I’M A FARMER’S DAUGHTER
From Farm to Fundraiser: Finding Pride in My Roots
I grew up on a sweet potato farm, where “vacation” means a county fair and work starts before sunrise. My parents have “dirt under their nails and more grit than anyone I know.”
When I got a scholarship to a private city school, I thought it was a big break. But on day one, a girl sneered, “Ew. Do you live on a farm or something?” Others asked, “Wait, so you don’t have WiFi at home?” or joked about tractors.
Ashamed, I stayed quiet. I studied hard and never mentioned home—even though back there, I’m Mele: tire-patcher, chicken-wrangler, and produce-seller.
Everything changed at a school fundraiser. While others brought boxed cookies, I made six sweet potato pies using our family recipe. They sold out in twenty minutes.
That day, I stopped hiding where I came from. My roots weren’t something to escape—they were something to share.
