All beginnings set us up for endings. As a farmer, I know that well. A farm is a living, breathing thing, and the changes I see almost daily remind me that time is fleeting, and nature is cyclical. We plant seeds and harvest crops. The sunny days of today will give way to clouds and rain, but the sun will come back, and the cycle will repeat itself.
Our South Georgia farm sits off a loose sand road in rough but beautiful country—just thirty miles due east of the Okefenokee Swamp and home to gators, snakes, and a king’s ransom of insects. My wife and I have three kids, two boys and a girl. We farm pigs that we raise on pasture, meat chickens, and eggs, with a smattering of vegetables and citrus. It’s a fairly bucolic life. A good life. The kind I lie in bed at night and feel thankful for.
There is a special glue that holds us all together, more than the dirt and
