Passion

                                                            

As spring nears I get restless and my hands itch. The garden calls me to come and plant. Manure
 spread on the land, announces spring is in the air. The smell clears my lungs. Fresh cultivated
 soil smells, tickle my nose.  The rumble of tires from large farm equipment on asphalt,
 catches my attention. I wave to a neighbour.

My son works full-time at an off farm job. After hours he's a cash crop farmer. Spring came
 late for farmers this year. The push is on to get the land ready for seeding.

Knowing my son will put meals at the bottom of the "to do" list, I offer to bring him supper.
He's working local so I'm able to connect with him. Spreading manure is not the most glamorous job in farming, but I'll take any time I can spend with him.  (Really, I want to be in his position...
.a farmer). 

From the buddy seat of the tractor and the landing outside the cab, I watch my son load manure
into the spreader. The passion I see in his eyes for farming overwhelms me. Inside I'm bursting
 with pride.