15.

Fifteen years.

I'm pretty sure it's only been five,

although those three kids we have living in our house were born, potty-trained, and are running around doing schoolwork now,

so I guess it has been a few more.

The mums are blooming in my garden.

There were mums all over the place at the wedding.

They were yellow, maroon, purple.

My aunt bought them to help with the decorating.

They made the auditorium beautiful;

and I must be weird because I love the smell of them.

I kept some of those mums, planted them, and a maroon one grew back and bloomed for years.

I brought it from Maryland when we bought our farm here five years after the wedding.

So yes, it has been more than five years,

just doesn't seem like it.

I've painted a lot of walls and furniture pieces,

he's mucked out a lot of barn stalls.

We've eaten a lot of meals,

sang a lot of "Happy Birthday" and Christmas carols.

When I walked up the aisle that day,

I didn't have the foggiest clue what my life was going to look like:

 

didn't know I'd help castrate calves and butcher chickens,

didn't know that roosters could be very mean,

didn't know just how many hundreds of bugs are determined to eat up a garden when trying to grow vegetables organically.

We've watched a lot of sunsets.

He sees the sun rise nearly everyday while I sleep, so sunsets work better for us,

although he's often on a tractor or skid loader when the sun is going down if the weather is decent.

I changed all the diapers the three kids went through except for 3 diapers,

or maybe 4,

although he insists it was more than that.

 I'm pretty sure it was less.

But it's okay: he warned me of that.

It was a promise I made before we had children.

He does enough of those other things,

like seeing the sunset everyday on his way to work while I am still sleeping,

that I felt it only right I do something I knew was really not his thing.

It works for us, this balancing act of working around the others likes and dislikes.

He brings home gifts from the neighboring farmers in response to his helping them out,
but I know we wouldn't have those if he didn't have a heart of love to help.

He brings home little things he finds that he knows I will like,

shares stories with me from his day,

reads to me articles that he knows I will find interesting,

thanks me when I cook something that actually tastes like it is supposed to.

"Romance in work clothes, no airs of superfluity,

buttoned up with sincerity,"

that's how I would label his romance.

There are different ways of bringing romance to the marriage, I think.

He has the kind I like and need.

Romance can be more than the obvious.

It can be stability and loyalty,

appreciation when it is needed.

Laughing when it's too funny not to.

It can be saving up and waiting,

forgiving angry words when the waiting isn't easy.

It is knowing that God is there standing in front of both of you...

to guide and help.

 

Of course, sticking together and working through the hard times is part of the process.

A very dear friend of mine helped me with some advice when I was getting married:

"If you can make it through the first years of marriage without killing him,

you'll be fine."

I was glad she told me, so when I wondered at times in our marriage how we'd ever recover from our differences,

her humorous wisdom helped me through.

And I am sure the groom felt as thoroughly convinced of the same tolerance level for me

more times than sanity should allow.

So after fifteen years of marriage,

I think it is kind of nice that the mums bloom in my garden and make me think back to our wedding day, and I still get a little twinge in my stomach from the anticipation, love, and nerves I felt on that day.

That is the real reason there are flowers at weddings, isn't it?

They remind us women whenever we see them of the wonderful moments we felt on our wedding day.

I am pretty sure that is why I love mums.

And if my Farmer tells me there are other better reasons why flowers are a big part of weddings,

I'll just say as always that they said so in the Reader's Digest,

 and my husband will have to know that I am right.

So, thanks for sticking with me, Farmer.

Let's enjoy some more years of keeping the tractor working,
 the kids from making too many messes,
and the fragrant mums blooming.