Daddy's Little Girl

Aww....... harvest. 

the sweet sound of diesel engines roaring across the countryside. 

perhaps one of my favorite times of the year. 

I cannot count the number of times I've slipped up into the buddy seat in the cab of the combine, spending 

hours

riding along with dad. Talking his ear off about everything I think of. 

Then, eventually, settling down into that big drivers seat, wrapping my hand around the propulsion lever. 

My hand appearing so small on the button covered shifter.  

One hand lightly resting on the wheel, the other lowering the head into the rows. 

The corn vanishes into the combine with ease. 

Hard to believe I've ran this beast alone for years. 

Hard to believe Dad is so fluent with all the technology he has incorporated into his farming operation. 

The man who cannot read a text message, has a state of the art monitor, touch screen, more buttons than even I know what to do with. 

This post really is not about me, or harvest, it's about my dad. 

I love my dad. He's a farmer. I used to want to do anything but farm, but the older I get, the more I see how much that lifestyle is me. It's who I am. It's who my daddy raised me to be. And in the spring and fall, that buddy seat time I put in, is about all I get to see of him. And I love to see his face light up when I climb up the ladder and plop down next to him. Gets even brighter when I ask to drive. 

I really am Daddy's Little Girl. 

I emulate my father. 

I want to farm someday. 

I bought the same gun he bought when he was my age. 

I can't help but think he wanted a son; what father doesn't?

But I am sure he's okay with girls. 

Especially cause his girls are like me, who are like him. 

More excited by Guns and Tractors then Shoes and Dresses. 

Always ready to go play in the dirt with a big red toy. 

Thanks daddy, for making me who I am today.