Mary Ellen Webster

I spent the first twelve years of my life living on a farm in a town where few people come, few people leave, and time seems to stand still.
Although I was the youngest of four children, I still had to pull my weight in chores to ensure our farm ran smoothly. We had to pick blackberries, blueberries, and green beans in addition to collecting eggs from the hen house and caring for the goats. This meant rising by 6:00 am was necessary on most mornings to avoid the times of day when the weather was hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July.
We worked hard all day, every day, but no day was ever as important as the second Saturday in November. Each fall that I can remember there, we held our largest reaping of the season: the chicken harvest. In my family, we did not just merely go to our local grocery store and buy a chicken to roast for Sunday dinner, we had to raise and harvest it, and then we could eat it. My siblings and I were all expected to help with the procedure, and we learned more and more every year we did. The process of butchering a chicken was simple to me and it was one that I had grown accustomed to before the age of 5.
The lifestyle of the farm has left an ample effect on me and how I lead my life now. I can now appreciate the food that I am eating much more than knowing the amount of energy that goes into preparing and collecting it, whether I am eating in my kitchen, at a fancy restaurant, or in one of UGA’s dining halls.