How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth (and then some) of that dry irrigation hole we kept drilling. My love for thee will never dry up or blow away, even if the crops do.

I love thee to the depth (and deeper) of your most discouraging days. Remember when the old grain truck lost her muffler in the stubble and the new four-wheel-drive found it in the middle of its gas tank? How about the time calf scours and lumpy jaw took their devastating toll? Wasn’t that the same day one of those big Valentines was due at the bank?

I love thee for the duration (and beyond) of whatever may come during another year of sowing, watering, reaping and riding the range.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the debt (and beyond) of that piece of land you wish we owned ... to the depth (and beyond) of the lake we created overnight around the watering tank. I love thee to the length (almost) of your fishing and hunting tales.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the height (and higher) of inflation ... to the height (and a little higher) of our yearly cost of fertilizer, seeds, sprays and feeds ... to the height (just barely) of taxes, and the cost of equipment. I love thee to the height (love is deaf) of your loudest holler at harvest time.

How long will I love thee? I cannot count the years. I will love thee longer than it takes to pull a calf in a blizzard ... longer than it takes for the cows to come home. I will love thee longer than it will take to pay off the farm and the tractor ... longer than it will take to teach our children to "do it right the first time" ... longer than it will take for wheat to reach $6 a bushel.

How do I know you love me? Let me count the ways. Do you smother me with candy and flowers and Valentines and affectionate words? Not too often, but I know you love me because you get up at 5 a.m. to plow, or harvest, or feed, or move pipe, or check calving cows.

I know you love me because you invite me to noon picnics in the wide open hay fields and grain fields and fence lines all summer long ... because you let me drive the new tractor and truck ... and ride your favorite horse.

I know you love me because you love the land. You love me enough to want to raise our children close to the soil. You like working together as a family, raising not only food for a nation and the world, but our most needed commodity — responsible and honest citizens. I know you love me because you are honest and responsible yourself and no bouquet or box of candy can ever take the place of that.

Happy Valentine’s Day,