Tessie D

I live on a farm outside of town in rural Texas. Our house sits between red crepe myrtles and live oak trees that rain small, almond-shaped leaves year-round. Behind the house is the pasture where we have cows and the horse, Prince, Momma and Daddy bought me for my 11th birthday. 

Before we moved to Texas, Daddy was fixed radios in the Army. He always had to do what others told him, live where they told him to live. Now, I think Daddy likes the freedom of farm-work—waking up in the morning when he wants to, going out to the pasture when or if he wants to. And, Momma just wants him to be happy. 

They say that I don’t care about the farm, but I don’t think that’s true. It’s just that I also resent the farm—its needs always come before my own. The cows need feed, but I need back-to-school supplies. The tractor breaks down, but I have outgrown my basketball shoes. So, we fix the tractor and buy the feed.

Then, last year, we lost much of the herd to Black Leg, and it seems that every year the heat burns up most of the hay in the field before Daddy can get out there to bale it. Momma spends most of her time at work and asleep, and Daddy drinks too much. It is all just too hard. The toll takes too much.