From the March 2001 magazine.

The Drover

I was raised on a farm in northern Pennsylvania. The work was hard; it never ended, and it seemed we were always behind. By the time the crops were in, we were late with the haying, which ran into the harvest, and there was always a fence to build and firewood to cut.

But I loved the work and never had to be ordered to do a job. In fact, my father couldn't make me stop working. Work was my first addiction. The harder I worked, the better I felt about myself. I was not just a useless little near-sighted child, but a man: an essential part of the eventual success of the farm.

-- Dale S.

Tioga, Pennsylvania

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