sell the farm

The envelope had to be there. It was three weeks from the day that she was given the confirmation that her application was received and the anticipation she felt each time she went to the mailbox was like the roller coaster at the county fair carnival she would always get sick on but refused not to ride.

Opening the lid as the cars whizzed by, her heart was in her throat. There were a few envelopes—none of which she cared about—so she hurriedly shuffled through them until the final one had the mascot she knew very well. She almost dropped the stack because her hands started shaking, and without even closing the lid, she bolted up the gravel driveway to the farmhouse that she desperately wanted to leave.

She knew that what was in that envelope would be her freedom or her demise and throwing down the rest of the stack on the kitchen table, she nervously opened the envelope. She was so nervous her eyes almost didn’t focus at first when she read the first few words: “Congratulations on your acceptance…” There it was. The beginning of a sentence that would begin to change her life.

Having trouble focusing again—not because of nerves but because of tears—she read the letter four more times before putting it down and sitting down. She got in. A part of her knew that she would because she worked her ass off in school, but second-guessing her worth was second nature in her small family, so she doubted that anyone would give her this chance to escape the life that was being taken each time she woke up.

It wasn’t until picking up the letter and reading it for the fifth time that she realized there was one part missing that she included in all those late-night prayers. The money being offered as a scholarship didn’t cover the entire tuition. Her father couldn’t give her the money for the application fee, so how could she even ask for help with tuition.

As she finished reading the letter again, hunting for a buried treasure, her dad returned from the field. She could smell the manure before he came in—another reminder of why what she was holding was so important. Without a hello he looked at the mail, sat down and noticed her tear stains. He asked her why she was crying, and she silently passed the letter over to him. Maybe, just maybe she thought, he will show her what she needs him to show her, but as he finishes skimming the letter he huffs—his disapproval clear and her heart cracking open wider.

They sat there for a few moments, silent, until she got up gently and walked out of the kitchen, trying desperately to hold in the grief that was suffocating her. He heard her walk to her room, close her door and let out the sobs that were strangling her. It wasn’t that he wasn’t proud of her, he was, but his pride was clouded with shame that he couldn’t help her in the way she needed him. Between working at the feed mill and trying to keep the farm from foreclosure, there wasn’t any money, but he had an idea.

What she didn’t know was that he knew she sent the application—even after he said it was useless. She didn’t know that he called the school afterwards to talk to the financial aid department. She didn’t know that he was trying to find any way possible to help her with a dream he didn’t understand. She didn’t know that he found a solution.

In about two months, he would sell the farm’s old barn and the few acres of land it sat on in order to make up for what she didn’t receive in the scholarship. It would probably be enough for the four years. She would have to work every summer and help pay the rest, but he would get her there and get her through it.

He got up as his knees creaked louder than the old chair did and walked to her closed door. Tapping gently on the door, he asked her to open up, and she did. Trying to hold back the tears, she looked up at him and in his gruff and rough way, he told her congratulations and told her he was going to help her with the money. Her face went from confusion, to joy, to sadness and the tears started rolling again. She told him he couldn’t do that, but he just put up a hand and told her the deal was done.

She was going to college. She was going to get off the farm and out of the dead-end town. She was going to have a life that was better than one staying in town.

He was losing the barn his father built with his own hands. He was losing acres of rich soil that corn could be planted, reaped and sold. He was losing his daughter he realized he hardly knew.

The day before she was leaving for school was the day the deal was being done. He didn’t realize she was watching him stand in the barnyard door while he signed away the deed to what she thought was just the barn. He didn’t know she was watching him wait for its new owner to drive off so he could make peace with his decision on his own terms.

It was still there, and going to be there, but it was no longer his. The barn where he played in as a boy, broke his hand in while playing on the hay bales, and where he kissed the woman for the first time who was no longer around.

She watched her father close the door to the barn that ended something for him but began something for her. She assumed the money he got from it would only pay for the first year of school, but she would work as hard as she could to receive a larger scholarship for the rest of the time. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she was going to do it.

She stood there waiting for him—waiting to thank him but not sure how to. As he got to the porch, he paused and looked at her. He took a breath and told her that she would not have to worry about anything but studying while she was in school. When he signed the papers, it wasn’t just the barn that was being purchased, but the farm as well.

She froze, and before she could protest, he pulled her close for a hug that seemed to make up for all the years without one. She knew the sacrifice and vowed to make it up to him someday.

She hoped he knew that she was worth it and that she would make him proud.

He did.