Spring came and I planted my garden as usual. I was thinking about how to leave home. I was tired of being reminded of Daniel at every turn. The pain was still too deep. Eliyah was still trying to get into my pants after I sat rubbing his feet, even when I'd been crying silently in the dark. His behavior had stepped up a notch now that I was 18. He pinched my breasts at every possible opportunity, or tried to feel me up. My shirt had filled out embarrassingly. I wished privately that it hadn't, that they were a lot smaller. Every time I tried to run, these tender, sensitive grapefruit sized blobs of flesh slammed against my ribcage. It was uncomfortable, but more than that, they invited so much unwanted attention. I was never going to get married, so what were they good for? He was constantly commenting on my body. A favorite was to say that I had heavy thighs. It was true that my thighs were large in proportion to my body, but there was no excess fat at all there. They were pure muscle, trained for hard work. Most of my body's power was there, although between the wood splitting and the milking, I was getting a powerful set of forearms to match.

I never thought about whether I was attractive or not. This was superfluous. The only thing that mattered was whether my body was able to do the work I wanted it to do. My days of trying to be attractive were pretty much over as quickly as they'd begun. I never looked at myself in a mirror. I knew that my sister's waist was smaller, that she was growing taller than me. But I didn't care about her looks...although the height bothered me. I hated being short. What I enjoyed was that I was strong, strong enough to lift and carry 80 lb sacks of feed although I was only 120 lbs myself at the most...never weighed myself either...so I don't know. I liked working alongside grown men and being able to keep up with them. Splitting wood by hand while they slacked off at the wood splitting cone mounted on a truck's hub. What a cop-out! I could split faster than that! My shirts didn't fit right anymore. They were too tight at the wrist, and my favorite red/blue plaid flannel shirt split across the shoulders and back.

Eventually, I came to a decision. If I couldn't be a farmer's wife (and Daniel was the only farmer I wanted), then I would be the farmer.