I’M A FARMER’S DAUGHTER—AND SOME PEOPLE THINK THAT MAKES ME LESS

Growing up, my life was shaped by the rhythm of a sweet potato farm. Long before the sun would rise, my family was already at work, and the highlight of our year was a trip to the local county fair. My parents, with dirt often caked under their fingernails, instilled in me the values of hard work and purpose. They showed me the honor and dignity that comes from honest labor, and I carry that with me to this day.

From the Farm to the City

When I received a scholarship to a private high school in the city, many people called it my “big break.” But instead of feeling excited, I felt like a complete outsider. The faint smell of the barn seemed to follow me everywhere, and I’d often hear whispers like, “Do you live on a farm or something?” I became painfully self-conscious and tried to hide my background, worried that it made me seem inferior.

Everything changed during a school fundraiser. I decided to bring sweet potato pies made from my family’s special recipe. To my surprise, they were completely sold out in just twenty minutes. This small success gave me a new perspective. My guidance counselor noticed and said, “This is you, Mele. Be proud of it.” Then, something even more surprising happened. Izan, one of the most popular and “untouchably cool” students, asked if I could make a pie for his mom. That tiny request felt like a major turning point, igniting a spark of confidence inside of me.

“Mele’s Roots” and Growing Confidence

By the next school week, I wasn’t just baking pies anymore—I was building a small farm-to-table business called “Mele’s Roots.” Soon, orders began pouring in from teachers, students, and even the girl who had once made fun of me. My parents had taught me to bake by feel and instinct, and I started incorporating the stories of our farm into my schoolwork and essays.

As a senior, I created a short film about our farm for a special identity project. When it was shown at school, the applause started slowly and then grew into a powerful standing ovation. Izan approached me afterward and said, “Told you your story mattered.”

He was absolutely right. For so long, I had believed that being a farmer’s daughter made me less visible or significant. But I eventually learned the truth: it makes me rooted. This deep connection to my heritage is a part of who I am, and it’s a strength that no one can ever take away. It is the foundation of my identity and the source of my unique purpose in the world.