This morning, Papa came to our door, dropping off a small snack. It was a simple gesture — a pack of crackers and some juice — meant for Kenzley, who had overslept and missed breakfast. But as I looked at Papa standing there, dusty boots on the porch and sweat still clinging to his brow despite the early hour, I saw something in his eyes that unsettled me. He looked… tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep cures, but the kind that seeps into your bones after years of relentless work and worry.

“Are you okay?” I asked gently, watching him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

He gave a quick nod, as expected. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. But I knew he wasn’t.

So I asked again. “What’s wrong?”

That’s when he looked down, pausing for a long moment before replying, his voice quieter this time. “I think I just got too hot yesterday. But griping about it won’t help. Things have to get done around here, one way or another.”

And in that moment — with those words, with that weary but determined face — something inside me shifted. It hit me like a wave: we don’t thank our farmers enough.

We don’t pause often enough to consider the weight they carry, day after day. The early mornings and late nights. The constant battle with weather, soil, markets, and machinery. The pressure to keep things running, no matter what. Whether it’s 105 degrees and the sun is punishing, or it’s freezing and the wind cuts like a blade — they go on. Because they have to.

There’s no “out of office” sign on a farm. No waiting for better conditions. There’s always something to do. Cattle need feeding. Crops need tending. Equipment needs fixing. The work doesn’t stop, even when the body begs for rest.

And they don’t complain. Not really. Not in the way most people would. Papa could’ve told me how the heat nearly took him down yesterday. He could’ve listed a dozen things going wrong. But instead, he just said, “Things have to get done.” That’s the heart of a farmer. Quiet. Resilient. Unshakeable.

So today, I want to say something — not just to Papa, but to all the men and women like him:

Thank you.

Thank you to the papas, the dadas, the moms, the grandmas, the uncles and aunts, the sons and daughters who farm. Who give their everything so we can have food on our tables. Fuel in our tanks. Clothes on our backs. You are the backbone of this country.

And to everyone reading this: Don’t just thank a farmer. Pray for them. Support them. Stand by them. Because they need us too. They need our gratitude, our understanding, and our voices speaking up for the work they do — work most of us could never fully grasp.

Farming isn’t just a job. It’s a calling. It’s a sacrifice. It’s love in action.

So next time you pass a farmer — in the store, on the road, or maybe dropping off snacks on your porch — look a little deeper. See the lines in their face, the grit in their hands, and the weariness in their eyes.

And let them know you see them.

Because they deserve more than our thanks.
They deserve our respect, our care, and our prayers.
🌾🙏❤️

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Credit: Hardesty Cattle Co