My dad is a farmer. Our neighbors are farmers. My brothers now farm and have sons who just might follow in their footsteps one day.
It took me a taste of “city life” to realize just how much I appreciate my rural roots. One year (and two days!) into my job at the Iowa Soybean Association, I’ve already met so many hardworking families and am continually impressed by all that they do; day, night, weekends and holidays. So, for my family, and those farming friends who have welcomed me like family, I wrote this poem as a tribute for the hours you put in, all year-round.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
Christmas on the Farm
By Lindsey Foss
‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the barn,
The animals were stirring; cozy, comfy and warm.
Chores were soon underway, as they are each morning and night,
And heavy snowflakes fell beneath the towering yard light.
My dad pulled on his boots, his hat and his gloves,
And set across the drive, making tracks from the snowfall above.
I watched him head to the barn, my nose pressed to the glass,
And awaited his usual return once two hours had passed.
By definition the evening was like any other,
But little did I know what I soon would discover.
There’s magic, you see, in each Christmas Eve,
And the spirit of the holiday comes to those who believe.
As I shook my presents, guessing what was in store,
My dad rushed to the porch and through the front door.
A calf would be coming, making his appearance tonight,
And his new mother in distress, putting up a strong fight.
My mom called the vet and begged he venture out in the storm,
To help this cow and her baby, soon-to-be born.
We had to act quick, with her health on the brink,
So mom got us bundled, without a second to think.
Then the vet arrived, without a moment to spare,
As the mother was fading, becoming worse for the wear.
‘Send us a miracle,’ my dad would plea,
As he clenched tight to the hands of my sister and me.
I watched in wonder as they worked into wee morning hours,
And take their prayers to the sky, asking He send down His powers.
And just like that, it seems worry shifted.
The vet turned to my parents, his spirits now lifted.
‘They’re going to pull through,’ he said with a nod,
As my parents embraced and sent thanks up to God.
It wasn’t long after that the calf and his mother would lay,
And our family would spend our first Christmas in the hay.
I’ll always remember the day not by games or toys,
But by being together and the feelings of joy.
Because while Santa may scurry down the chimney so swift,
I know being raised on the farm is my best Christmas gift.