“Most days… no one even looks up when I walk by.”
I head out to the fields before the sun rises,
hands already knowing the work ahead.
Long hours.
Quiet rows.
Just me, the soil… and the weight of providing.
People pass by—
cars rushing, lives moving fast—
but no one says hello.
Maybe because of the dirt on my clothes.
Maybe because this kind of work goes unseen.
But this work feeds families.
It puts food on tables I’ll never sit at.
It’s honest.
It’s heavy.
And it matters more than most people realize.
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