I asked my mom recently if, when she was a young person, she had any big dreams about what she wanted her life to be like when she grew up.

She said, “No, not really. Life and opportunities kept opening up in front of me and wherever I was that’s where I wanted to be.”

I had to think on that a minute. 

To be honest, my initial nonverbal reaction was a quizzical, “Really?” It was inconceivable that my vivacious, creative, and industrious mother never had a greater ambition than being an Alabama housewife and mother of nine (four stepchildren and five biological children). 

She is extraordinarily content.

A memory from 1986 exemplifies this attitude perfectly. 

I remember seeing her on a backdrop of a crystal blue sky, hair wind-blown from the spring breeze, her face alight with happiness and joy. She was beautiful. 

– Me, age 14

Let me begin with a bit of background. 

For as long as I can remember, my dad has gardened, usually planting a big garden at “the field” and a small one close to our house. Gardening was a family affair and my mom’s affirming presence helped me endure many of my gardening chores.

On a gorgeous spring Saturday, close to my 14^th birthday, dad had an opportunity to get some especially nutrient rich fertilizer from a nearby cow pasture. Yes, dear readers, cow patties.

Dad piled us onto the back of Old Jim, our blue Ford farm truck, and drove us to the pasture. Mercifully he handed out work gloves and instructed us to pick up cow manure and throw it on the back of the truck. 

My teenage self had a moment of revulsion and disbelief. There were tears. I mean what other girl, or boy for that matter, spent their Saturday chucking cow turds? Of all the chores I had done in my life up to that point this was the most embarrassing. 

I appealed to my mother, “Why are we doing this?” 

She seemed unperturbed. “It’s good fertilizer,” she said. 

“I don’t want to spend my day picking up cow poop,” I dramatically lamented. 

“I know,” she empathized. “But it has to be done. The sooner you help fill up the truck bed, the faster we’ll get out of here,” she said matter-of-factly.

This response isn’t extraordinary but, observing my mom during this “dirty job” has stuck with me.

Here we were in the middle of a pasture, doing something none of us wanted to do, and my mom just calmly and pleasantly did it. She burst into song and eventually we all joined in. She contrived games to make the chore more fun for my younger siblings. I remember seeing her on a backdrop of a crystal blue sky, hair wind-blown from the spring breeze, her face alight with happiness and joy. She was beautiful. Even doing an awful job my mom found contentment.

How does one acquire this quality? I’ve often wondered about this because I struggle with restlessness and the need for self-actualization. My mom’s example, her encouragement, and prayers sustain me even now. She finds fulfillment and purpose in every day and each moment, and it inspires me.

Henry David Thoreau insightfully said, “Wealth is the ability to fully experience life.” This phrase sums up my mom. 

She didn’t have to see the Grand Canyon, put her feet in the ocean, dine at a five-star, smell like Chanel, or hear the thunder of Niagara to live a full life. She found her purpose and her joy in the embrace of her children, the song of the bobwhite, the smell of tilled earth, the taste of a freshly picked peach, and the sight of a full family table. 

I love you, mom. I’m proud of you. You’re the richest person I know.