The Storm

A storm rolled through this afternoon. It washed everything up and made everything smell like fresh rain. Made me appreciate living where I live and doing what I do. I feel sorry the for people who will only smell hot, wet asphalt after a summer shower, who don't fall asleep to the music of frogs and crickets, who won't hear a hawk call in the hot summer sun, or watch the owls swoop through the twilight. People who are locked into their jobs, day in and day out, with no flexibility and no break of the monotony. These people will never hold a baby calf as it nurses for the first time, or watch the bulls fight it out in the breeding pasture, or watch the horses run through the field. They will never smell a barn loaded with new hay, or find a pile of kittens nestled in a straw stack. They will never feel the satisfaction of cashing the sale cheque, and feeling rewarded from a year's worth of hard work, sweat and blood. These people won't do r experience what six thousand 4-H members do every day. What hundreds of thousands of farmers do every day. What I do every day.