In my neck of the woods there are a fair amount of farmers. In days gone by, there were a lot of them. Hardworking families try to make a living by the sweat of their brow, with their calloused hands, and from the land that was usually hard fought for – both to gain and to keep.
Many of my ancestors lived lives such as this. It was not by choice but by necessity they were what we hear deemed today as living a subsistence-lifestyle. It is to the legacy of these folks, made of real grit, I wrote this little piece:
There was once an old man
who took great pride in his land.
He worked in the dirt,
in his old grubby shirt,
to scratch out a living by hand.