My Man grew up on a sheep farm in central Utah.
Did you know that?
Every time we go to my in-laws, I fall in love with him again. I like seeing him in his natural environment. He may act like a big-whig city guy in the business world, but he's quite comfortable moving sprinkler pipes and hauling hay in coveralls.
I want my kids to be comfortable, too.
Pretty much every time we visit, I want to move there.
My Man doesn't understand why farm life seems so idyllic to me.
I know what it's like - the long hours, the pay, the every-single-day-no-benefits-no-vacation-up-to-your-knees-in-dung part. I've even helped mark sheep. (Of course, I interpret "help" in the loosest manner possible ....)
I really don't know how to explain it. It's the back to basic-ness of it. The simplicity. The connectedness. The grass-roots-spirituality. The living by the sweat of your brow. A farm is the best way to learn about the world and compassion and responsibility and gratitude and work and life - and death. (My kids were appalled one night when they were told the "mutton" they ate for dinner used to live in the backyard.)
I know the chances of us packing up and shipping out to Sanpete are slim to nil. Still - I know that farm life made My Man the person he is.
And I want very much for my kids to follow in his footsteps.