I’m a Farmer’s Daughter—And Some People Think That Makes Me Less
I was born and raised on a patch of land where the sunrise is our alarm clock, and hard work is a language we speak fluently. My father is a farmer, and I am his daughter. I grew up feeding calves before school, hauling hay in the summer, and driving a tractor before I was legally old enough to drive a car. While some people see that as a beautiful, humble beginning, others see it as a limitation—like growing up on a farm somehow makes me less worldly, less educated, or less capable.
I’ve seen the looks. I’ve heard the subtle jokes. “Oh, you’re just a farmer’s daughter? You probably haven’t seen much outside your small town.” There’s this unspoken assumption that farm life is small life, and small life means small dreams. But what they don’t understand is that farm life teaches you some of the biggest lessons there are: resilience, patience, problem-solving, sacrifice, and community.
Some people measure success in the shine of city lights or the height of office buildings. I measure it in harvests. In the feeling of soil between my fingers. In watching something grow from nothing because of hard work and care. I’ve learned more about business from watching my father manage equipment, weather challenges, and market prices than I did from textbooks. I’ve learned more about responsibility from tending animals than most learn in internships.
Yes, I’ve walked through fields in boots instead of down sidewalks in heels, but that doesn’t mean I walk through life any less confidently. I’ve learned to carry myself with pride because I know where I come from—and I know how hard it is to grow something from the ground up, literally and metaphorically.
When I left home to attend college, I quickly realized that people made assumptions about me. That I must be naïve, unexposed, maybe even a little simple. But I surprised them with my grit. While others crumbled under deadlines and stress, I handled the pressure like any farmer’s daughter would—head down, heart in it, and no complaints. Farming teaches you that life doesn’t stop for you. Crops don’t wait, and animals don’t care about your feelings. You show up anyway.
Being a farmer’s daughter doesn’t make me less. It makes me more. More grounded. More disciplined. More aware of the value of a dollar and the weight of a promise. More connected to the real rhythms of life—the kind that don’t need Wi-Fi to matter.
So, to anyone who thinks I’m less because of where I come from: you’re wrong. I’m not less because I’m a farmer’s daughter. I’m more because of it. And no amount of condescension can change that.
