I get pretty tired. I’m not allowed to say I get more tired than my wife for obvious reasons, but nonetheless, I do run out of energy at least once a day.

Sometimes I flat-out run out of time, whether my weariness enters the equation or not. In springtime, there are enough things to fill a day three times over before even I even consider tomorrow’s demands.

I get comments from family and friends about our lifestyle: Why do you work every day? Why don’t you take a break?—that sort of thing.

To be honest, the world we live in has changed.

Ideas I might have once held about hard work being balanced with an appropriate amount of time off seem more and more misconstrued in the growing storm of politics and economy that rains down its effects on the little farmer.

You can choose to dwell on these factors and sink into an unending cycle of depression and burnout, or you can focus on those questions in a genuine way. Why do I do it?

I was out in our garlic patch this week, picking the first scapes of the season as they curled from the top of our green aisles. I had initially asked my oldest to follow me with a crate to collect the picked scapes as I went along. After an earnest three-second effort, he disappeared elsewhere to engage in shenanigans and discover the world in his own fashion.

Following the initial sequence of the chore, his younger brother thought the task of picking scapes to be less boring than did his counterpart, and I was joined by a smaller but enthusiastic helper.

Walker, my youngest, couldn’t lift the basket to carry the scapes, but was happy to wait next to it and watch as I went ahead a little way and then returned to deposit my harvest.

He also enjoyed inspecting the individual scapes—his own version of quality control.

As I turned for the last time at the end of the row I couldn’t help but notice his smile as he clumsily beheld a loop of garlic whilst standing between the toddler-height plants on either side of him. His mother looked on from behind, completely focused on his innocent glee with a pure smile of her own.

At that moment, it didn’t matter that we were in a hurry to pick our scapes and get them bundled for sale. It didn’t matter that we had to pack up and leave soon to get to our next obligation. It didn’t even matter that my other son had decided to make his own entertainment by digging up a corner of the garden with his toy shovel.

The smiles.

For a moment I forgot all about the bills that were due and the chores that remained undone. I wasn’t killing myself to pay the taxman; I was there for the smiles.

I don’t mean to sound preachy, truly, but it all comes down to focus. I never went into business with my family to be stressed out and focused on money. Yes, the goal of every business is to be successful and make enough to at the very least sustain itself. But the focus, the reason why I do it, was to see that look of joy on my son’s face as well as my wife’s.

We’ve had a long spring, planting and planting some more, praying for rain, pumping water, breaking things, fixing things, and just trying to get ahead of the cost to live and do business in this day and age. Some days I’ve gone to bed unaware that I’ve even fallen asleep. Some days the kids don’t cooperate and I’m convinced they don’t want me around. But then in the midst of the stresses, one of them stops to look at me and a smile appears to keep me going.

The way out here, we don’t farm for the recognition or the perks and certainly not for the money. We do it for the smiles. And maybe one day when I’m dead and gone, my kids can read this and smile again, knowing what it feels like to see their own children smile.