Arrays of Agricultural topics 👉Choose-Write-Post#32

Agricultural Diaries

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The rooster woke me before the sun, the sound loud enough to break any dream I was having. I drag myself out, eyes heavy but heart willing because the farm doesn’t care if I’m tired. Morning air was cold and soft, smelling like wet earth after light dew. In my little book, I scribble a note: sol nascitur (the sun rises) and life begins again.

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I walked first to my beans patch, a corner behind the hut where I placed sticks last week. The beans are climbing slowly but steady, like children growing. I touched their leaves, the leaves are green and alive, and whispered thanks as if they could hear me. Small things in farming feel like big victories. One leaf had tiny holes, maybe worms, I will need to look after that soon.

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The goats, oh, they started bleating like impatient market sellers. They know when it is time for grass, and they don’t let me forget. I carried bundles of cut grass from the corner, dropped them in front, and they rushed like kings to a feast. A little goat, still young, pulled at my shirt with its teeth. I pushed gently but laughed, because it is these silly things that make the hard work lighter.

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Chickens followed me around while I moved. Their feet scratching everywhere, dust flying like little storms. I threw handfuls of maize, and they pecked so fast I wondered if they even taste it. Life in the farm is always noise, not like the town silence with only cars and voices. Here, animals speak their own language every hour.

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Afternoon sun burned harder, but cassava field doesn’t wait. I carried my hoe, walked slowly to the plot where cassava stood strong. The weeds had already grown back since last week, tall, stubborn things. My back bent, sweat dripped down my face, but my hands were still cutting and clearing. I remembered my grandfather's favorite latin words(one of his favorite latin words actually): labor omnia vincit—hard work conquers all. Maybe that is why farmers hardly give up, because the soil rewards only those who keep digging.

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Later, I checked the yam mounds. Some vines already crawling across the ground, tying themselves like ropes. The soil felt a bit dry, so I fetched water, poured carefully. Farming is never just one job, it is many, like you are mother, father, doctor, and guard all in one body. Plants are like children(obviously), they need daily care like every single day .

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Evening came soft, the horizon painted in orange, pink, and shadows. Cows returned slowly, bells clinking as they moved. I sat on a stool outside, arms tired but heart light. There is a peace that farming gives, something city people may never understand. The sound of crickets, goats lying down, chickens silent, and the sky slowly dark.

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I opened my diary again, writing quickly before the light disappeared. Farming teaches patience, spes (hope), humility. The land doesn’t rush, it doesn’t follow your clock, it teaches you to wait. I think sometimes, every seed is like a prayer, you cover it in soil and trust the future to answer.

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Some days are heavy, rains flood the ground, or pests destroy what I worked for months. Other days, like today, small green leaves bring joy so deep that words cannot carry it fully. My hands may ache, my back bent, but my spirit stays strong. Farming is not just work, it is vita (life).

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Tomorrow I will rise again, maybe earlier, maybe later, depending on the rooster’s mood. More weeds will appear, goats will still shout, and chickens will chase after maize. Nothing ever stops. But I will still write it down, because these diaries are more than record—they are memory, they are proof that simple living is still a kind of beauty.

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I invite @promisezella @etoro @mayjay @kwinberry to participate in this contest

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