I grew up on a family farm in West Tennessee. My father could stick his finger in the ground and something would grow from it. I think that is called a "green thumb" in the world of agriculture. He loved farming. It had been his whole life. He worked from before sun-up to sun-down when he could no longer see for lack of sunlight. Here is in his mid-80s still tending his plants. He was trimming the bushes in the front of the house with an old, antique, wooden handled pair of clippers. No telling how long he had owned them. I knew when I saw him that my days with him were limited. It was hot, so I asked him to take a rest on the front porch and let me take his picture. I did not tell him why I wanted it. He simply obliged me. This painting tells you that even though he had spent many hours at his tasks, and he was tired, he continued to perform them through love for as long as he could.
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