My father was a farmer to his absolute core.

Raised on a farm, he dreamed of owning his own land and worked tirelessly to make that happen.

By the time I was born, he had owned a cattle and thoroughbred horse stud In Australia and a sheep and beef farm in New Zealand.

But he was always looking for the next adventure or challenge.

When I came along as a (hopefully) happy accident when he was 40 years old, he had just purchased another sheep and beef farm in Hawkes Bay.

We moved, my mother and six year old brother with me in a bassinet, new-born and straight from the delivery room, to the old house on the newly purchased farm.

There was a storm that night, and with the power out, the house quickly became far too cold for a baby, so we were bundled back into the car in the dark of night to drive back to my Nana's house in Napier through the wind and rain.

That was life with my father.

Life was never dull.

He was an explorer, an astute businessman, a restless spirit but a pragmatic one, a relentless worker but fiercely loving and protective.

It was like living with a firefly, always bright, always darting to the next thing, always illuminating everything around him with a contagious zest for life.

Growing up on the farm was the best gift he could have given us, and being raised by a farming father is a unique thing and special thing.

Farming fathers are perpetually busy but also always there.

They might be out on the farm in the early hours and not be home until dark, but they are usually there for lunch or smoko break, or for pet day or rugby practice.

There is no nine-to-five Dad, but often, we would be pulled into farm life alongside him.

There is no better education or way to become closer to a parent than to be raised on a farm.

My kids have been fortunate to have been (at least mostly) raised on a farm too.

Even though their father and I are no longer together, my kids are lucky to have a great farming Dad who brings them pet lambs and calves, watches sports games, and helps my daughter with her agri-science school work.

It takes a village to raise a child, though.

I firmly believe that, and every one of us who lives in a rural community knows this.

So I want to take a moment to shout out to all the not-Dads who step up for our kids too.

I have some great friends who have given my kids driving lessons, picked them up from school when I couldn't, hung up curtains in their bedrooms and brought us firewood to keep us snug over winter.

The adopted and real Dads, the Stepdads, the Grandfathers, the neighbours, the sports coaches and teachers who go the extra mile.

Thanks to all Dads, still with us or not.

Happy Father's Day, and thanks a million.

by Claire Inkson