….
I grew up where the horizon stretched, uninterrupted,
A tapestry woven by seasons, hiding nothing.
Barefoot on welcoming porch swings, chasing fireflies as dusk settled,
Learning life’s vital lessons, from dawn’s first glimpse ‘til sunset’s fading light.
I pledge my hands, ..4H rooted lessons deep within me.
From the nervous flutter of public speaking to
raising market lambs, facing a judge’s assessing eye.
Community built, leadership practiced,
Friendships forged, a silent pride swelling, expanding over time.
Planting seeds of future dreams, a hope every rural soul carries.
But shadows lengthen now, across our grand fields,
A quiet, growing struggle, woven into the rural landscape.
For the promise of revitalization, won’t truly take hold, won’t truly ascend,
Unless we tend to the well-being of our people, with all our collective strength.
Imagine the worry pressed onto faces, when a baby’s almost here,
And the nearest maternity care is miles, hours away.
Anxious drives, hurried breaths, gnawing isolation.
Our mothers, our infants, deserve a gentle, nearby embrace,
Not endless roads, or sterile waiting rooms, a cold forgotten space.
And quiet battles fought alone, behind closed farmhouse doors,
Farmer suicide is real! Burdens carried in silence, until they can be carried no more.
A whispered plea, a fear of shame that endures, keeping people hidden,
While silent struggles fester, and rural sadness grows.
We need counselors, therapists, hands reaching out to find,
A path to healing, to understanding, for body and for mind.
The wisdom of age, a cherished gift, yet in rural lands, it’s often a silent strife.
For our elders, the golden years can bring isolation, a lonely, quiet life.
Access to specialists, in-home care, and community’s gentle embrace,
Are often scarce resources, leaving vulnerability in their place.
We must ensure our seniors, who built these fields and bore our rural pride,
Have comfort, dignity, and care, for them we must abide.
The open road, a symbol of freedom, becomes a barrier to in rural space,
When miles stretch long for folks to reach a healing, welcoming place.
Public transport is a whisper, oft unheard, unseen,
Leaving many without a ride, to reach their healthcare needs.
Emergency rooms grow distant, a lifeline hard to seize,
And chronic conditions worsen, bringing rural communities to their knees.
Let us think of innovative solutions, transport woven into our design,
So that access to care is not a luxury, but a right, for all to find.
So as we speak of progress, ambitious plans, economic gain,
Remember these deep currents, that shape our current pain.
I am a Rural Pennsylvanian, stories echo in my soul,
For our future’s full flourishing, comprehensive healthcare is what can make us whole.
From birth’s first fragile cry to wisdom’s seasoned gaze, from transport to the troubled mind,
Let wellness be the harvest, for all of us to find.