Written by Ethel Hales Stancil in 1969

Harold was 19 last November. Suddenly, at least to us, he decided to join up with the Marine Corps -- to be through with schooling and the farm, at least for now.

He received a 4-month waiting period. That meant he would not leave until after the hunting season.

His dad and I couldn't talk about, although we had felt certain that sooner or later military service would face him and his older brother, also in college.

There are those who might think us ashamed of his decision, but that is not true. We are proud of his decision to serve his country and ours in a time of need, but for selfish reasons, we do not want him to go unless necessary and then after his formal schooling.

A farmer's son is different. He is raised differently. He grows up at his father's heels. Before Harold went to school, he was driving the tractors through gates. He was playing in the fields at the end of the rows in the shade while his father worked, when a little tyke, so he could ride to the house with him!

There was an old quilt his father carried on the tractor for his pallet when he grew tired enough to nap.

As he grew, he learned to farm so efficiently that his father said today, when he left, "No need to try to replace him. He can't be replaced."

We had hoped Harold would stay on the farm. Oh, we know it is next to impossible to make a good living on the farm without outside assistance, but we had hoped he'd get a degree in teaching or another field at a nearby collage and farm part-time or be able to supervise work here.

We knew there is no better place to live and raise a family than on that farm.

Last year Harold went to our community college. This year, we had hoped he would do the same and farm part-time. His dad has reached the point where farming is too hard for him and he is working in town for a real estate office.

How the four-month waiting period rushed by!

Today he left. The past week was filled with parties and final gatherings for him. Last night, his girlfriend stayed here so they could spend all of the last minutes possible together.

Today Harold emptied his billfold of money, pictures and credit carts. Today we told him goodbye.

Not at the bus station did we tell him goodbye, but at home. Only his girlfriend was there to see him leave. His dad cried openly -- one of the few times I have seen him cry. Somehow I held back my tears -- for then.

Harold did tell his girlfriend that in four years he wants to come back -- and farm.

I am glad I told him before he left that when he comes back, the farm will be here, that he will be free to farm it, if he so desires.

I know now that Harold did not really want to go -- to leave home. That he just felt this was something he had to do, felt compelled to do.

Only time will tell whether he will come back to the farm. Meanwhile, we will try to hold onto it. We will run cattle on the improved pastures, rent out the tobacco and peanut allotments, and continue to rent out the four rental houses on the place. If we can keep our health, I feel we can keep up the mortgage payments and the taxes (over $100 a month).

We're looking forward to 1973 when Harold says he will be coming home to stay. We are looking forward expectantly, hopefully, prayerfully.

Note: Harold came back "home" in 1990, after 21 years in the U.S. Marine Corps. It was the delight we had thought to have him home again. His dad, at 84, still drives tractors and does limited work on the farm. I, his mother, at nearly 76, still work a few hours a month in the accounting office in Ocala, where I have over 40 years experience.

Does Harold help on the farm? You bet! And we are just as happy to have him here as we had imagined.