Another foggy August morning in Minnesota. The kind that clings to your windshield and your boots alike.
The kind of morning where the world feels heavy before you even fire up the truck. Dew on the corn, steam off your breath, and a chill that crawls up your back while you’re loading gear in the dark. Ain’t poetic — it’s just work. The kind most folks don’t see, but they damn sure depend on.
This ain’t a sunrise for Instagram. It’s the kind where you tighten your hat, crank the defroster, and roll out slow down a gravel road with yesterday’s dust still hanging in the air. The dairy’s already humming. Somebody’s been up hours before you.
But there’s something honest about it. Something solid. It’s not about chasing dreams — it’s about showing up, putting in the time, and doing the job right, every single day, fog or no fog.
This is the view from the ground — where calloused hands and steel-toed boots meet a world that doesn’t wait for you to catch up.
You either get up and get after it… or you don’t.
