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A Farmer's Poem On Labor Day

What's Labor Day? A farmer never complains and he has no break.

A Farmer's Poem On Labor Day
Matt Biggs

So as we all know, last week was a shortened week due to Labor Day. It was a typical Monday afternoon and I was scrolling through my Facebook posts. I usually read like the first sentence of a post and if I'm not intrigued I keep scrolling. Well, one post really struck me, it read, 'I think everyone should be off on Labor Day. Kinda pissed I have to go in today.'

I carried on throughout my day, having to be somewhat productive on my day off of school, I drove to the barn to ride my horses. Now, on my way there, I pass many acres of farmland. The radio was full of people calling in of occupations that require working on Labor Day, nurses, dispatches, policeman, fireman, etc. but one I never heard was a farmer.

I began to think of what the farmer would say if he or she called into the radio station. In my head it sounded a little like this:

I am a farmer, and I work on this day.

I am a farmer and I don't get off to go and play.

You see my fields need tending and the cows need to be fed and I have an old heifer that needs to be bred.

I wake up to breakfast and rush out the door, only to leave mud on my dining room floor.

The house is a mess, and the laundry's not done, but I have no time to relax and just have some fun.

The garden needs pruning before the weeds spread, so today I must get up and leave my warm bed.

The tractor is cold with crisp morning dew, but I still wake up...there's coffee to brew.

You see my daddy didn't raise me to give up and slack off, so I continue on and put feed in the trough.

It's not just I who wakes up to do work, my brother too rises before the sun will lurk.

The animals know no day of rest, and that my friend is the ultimate test.

Only the brave will choose farming for cash, and so I leave the house in a mad dash.

The hay needs turning, the rain made it wet. It's only 8 am and I've worked up a sweat.

I'm used to this life, it's how I was brought up and raised. And I don't hear good job and I am not praised.

The world seems to hate me, and the way I grow corn, but I can't help it, it's been this way since the day I was born.

The dog is barking she wants to go out, she too knows the schedule and doesn't sit and pout.

So in the tractor I sit day after day, working dirt and making hay.

I can't fall behind or uncle will rage, and we don't want that animal out of his cage.

Grandma wakes up and begins to knit, but even she cannot be still and sit.

It's a family affair, this farming thing, and only gets more hectic come time for the spring.

My corn prices are low and I wonder is this worth my time, and I roll my eyes as my pants are covered in cow slime.

A day of rest, what's it like? Don't ask a farmer, he'll tell you to "take a hike."

I wish I had an only 8 hour day, but in only 8 hours I wouldn't get pay.

I have a family to raise and farm to uphold, so I keep rolling the combine to "make that gold."

The pigs need slop and their fence to be fixed, and my wife is inside with medicine to mix.

You see, we have a down horse, add another bill to the list, you never catch a break only a slap on the wrist.

So I envy the men in white collared shirts, playing golf on their day, that one sure hurts.

Grandpa put all his time in the acreage we own, but we are stalled today because a tire is blown.

My wife brings me dinner and in the tractor I eat alone, while others are at the table and have no reason to moan.

My body is tired and could use a Labor Day, but I still wake up to fetch eggs the chickens will lay.

My son is behind me with every step that I make and I hope he's enjoys this, for the farm he will take.

I thank the Lord each day for He is good, and I say a prayer while I chop the new wood.

So for all the men, enjoying their time, be thankful you have it, because for me it's a crime.

No the farmer does not participate in Labor Day, for he is in the field before the first sun ray.

This life I'd not trade for an office 8 hours, or working some where in the Chicago towers.

I love what I do and each day I rise, I thank my Lord for his blessings and prize.

A farmer I am and I'm proud to say, today I will rise and work for my pay.

My family counts on me and all that I do, and Sunday you'll find me in the church pew.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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