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These are my hands. These hands have held my boys when they were babies, and my grandkids when they came along. They have held the loving hand of my husband and caressed him too. They have held the hand of a friend in need. They have held the hand of loved ones as they slipped away. My hands aren't pretty, my fingers and nails are short. Most of the time they are dry and chapped. They know play and they know work. For the longest time when I was younger I wanted long slender pretty hands. I have "farmer fingers" and over the years I have become proud of them. With my farmer fingers I can give my dogs a good scratch, type on the computer, pull the burrs out of my horses's manes and tails. My hands get chapped until they bleed in the winter cold. Like my mom, and grandma before me, our "farmer fingers" suit who they were and who I am.


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