I’ve been up at 5 a.m. every day since I was twelve. While most kids at school were Snapchatting their lattes, I was busy with feed buckets and chores. The teasing was relentless—nicknames like “Hay Girl” and “Bessie’s Bestie,” even from teachers. Once, I showed up to class smelling like manure after helping a calf, and nobody cared I saved it; they just held their noses.
By graduation, I had zero invites to senior parties. I went home, helped my mom, and told myself those people didn’t matter.
Then, last month, the ten-year reunion invite arrived. I almost ignored it but decided to go—not to prove anything, just to show up. When I walked in wearing boots and a denim jacket, the room went quiet. Someone whispered, “Is that Callie? The cow girl?”
Rustin Ford, the captain of everything back then, spotted me. He looked different but smiled warmly. When I told him I was running my own farm and business, he admitted he followed my TikTok account “CallieCountry.” I had over a hundred thousand followers showing how to make butter and goat soap. Suddenly, I wasn’t invisible.
People I hadn’t seen in years came up to me, even the ones who used to tease me. Later, Rustin confessed he’d been a jerk but always admired my hard work. He encouraged me to do farm tours or workshops.
That inspired me. Two weeks later, I partnered with a local school for a “Farm Day,” teaching kids how to milk goats and make cheese. The event went viral, and my inbox exploded with requests.
Now, I’m not just “the cow girl” — I’m a business owner, mentor, and role model for farm kids.
If you ever feel out of place because you’re different, don’t hide. What makes you unique might be exactly what helps you shine.
People laughed when I milked cows. Now, they pay me to teach it. Funny how things turn out.
