Family, Fiction, Relationship and marriage, Writing

On the farm

The harvest is minimal this year.

Still, Bessie refuses to become despondent. She draws breath, drops to her knees and gives thanks for all she’s received.

Bob hops off the tractor and steps into the brightness of the day. In the distance, he sees Bessie on her knees in the veggie patch; he stops in this tracks, always blown away by her unwavering faith. Life’s been so tough over the last decade, he’s lost his. But Bessie holds firm. Believes. Prays. Trusts. Rinse and repeat.

He watches as Bessie stands; her arms rise towards the heavens. Her face takes on the sunlight and he sees the young woman she used to be. Before life on the land hardened her skin and age widened her girth.

‘Sorry Bessie,’ he whispers, feeling the weight of blame settle on his shoulders. It’s unreasonable; they chose this life together, equal partners in all decisions, shares and ownership. He tries to shrug the heaviness off, but it remains there, feels like a harness.

Bessie opens her eyes. She grins broadly, still with her face towards the sun. After a beat, Bob shakes himself from his reverie and throws the hay bales into the paddock. He hears a twig snap behind him. Turning sharply, he jumps to see Bessie approaching. She never comes this far from the farmhouse.

‘You right, love?’ he calls.

‘Yep, dandy.’ She throws her arms around his waist and squeezes tight. ‘Love you, Bob.’

He kisses her; marvels at the strength of this woman and his luck that she chose him.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

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