The Farmer

I am a farmer
But I’ve been other things
A listener, a learner
A talker, a teacher
A follower
But now I’m a farmer
I’ve been up before the sun
I’ve emptied the udders and drawn the last drop
I’ve cleared the weeds as they willfully appear
And manipulated the sunlight in your favor
I’ve molded knowledge and instinct into palatable pellets to fertilize your growth
I’ve propped you up and trimmed you back
But you’re still wilder than the wildest whim of my imagination
And taller than the tall tale this would have seemed like years ago
I never saw myself as a farmer before I became one
And you’ve grown much faster than anticipated
In spite of my failings and fears
Or the fact that I planted you with unseen seeds in soil once thought infertile
We’ve grown together
You, into something that’s never been before
Me, into something that I couldn’t be without you
I’ve tended you and talked to you
Assuming that you hear me
Knowing often that you don’t
Your tallest tendrils now defy the shade
Gathering the light lower limbs than yours could never reach
Your broad leaves bend and curl
Guiding every rain drop to a cistern of your own design
My constant intervention is no longer needed
Routine has rendered once rigorous tasks into rote activities: water, weed, watch...
The bulk of work and weariness has dwindled into waiting
Waiting for green fruit to redden on the vine
So, I prepare for the harvest
Expectantly, reluctantly
Knowing that the quality of my yield gives value to my work
But that in the act of harvesting, I’ll be giving away what’s most valuable to me
These hands that cultivated and cared for you will one day be empty and idle
And this heart will be broken with nothing more to tend
In the meantime, I am still a farmer
And I will be other things
But now I am always
Also
A farmer.