Springtime Farming A Happy Wife At Home Novels & Stories

“No—I’m far from town right now. Tomorrow evening should work. I suggest we start with all the leftover products. We can’t afford to waste anything. And I’ll be bringing the people we discussed.” “Understood. I’ll have everything ready before your arrival.” “Please do. I don’t want to spend more time there than necessary,” I said, then hung up. Sighing again, I murmured to myself, “I should stop by the farm… See how far Mom and Dad have gone with the produce.” I headed there right away, but nothing prepared me for the sight that greeted me. Instead of relaxing and giving instructions like usual, my charming, supposedly sick husband was out in the field—dressed in ragged clothes, completely s

The late afternoon sun swept through the tall windows of the Harrington family home, bathing every object with a soft golden glow over the sunroom that overlooked the sprawling rose garden. Three years had passed since that perfect spring wedding, and the estate had transformed in the most wonderful ways. A new swing set stood beneath the old oak tree, painted in soft pink and white. A small vegetable patch-Keira's proud project, bloomed with cherry tomatoes and colorful marigolds. And in the distance, a gentle white pony grazed lazily in the fenced paddock, its name (Sparkles) painted on a wooden sign in wobbly five-year-old handwriting.

“Barely? I just saved you from dehydration and painkiller neglect. That should earn me at least a B-plus in husbandry.” “Husbandry?” I laughed, covering my face. “That’s farming, Ethan.” “Exactly. You’re the crop, I’m the farmer. Keeping you alive and watered.” I groaned, laughing into the pillow. “That is the worst analogy I’ve ever heard.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “And yet, you’re smiling.” I shook my head, still laughing softly. “You’re impossible.” “Goodnight, impossible wife,” he said, pulling me closer.

Rhett meets me at the barn when I get back, takes the bags from my hands, and kisses me slow and lazy against the tailgate like we’re still twenty-somethings sneaking around. “House is empty till three,” he murmurs against my mouth. I laugh. “We have fences to fix, mister.” “Fences can wait five minutes.” They wait twenty. By ten we’re actually working (him on the tractor, me checking the pregnant mares). The sun is warm, the hills are green from the winter rain, and the radio is playing some old George Strait song we used to make out to in his truck during our first few years of marriage years .

As long as she remained safe and happy, I needed nothing else. As I fixed us something to eat, I told her how our neighbors were doing. She was friendly with our neighbors, but since she was due to give birth in the next few months, she has stayed home. The wives of other farmers in the area would visit her when they could, but she always seemed happy to hear about how things were going outside.

April stomped in bringing the warmth everyone yearned for, after a long winter, the drizzles and heat were welcomed with relief, the white snow was being replaced by green shrubs and daffodils that Lit every corner with the beauty of a landscape painting. It was one of those times Jemi wouldn't mind sitting down close to the pond just at the back of the house and throwing smooth stones into the water and watching it ripple, seeming almost impossible due to the high expectations her Job had, working two shifts except on Saturdays and Sundays, it felt almost unimaginable to do anything apart from toiling her ass off and going to school.

Spring in the valley was a relentless teacher. It didn't care for the elegance of a legal argument; it only responded to the precision of the planting. The "first green" had turned into a lush, aggressive canopy, and the cabin was now surrounded by a riot of life. I was no longer just the woman who had walked away from the firm. I was the woman who knew exactly how many days of sun it took to bring the snap peas to maturity, and how the soil composition near the eastern drainage ditch dictated the yield of our summer squash. The "geometry" of my life had shifted from the abstract to the tangible.

Friends that were mine. It was a beautiful spring morning. I was up early to feed the farm animals and make sure the farm equipment had been warmed up for the morning. It was 6am…the best part of the day to be up and out. I didn’t last past 9pm nowadays, my eyes calling for sleep as soon as I entered the caravan. Sometimes I didn’t even bother with dinner, the farmer’s wife making sure we all were well fed each morning knowing how hard a day’s labour can be on the body.

After the couple had their late lunch, Dean went back to the farm with Sean. The farmers happily greeted the couple when they saw them getting off the truck. Dean showed his husband around the farm. Sean was surprised to see the new tractors and other farming equipment and also a lot of new built greenhouses. No wonder Dean was so busy.