Farmhouse Riches

Ever since I was younger, I’ve lived on this farm. Everything about it reminds me of home, from the smell of Grandma’s baking to the cow manure. Not only is this farm important to me, but it’s also important to this community.

Because of us, different communities would get the supplies they needed to fund whatever they needed. Large corporations, the orphanage, the local flea market—everybody. It’s always been this way for generations.

That’s why I’m such a generous person. I’m a firm believer that everyone deserves more than one chance. Just like when I was younger, and I watched Granddaddy give people second chances—the homeless, the broken, even me.

When I was around five, my parents decided to go on a much-needed vacation to a beach. I don’t remember all the details due to being so young, but I know their plane crashed before they touched down.

I hadn’t gotten the news until a week later. I knew something was wrong when no babysitter showed up, nobody was there to answer the phone, and everything seemed unusually quiet everywhere I went. That was until I saw my grandparents standing on the doorstep.

They didn’t give me much time to adjust before they moved me to the farm. Grandaddy did his best to make this farm feel like home, and he succeeded, but not without struggle.

It was years before I could walk into the farmhouse without feeling uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong. But Granddaddy taught me everything I know now, like my father would’ve. Well, everything except how to cook; that was Grandma’s job.

I was about twenty-two when Grandaddy was diagnosed with prostate cancer. It was too late for chemotherapy; we were forced to sit there and watch him fade away in front of our eyes. It felt like hearing about my parents’ death all over again.

When they read out his will, it turned out he left me the farm, knowing Grandma wouldn’t be able to move like she used to. Taking care of a farm is a big responsibility, one I didn’t think I could handle.

It was a stressful few years, from me taking over the farm to marrying the love of my life to eventually having all three of my children. Having to deal with all that gave me a great idea: start a farming program. Have kids who want to experience farm life come over here and learn more about what it’ll take.

The program was an instant hit. I didn’t know how many people loved farm life until the first batch of kids came. It continued on this way for years as multitudes of people continued to join the program. I was surprised when wealthy folk would join the program, but it always turned out horribly.

The first boy’s father was the CEO of one of the corporations we supplied for. He only lasted a day before he complained about how disgusting the farm was and how he couldn’t believe how his dad would take us for suppliers. Safe to say that his family is no longer entangled with mine.

The second time, about three rich girls came. It was like scenes out of a movie as she freaked out over some cow shit. She was the first to leave, her two friends following after her. The third time was two years ago; they were twins. They lasted a few hours before they left, thanks to their stuck-up parents. Every time this happened, I felt like I was letting everyone down, especially Grandaddy.

Still, I stuck with it despite the struggles. Grandma’s been the most vocal about her disapproval of the program. She’s always mentioning what my kids would think and how I need to shut the program down immediately.

In her eyes, the farm is sacred, and the people who signed up will never truly understand the deep connection we have to the farm. Despite her protests, I refuse to close down the program.

Maybe that’s because my ego keeps winning against my head, but I just can’t give up something that would make Granddaddy so proud, something that makes me so proud.

I looked to the rest of the family for support of the program, but they all had mixed feelings. My husband just did it to keep me happy; he didn’t care what happened either way since he worked in the market instead of the farm most of the time.

My kids weren’t happy about being bullied by people who barely knew them, but they sucked it up for my sake. It broke my heart seeing my little ones running to their father instead of me in the hope that they won’t hurt my feelings.

Even my son’s friends don’t fully support the program. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t ask anymore, and I just do what I think is best, no matter what anyone has to say about it. Even if that means going to sleep in a cold bed and waking up not knowing if my husband slept that night or not.

The opinions that seem to matter to me the most, though, are the boys’. There are five of them, perfect to tutor whoever comes to the farm, especially when I’m busy doing other things. Except for my son, the other boys are also like sons to me.

I hate hearing the pained cries of Ethan after a hard day and the anger issues of Maverick as he tries not to break something when he’s locked in his room. Even when I know they’re near, the house still feels tense some nights and empty the other nights.

Currently, I’m sitting alone at the dining room table, clutching a letter in my hands. I just got the letter for the kids coming this year; there are going to be five of them. According to the background information, the girls met when they were kids and have stayed friends ever since.

I don’t want to read the parents’ names on the slip, but I know I have to; I’ve seen at least one of these girls on television before. My eyes slowly trail down as I let out a heavy sigh. They’re all children of important business moguls, and I know these one or two days are going to be hell for the boys, but I have to have faith.

I slam the letter down on the table, the thud being the only sound in the silent house as I move it out of my view. I massage my head tiredly, feeling a headache beginning to form as I lean back in my chair.

No one has faith in the program anymore, and it’ll stay like that if my motivation continues to fall. Not only because of the people at home doubting me, but also the people in town. This program affects everyone, and I need to make sure that this year is different. I have to try my hardest for Grandaddy.