Raised on a Farm by Brenda Prater Sellers

I was raised on a farm in Tennessee, at the foot of The Great Smoky Mountains. Daddy’s Century Farm is where our ancestors toiled the land for over a hundred years. Today, nine generations have lived on the working farm, amidst surrounding developments of subdivisions.

We lived a hop, skip, and a jump away, just two pasture fields (five minutes on a tractor) from the section of lake known as Prater Flats. The Prater Ferry once transported passengers from Blount to Knox County in the 1880s.

Daddy used to call the lake Fort LaTurd because as kids, we swam in the water that smelled like a chamber pot. Now decades later, Fort Loudoun Lake is the belle of the ball, one of the premier waterfront destinations in East Tennessee. In a quaint cemetery overlooking the lake, surrounded by trees, lies the final resting place for both Daddy and Momma. Daddy was born at the Prater home only a few miles away from the cemetery.

Growing up, I was a Southern, Mountain-Dew driven, M&M’s eating tom boy with no fear. Daddy treated me no differently than my two brothers when it came to chores. As the middle kid, I developed a tough, competitive nature, believing all girls could drive tractors, tinker with cars, play round-the-world basketball, and shoot a 12-gauge shotgun.

A childhood incident where my pony dashed through the fields with me in tow only fueled my adrenaline for seeking adventures. Later, this led to a quest for extreme sports, as I became a skydiver and a climber of Mount Everest.

Transitioning from a rough-neck farmhand to corporate America, I went from receptionist to president of a manufacturing company. Gone were the days of picking okra in the scorching sun, lifting heavy bales of hay, and shoveling cow manure. Instead, I found myself in air-conditioned offices, working 8-to-5 shifts. However, I soon realized that the long, daunting sunup-to-sundown hours of a farmer were mirrored in the demands of running a business. In a male-dominated industry, I learned there was a different kind of poo.

I was used to watching Daddy’s soybeans grow, but now my “job” was to increase and grow sales by selling our company’s licensed products (made in Tennessee) to hard core purchasing agents.

My first encounter with Pep Boys, headquartered in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, was like when Daddy experienced a draught. As a twenty-something female in a field dominated by middle-aged men, I also struggled. My buyer’s boss was skeptical of working women, and my Southern Appalachian upbringing didn’t help. I was seen with the stigma of being bare foot and pregnant, even though I wasn’t.

In a conference room surrounded by northerners, I enthusiastically presented our products. The buyers and the boss only glared. Maybe they can’t understand my accent. So, I repeated my spiel, only this time louder and much slower. I smiled.

The second time I called on these same buyers, they had nailed my southern accent, perfectly to a T. The first thing they said was, “How ya’ll doin’?” sounding as thick as the molasses in their Shoofly pies. I laughed.

I didn’t mind that they laughed, as long as they were giving us purchased orders. I laughed too. It was like calling the kettle black cliche, I was a Girl Raised in the South (a G.R.I.T.) and really did say, “Hey, ya’ll.” I was a product of my raising and proud of my southern roots and twang.

In the days of Rolodexes, Xerox copies, and three-part carbon-copy invoices, in 1990 I was voted Man of the Year because there wasn’t a female category. This was both amusing and annoying as I learned to navigate the corporate landscape. As time went on, the industry changed with more female buyers, bosses, and executives making a difference. Our company grew into an industry leader, securing deals with major retailers and becoming a top supplier in automotive aftermarket decorative accessories.

Even though I’ve only lived in the South, I tried to make my own path in the world, from the East coast to the West coast, from my childhood to getting older, in between work to earning a living. The core values I gained from being raised on a farm guided me on a spiritual path; a journey magically protected by God with my parents’ spirit was better than leaving the world unexplored.

I have traveled to every state and sixty-nine countries, but, just like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, the family farm is where I found peace. Yet, as I gaze at the countryside, the weathered barn still stands next to the fence rows, the unseen wind blows, scattering white puffs of clouds across the sky. As far as I can see, the green rolling fields dip and sway as they always have. It’s the same farmland my ancestors worked in the serenity of the countryside where I worked and played years ago; but mostly, I notice time seems to stand still.

While I’ve traveled many roads, the ones leading me to the hills, back to the farm in the South are where I call home.

 

Brenda Sellers is an entrepreneur, Philanthropist of the Year, and businesswoman who wears many hats to make an impact in the community. Her family is one of the first families in Blount County, Tennessee.

She’s had many television and podcast appearances to discuss the publication of her book, You Slept Where? Calamities of a Clumsy Businesswoman. She is a keynote speaker at leadership conferences, civic organizations, and book clubs. At a New York publisher’s event, she was 1 of 80 authors selected to attend from around the world.

Her book has currently raised over $48,000 for several nonprofits.

 

To purchase Brenda Sellers’ witty and highly entertaining book You Slept Where? Calamaties of a Clumsy Businesswoman, click the images below:

 

**Featured image: Eduardo Gorghetto — Unsplash, cropped