I have ten minutes to complete my thoughts today. Literally. Josie is riding with Joe as I write (in the "TurboChopperFreeFousand"), Amelia's napping, and Anna is working on her dog sitting business badges (gotta love the working spirit of a five year old. . .she feels it's time to earn her keep!).
Time is on the brain today. Yesterday was time to start; now it's time to keep going; time to go, go, go! Hysteria has not set in, as the weather is cooperating, and it's technically still "early," according to family lore. April 25th is the magic day when corn should be planted, in my family's beliefs. Any date before then that we can get in and get started is just gravy. Whatever the magic date is, farmers stick to that, and once the date is approaching it's time to hustle.
Once the prime time has passed, however, time becomes a hot commodity around here. My quest for being a true farm wife is truly tested, as I have to masterfully craft meals that will not only stick to Joe's ribs throughout a long day, but remain hot or cold when he's way back in the back of a field. We watch as the planter, chopper, whatever turns and starts to make a pass toward the house, and then load up and head out with the provisions.
Time spent with our resident farmer is precious, too. Although it's bumpy and dirty, even my girly girl Josie wants to sit in the tractor cab with Daddy to steal a few minutes with him. I have learned in my short time as a farm wife that during planting, my requests for Joe need to be prioritized, and I should always preface my "honey dos," with "this will just take a second. . . "
Time's ticking, and it's ticking fast. Everyone is excited that we're in the field, but there's still a nervous pace in the farmers' steps. Even though I truly know that I am a schedule and time freak, this race against time is one that may drive a person crazy. The race against time is one you can't win, but don't tell farmers, they're too busy trying to beat the clock.