Loving a farmer is not what I expected.

I rolled over last night and you were gone. At one in the morning, your side of the bed was empty. Loving a farmer is not what I expected.

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.

Only bourbon.

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.

Eight years in, my smile is a little less naive, but no less genuine.