Once, a girl named Meilin wrinkled her nose and said, “Can’t you shower before school?” loud enough for everyone to laugh. Still, I didn’t hate the farm. I loved it — the rhythm of milking before sunrise, the quiet of dawn, the first breath of a newborn calf. Dad always said, “When your feet are on soil, your head’s clearer.”

But I tried to shrink myself. Wore perfume. Avoided talking about home. No matter what I did, I was always “cow girl.” Then came Spirit Week senior year — “Dress As Your Future Self.” Everyone else showed up as doctors and CEOs. I came as me: clean jeans, boots, and Dad’s hat. People stared. I didn’t flinch.

That afternoon, my ag teacher, Mr. Carrillo, handed me a flyer for an FFA public speaking contest — topic: The Future of Farming. “You