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Jeannie Boyd sat on the porch in the early morning and sipped coffee and looked out over the farm.
My farm, she thought. All mine.
She felt a mixture of emotions: pride, a sense of accomplishment and, most of all, a feeling of contentment and satisfaction. She felt, she knew, that she had made the right choice in coming to the farm and settling down.
It had not been easy.
Six months before, she had been living in the city, pursuing a successful career. Then, fate had stepped in, as it often does. She received the news that her uncle had passed away and left her his farm.
Why her uncle would bequeath her the farm was a question Jeannie couldn’t answer with certainty. She hadn’t been particularly close to her uncle, and she hadn’t lived on a farm for years–not since she had left home after high school. She supposed it had something to do with the fact that she was her uncle’s only living relative.
When Jeannie had arrived at the farm, she had been overwhelmed. It was a medium-sized spread; actually, it was a combination farm and ranch, and Jeannie had thought: No way; no way am I going to be able to manage this. But she had found that it was manageable–thanks to Stumpy. He was a little old wizened bantam rooster of a man, and he had been her uncle’s manager and overseer for decades. And he more than knew his stuff. The farm-ranch was a going concern; crops as well as livestock were produced for market, and a number of workers were employed. (more…)