OUT HERE BY DEREK FLETCHER
I am 55 years old. I am a country boy. A farmer. A rancher. It is how I make my living. It’s not just a hobby. It is a lifestyle.
B
ut, I have not always lived this way. I was born in Baton Rouge. Raised in a place called Belle Chasse, where the Mississippi river empties into the gulf. Surrounded by roads, levees and people, I never could have believed I would end up here. And, frankly, neither would anyone else who knew me then. But as life would have it, I did. And I am. I went to high school at a place that would rival the size of most community colleges. In the graduating class of around 500, there were people I never even met. The campus had a ten-foot tall fence around it, and “disciplinarians” walked the perimeter carrying orange two-way radios on their hips, ready to sprint after any would-be escapees. My friends and I were muscle car buffs. We drove on the streets of New Orleans as teenagers. Bars line the streets. Crime is rampant. And that smell. Fast forward 35 years or more. Now I live with my family on 200 beautiful acres in North Central Arkansas. We live in a community called Charlotte. Population unknown, but the deer outnumber us. I have been farming now for almost 25 years. And my life is nothing like I could’ve imagined when I was a child. I am so grateful that I was able to raise my children here. As I mentioned, it is a lifestyle. We generally wake up with the sun. We start our day as a family drinking coffee, eating breakfast and listening to our ten year old practicing piano. My wife homeschools our two young daughters. Our sons 60
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