A blazing ball of fire shines on the American farmer’s farm. The Sun brings light to a new work day and new day of struggle for farmers of the Great Depression. The sun scorches the land the farmers make their livelihood on, making the soil scar the earth. The scars last for miles across the deserted farms in the Great Plains. One farm is surviving through the burns, the wind, and the scorching of the earth; a Sunflower Farm.

Other plants look for the sun but hide away from its intense attributes, but the great ball of fire is what it is. I, on the other hand, stretch as tall as I can to reach the sun and bask in all of its glory. I fight my field mates to be the best, by tangling my branches and growing taller than the others to block the sun. Farmers here have to be tough but I have to be tougher. Natural selection isn’t just for plants and animals anymore, it’s the bank and incoming storms against the farmers. The strong willed and rich farmers will survive, the smart farmer will survive, the lucky farm will survive. The sunflower farmer will not survive. None of the sunflowers will survive, we will fight but lose our battle in the end.

Thick red clouds of winding dust tarnish the lands it takes as its victims. Farms decreased to scraps, plentiful fields destroyed to barren lands, strong will farmers broken to scared young boys.  The Dust Bowl plagues the Great Plains of America. Everything everywhere is covered in thick layers of red dust. Water was a barren source that couldn’t be wasted to try and wash the coats of dust off. Rain stopped coming to the lands during this time allowing the cracks across the earth to form and craters formed by the rare raindrops brought with the dust. Dust broke families, dust broke plants; dust was a trained killer. Dust was a force to reckon with. The broken spirits of the farming families were cemented in dust. On the other hand the sunflowers swayed to survive the storm.

The longer the storms raged on the stronger and more intense they became leaving a trail of dust and depression. Wind whipped against my stem, beating away my hope as my roots began to leave the ground. I can feel my life slipping up through the ground. I have come to terms that I will not survive the Great Depression. One by one my roots move above ground. I have to say goodbye. I tip and turn trying to stay up right. I know I’m about to be done. The farmer knows there's nothing to be done as the final bag is loaded into their car as their family travels to California. The wind whips against their car as tears of relief and sorrow fall down their face. They have lost the farm, the family’s hope, and an investment that was living in the crops. Their life has fallen to the ground. I have fallen to the ground.

My petals will use all of their force to try to stay together as a family. One unique to the other, but the wind breaks their bonds. One by one I watch as my petals float away in the wind becoming a part of the destruction that tears away the other fields. My final petal drops wilting away to the ground. The next to go is my lifeline and my connection to the next generation; the seeds. Dust pulls at my seeds until they break away from their spiral. I watch as my seeds dance in the sky until they find their resting point on the Earth. My once beautiful spiral of seeds reduced to a skull of a once beautiful flower. The field mice scamper around picking up my seeds to save their lives with the death of others. I bring happiness in life and saving in death. The farmer is escaping the death of their family, their livelihood, and their mental state. They are racing the blowing dust for a better future. The swirling storm of dust brings sorrow and death. Only the lucky are sure to escape it and continue to live a happy, plentiful life. 

I lost my life fighting the wind and dust. The most happy and beautiful things in life can fall victim to depression. I lost my support from the farmer, the only one making sure I stayed happy and alive. I fell and withered away. My petals floating in the dust to their final resting place. My seeds are being tossed around the mice. My stem is bashing the ground as the storm tosses me back and forth like a children’s game. The farmer no longer cared for me or what was going to happen to me. They didn’t want their farm or the flowers to hold them back from a better future. They drove towards the golden gates leaving any thought of the happy flowers behind. We knew they were never coming back for us. Depression took their lives away. Some were able to escape it’s grasp, but others experienced pain and misery. My farmers left to save what they have left, before the Depression took everything away from them. Everyone in some way became a victim to the monster of Depression. I fell victim to its plague, but I’m always just a happy little sunflower.