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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Indigo skies - cloudless skies - with barely a trace of rain for nine straight weeks had watched the crops we'd planted die of thirst, And even those among us who were optimists at heart agreed...of all the droughts we'd suffered...this one was the worst. We'd ploughed and disced our every acre, planted hybrid seed, fertilized and sprayed as needed, disregarding cost, Knowing well that...should there be a run of rain-less days...some, or most, of what we hoped to harvest would be lost. And still we make the effort every year to furnish foods, nurturing soil from shore to shore to fill your pantry shelves, With only two intentions --- one - to feed a hungry world, and - two - to net what's needed to at least support ourselves! After costs for: --- farm equipment - chemicals and fuel - crop insurance - seed to plant - and laborers have been paid, You'd be shocked to learn how little - independent farmers...even when the market and their yields are strong...have made. The unpredictability of - growing-season-hurdles - cross examines much of what a farmer strives to do... Especially on the smaller farms where barely getting by, even with a bumper crop, is often nothing new, But - just as those who taught them how to cultivate the land fought the same relentless foes to pass it onto heirs - They continue struggling hard...bolstered by - 'tradition'...proud as hell to till the soil on what, today -- is theirs!
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