There are farmers, want a be's, and then there are "farmers". These folks that are "farmers" have jeans that if they could speak would tell you adventures beyond your wildest dreams. These "farmers" were folks that were brought up growing for their survival, sustaining their very being. They grew up with a shovel in one hand, a straw hat and a knak for understanding mother nature. They had to, it was their life.
The skin on the hands of the "farmer" is browned, tough, but yet soft to a childs face. The eyes of a farmer sees farther and deeper and yet has an understanding wink. The smile on the "farmers" face cannot be mistaken, for it speaks of truth, kindness and love.
These "farmers" can read the land, understand soil without a microscope and love to eat a fresh dug raw potato.
Our ol' red tractor is missing his friend this spring. His "farmer" has left our fields for greener pastures. Oh the tractor is still started each day and proudly plows the fields but there is someone missing when you see it pass by the house. Even though that ol' red tractor is just made of rusty iron it will always host the rememberance of "Tractor Papa" now driving his new tractor in Heaven. Miss you Papa...