I’ve been up at 5 a.m. every day since I was twelve. Cows don’t wait, and neither does the sun. Most folks in my high school couldn’t understand that. While they were Snapchatting their lattes, I was wrist-deep in feed buckets. I didn’t mind at the time—farm life made me strong, grounded. But the teasing stuck with me.
They’d call me “Hay Girl” or “Bessie’s Bestie” like it was hilarious. Even the teachers kind of smiled along. I remember once in sophomore year,
I came to class smelling like manure—one of our calves had slipped in the mud that morning, and I’d helped my dad lift her back up. No one cared that I saved that calf. They just held their noses.
By the time I graduated, I had zero invites to any of the senior parties. I went home, helped my mom finish the evening chores, and told myself those people didn’t matter Read more below
