A Farmer's Son

A Farmer's Son: Part 1

     Atop a lone grain silo, sat a boy soon to be a man. In the early morning, just before the sun rises, when all is shrouded in a deep blue. He took in the deep, rolling hills of north-eastern Iowa while breathing the crisp yet damp air of the early spring morning. For miles in every direction, what the boy saw, were miles of empty fields, anxiously awaiting the seeds soon to be planted. The boy was born on this farm, was raised on this farm, and as of yet had rarely seen much beyond this farm. Deep in his soul the boy felt a deep sense of longing.  A longing to escape his isolated life by escaping the singular lifestyle on his family's farmstead. There was nothing physically keeping him there, rather he was bound by some invisible chain. A love, perhaps, for his father and mother? Or maybe it was indeed his own fear of going it alone only to possibly learn that he might not be cut out for the life of a vagabond.

          "Dakota!" His mother cried. "Breakfast is ready!"

     His mother's shrill voice cut through the serenity of his mountain-top-esque sanctuary. When Dakota climbed the silo, he knew that he would eventually have to return to his life below the clouds of solitude; but this felt like he was cutting it short. Dakota reluctantly and carefully descended the long ladder back to the, in comparison, safe, lightly frosted soil. He placed his hands into his pockets and began his trek back to his family's home. Their house was built back in 1898 by one of his ancestors. Although improved upon by subsequent generations the house had largely maintained aesthetic over the century or so that it had been standing. The biggest addition was surprisingly made during one of the Iowa Farmers' Strikes back in the 1930's; because unlike their unfortunate neighbors at the time, Dakota's family grew two crops, as well as livestock. Each head of household since has always sought to make one or two additions to the type of crops, livestock, or other money-making-means. Unsurprisingly this mentality had saved the farm, several times, from economic disasters that would have otherwise ruined any other farming family.

     Dakota sat down to breakfast with his father across from him and his mother still up and about busying herself in the kitchen. Dakota's father was a solemn man, he sat with one leg over another, reading his morning newspaper, and sipping a coffee. The coffee, which strongly stunk of whiskey, was how his father always started his mornings. Dakota's mother rarely made him a plate anymore, for any meal. Dakota rarely saw his father eat, unless it was at a a church potluck, and even then he never saw the man eat, more so just walk around with a plate of food. While some farmers had a musk of manure, cigarettes, or stale chew; Dakota's dad had the natural scent of whiskey. Though his father certainly was damaging his own health. He was never detrimental to the well-being of the family. On the contrary it made him more emotionally available. Dakota suspected that at some point his father might have felt the same way that Dakota does now, but that he eventually chose tradition over being himself; because occasionally he'll get a glimpse of his father, his real father. Somewhere, between sober and drunk, Dakota's real father was still in there, hanging on. His mother on the other hand seemed to fill the role that she had always wanted. She was ever the chipper person, always looking to do one thing or another around the house. Like a wife straight out of a 1960's sitcom. She was a caretaker to Dakota's father when he found himself at the bottom of a second bottle, she catered to both of their needs constantly and consistently; and for the life of him Dakota couldn't remember ever seeing the house in a less than pristine state. As for Dakota, he was a recent high-school graduate who had chosen to take a year off before going to college. He was a lean but strong kid, having been made to do farm work his whole life. He had a brown undercut, the top of which , when worn down, easily touched his shoulder. Though he mostly kept in a bun or ponytail. Dakota's father obviously wanted him to go to school for agriculture like everyone else, besides his mother, did; but Dakota really didn't know what he wanted to do. He felt as if he was meant for a greater purpose. Throughout high school and during his off time he would read or hear stories of great heroes or figures that had a positive affect on the outcome of human history. Dakota longed for his generation's great crusade but increasingly felt like he was born either too early or too late. Dakota feared most that his life would be squandered on his family farm and that he would ultimately lead a simple and unfulfilling life.