There's something about riding in the back of my uncle's pick up truck as the sun goes down, deep blue melting into pinks and golds. Letting the wind blow curls across my face and my shoulder blades jar against the side as tires spit up dust.
It's good to be quiet and look out over fields rolling away from me, permission to breathe and be content. There's a pride in knowing the generations before me worked every day with dirt beneath their nails, knew the value of hard work, gave their lives to a job that few can appreciate or understand.
My uncle let me ride the palomino - climbed the fence and threw a leg over, a few moments of naked knees against a smooth coat, fingers twisted tightly in her mane. Out of my element, but thankful for people who live their lives differently than mine.
It's good to see there are many ways to live a life well. If you love what you do, and you do it whole heartedly. That, I think is the key.