
Loving a farmer is not what I expected. It's so much more.