Dirty and Tan and Loving It

My hands are not spotless.  My fingernails are torn and there is a definite line of dirt under each one.  My hands are scratched and scarred, my fingers bent, my palms blistered and calloused.

My arms are tan . . . until they reach my biceps.  My body is pasty white but my lower legs match my arms.  My neck is darkened but the top of my head is untouched - along the perfect line of my straw hat.

I walk with a slight stoop in the morning, and my feet hurt at night.  My joints crack and I groan when I stretch my back.

I love it all.

Each and every callous on my hands has a story.  The farmer's tan is come by honestly, by farming.  The dirt under my fingernails is my own and the plants which were tended by those hands, those fingernails, are just beginning to offer up their thanks in the form of fresh goodies.

I love it all.