I grew up on the south side of the farm district. Up wind from the smell, but there was no escaping the farm life. Up at dawn to do chores. Maybe some breakfast before the 1/4 mile walk down the lane to catch the bus. Back at the farm at 3:53 to do more chores, homework, some supper and maybe a little play time if the sun was still out. That was my life from 5 years old until I left home at 16 because I ddn't want to be a farmer anymore. Not a farmer on their land. I wanted to be a farmer on my own land. With my own house, my own kids and my own homemade breakfast biscuits. So I hitched a ride out of town in a black pick up truck and gave my first head to a semi truck driver at a Dixie truck stop. By the end of my first four days on the road, I had made $1300 and got an apartment in a small town north of McHenry. Close to the Wisconsin border. Close enough to smell the dairy farms I wanted to be on and far enough from my father so he couldn't call me if he wanted to.