In May of 1997, I arrived home from my last day of school to unwelcome news.

I would be spending my summer break on Uncle Jacob's farm.

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.

I wanted to lays the breezy days away at the beach, breathing in the salty scent of the

ocean while the golden sand warmed my back.

I wanted to sleep until noon, free from the shrill ring of my alarm clock,

before waking up to devour a bowl of sugary cereal in front of the TV. I wanted to ride my bike and leisurely sip lemonade

and reread all my favourite books. But for me, Summertime now meant hard work and an insufferable rural boredom that made sitting in a school

desk seem downright thrilling in comparison.

Begging mom to let me stay home was futile. She insisted that Uncle Jacob had fallen on difficult times

and needed assistance tending to the farm, even if he was too proud to ever admit it.

We had no other living family and dad had left us years ago before

eventually choosing to drop out of her lives entirely. Mom couldn't take the time off of

a job, leaving the responsibility of helping Uncle

Jacob to ultimately be heaped onto me.

I should clarify that I didn't inherently dislike my uncle.

I actually felt quite bad for him. Over the past year,

Uncle Jacob's life had become a painful cycle of hardship and grief.

Aunt Darce had died suddenly the previous year and while she never had a particularly genial man,

her death had made him grow stony and distant. His health was declining,

and the farmer who had once taken great pride in his crops now owned several

acres worth of neglect. I didn't blame him from the robbing of my summer. I knew it

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