Where Hard Work Lives On

We had offered to run this errand since it was just a side trip on our way home. We set the GPS to find a rural farm. I’ve lived on the Olympic Peninsula for over thirty years, yet I had never seen this area before.

The land was beautiful—fertile fields of grain and hay, with cows grazing in lush pastures.

We turned into a dusty driveway, the mailbox number matching the directions we’d been given.

A smiling young man and a lively toddler soon approached. He shook our hands warmly and introduced himself and his son—Jake and Trig.

We marveled at the setting, surrounded by the evidence of hard work, investment, and production. Jake grinned. “I’m the fifth generation to live here, and this little guy is the sixth.”

It was clear he didn’t mind the long hours, or even our after-dinner intrusion to pick up a quarter beef he’d raised and processed. This was his life’s calling.

“I get to the end of the year and if I make zero, that’s okay,” he said, “as long as I can pay my bills and keep working here.”

As we drove away, I thought: this is what America really is. Hardworking. Providing. Caring. And getting up to do it again tomorrow.

Happy Labor Day, my friends.


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