The hands of a farmer....

For the last year, I have felt like I was "playing" at being a farmer.
I'm not playing anymore.  I have spent nights in the barn.   I have learned to give shots and try to nurse to life into calves, cows, rabbits, chickens, dogs, robins, cats, and who knows what else.  I've forgone sleep and schelpped to the barn in muck boots and jammies because I was worried about the critters. I've given up "fun" things to try to get food to grow out of the dirt. 

Don't get me wrong...I've always wanted to farm (or have a hotel.)  But just like every dream in life, it doesn't come without work or sacrifice.  I have heard "Why do you do it?"  Sometimes you have to go with what you have been called to do.  Even when it's hard.  And when it is hard..like this week has been...you have to decide...is it really worth it?  Have I really been called to this?  And if not, then what?

As I walked in from giving Bess her morning injection, and trying to get electrolytes in her, and crying and pleading for her to get up and get well....I looked down at my dirty, gnarled up hands...and realized...I have the hands of a farmer.