From Willa Cather to Lu Ann Jones, Robert Caro, and Deborah Fink, farm wives have always captured the imagination of Americans for their courage, hardships, and very hard work.

I never think of Maria as a farm wife, I don’t think the term even works any more. I call the women they used to call farm wives “women.”

But a lot of women up here still use that term. Maria does the work of the legendary farm wives, in part because her useless writer husband can’t do most of it any longer.

And also, because she likes it.

Yesterday, the temperature was close to 100 degrees and Maria was wearing one of her thrift shop dresses and important thrift shop European boots ($7). She sure didn’t look like My Antonia.

Every morning, we go into the Pole Barn to shove out the manure. Maria loves this chore, she loves to visit the Barn Sparrow babies, fend off flies, scratch some sheep heads.

It was hot, smelly, and fly-infested. “Living the dream?,” I asked. She laughed. I think she actually is.

We use two rakes to scoop up the manure, she likes to shovel it and of course, has artistic ideas about the shape of the manure. I’m thinking of changing the name of the manure pile to “Mt.Maria.”

Willa Cather would have loved Maria, I think, once she got over the shock of how she dresses to do her farm chores. Maria is always herself, no matter where she is or what she is doing.

Making quilts, gardening, walking in the woods, washing dishes, Maria is always Maria. There is a lesson in that.