Relief

A few minutes ago, I was sitting at my dining room table working and it started to rain.  I felt a sense of relief.  I always feel that when it rains; it could be literally raining on my parade and I would feel relief.  It comes from being a farmer's daughter.  The ever paying attention to the skies.  Is it going to rain?  What if it doesn't rain?  How crazy of a profession to depend so highly on something so very unpredictable and uncontrollable.  It doesn't matter how "good" of a farmer {or rancher} you are or how hard you try, if the weather doesn't cooperate, it's over.   

   

My childhood years were in the eighties and if you know anything about this part of North Dakota from the late eighties, you know it wasn't pretty.  It was a drought.  A feeling of helplessness in watching it cloud up with promise in only the deliverance of yet another storm passing by.  Dry just doesn't feel good.  Everything is dirty.  Everything that is supposed to be green is dead or near dead.  But, yet we made it.  I say "we" like I really played a hand in the farm making it when I was six {other than those garage sale clothes and hand me down kitchen sets}.  My parents made it.       

Those years were formidable to me; setting in motion a connection with the land...it's a deep connection.  A connection that pulls me back to make sure I get some time working on the farm.  It's necessary for me to stay sane.  My real job has no part, no part at all, that depends on rain and yet here I am feeling relief.  It's only April and nothing is planted and yet here I am feeling relief.  My yard has underground sprinklers and yet here I am feeling relief as I look out my sliding glass door.  It's crazy, but I wouldn't change it.  It comes from being a farmer's daughter.