Personal Narrative: Growing Up On A Farm

Everybody has something important to them, whether it’s school, an organization, a sport, or in my case, a treasured family background. Growing up on the farm, I’ve learned countless life lessons that turned out to be more valuable than imaginable, and I’ve somehow been fortunate enough to meet incredible people and experience unbelievable opportunities, such as becoming FFA President and planning out my future. During my early childhood, my mom worked on the weekends, and my dad worked throughout the week. On Saturdays and Sundays, my dad would take me to church with my grandparents, and we spent a majority of our time together at their farm. I remember taking baths in the kitchen sink after a long day outside, riding the four-wheeler with my aunt, and playing with the kittens. The farm was my second home, and it still is. There are a lot of memories I have because of the farm, but one memory that always sticks out is during harvest season. I spent full days in the tractor with Grandma and in the combine with Grandpa. I remember refusing to get out, even for lunch. I didn’t want to

Instead of getting dressed up and spending the night with friends, I knew that “work comes before play.” I spent that night driving the tractor and grain cart to give Grandma a break. Her knees are weak, so I took over after I sent her home to rest. We put in several hours that night driving back and forth across the field. There was a single grain wagon sitting next to the path to the yard. I chased after the combine to load, and as soon as the grain cart was full, I drove up to the wagon, unloaded, and repeated my little system all night. Dad would load the semi off the grain wagon. After a few rounds, the semi was fully loaded, so he headed into town to dump. This is just one night out of the past seventeen years, but it perfectly demonstrates how farming has taught me that work needs to be done; having fun can