There's Just Something About The Dirt

I grew up on a farm in southeastern Idaho and I am VERY grateful for the childhood I had. My siblings and I climbed stacks of hay bales and pulled each other around in the horse buggy (we got rid of the horses by the time I was in Jr. high so we had to do the pulling ourselves). We had picnics on the banks of the river...er, ditch. We played in and drank canal water--and lived to tell about it. We had our own clubhouse (a.k.a. the old chicken coop). We munched on fresh fruits and veggies from the garden. We put a million miles on our bicycles. I don't think I ever once played a video game.

I woke up most mornings to the sound of my dad getting ready to go out for the day. He'd spend countless exhausting hours on the farm during the summer months. From him, I learned the value of hard work. We were taught how good it feels when you work first and play later. I still feel that way. If only I could instill that value in my own children...

I still get excited about going home to visit the farm. The smells, the sounds, the dirt...yes, even the dirt...all bring back fond memories. The dirt is in my blood! We visited the farm for spring break and our "new" 4-Year-Old (D) got to ride with her grandpa for the first time while he planted grain. She was a little apprehensive at first, but when they came back from their first round, her grin was from ear to ear.