In all professions, there is a certain speak, a verbage, a set of acronyms, phrases, whathaveyou that set apart those who are in that particular field from those who aren't. From a doctor to an engineer to a coach to a teacher, heck even a truck driver, when each of these folks are in the biz, they speak the dialect.
The same goes with farming, and there are times now that I have to catch myself for becoming snobby when some one uses the "wrong" term for something "farmy." For example, this is the time of year we process steers for beef. We did this last summer, too, and every time I heard one of our satisfied customers comment on the "cow," I caught myself snickering. COW??? How's the cow? Silly, silly city-folks, this is not a cow (which is actually a female), it's a steer (which is a male), and most correctly, it's a beef that is being processed, not a cow. After ten minutes at the locker plant, this steer becomes a beef, no longer living, but now being processed for our enjoyment and nourishment.
However, why should I be snickering? Wasn't I just the one not knowing the difference a mere month or two ago?
Answer: YES!
But where does that leave me? Am I an expert now? Have I crossed over from being a young padiwon learner to a Jedi Farmer of sorts?
Answer: NO!
Although I know the difference between a cow and a steer and a beef, I still have so, so much to learn. And that's why, I'm kind of freaking out about my month of August.
As a part of the Illinois Farm Families campaign, I am helping out at a few events. One for just moms with questions about agriculture in a quiet, kid-friendly (maybe that's an oxymoron) coffee bar in Chicago, and another is at the Daley Plaza Farmer's Market, also in Chicago. Thankfully, the moms having coffee and those unsuspecting farmer's market patrons will- hopefully- not be fluent in farm-speak, but the other agricultural representatives will. GASP!!! Another moment for me of, "WHY AM I HERE?"
I'm practicing, however. I'm brushing up on my new language, and will try not to sound like a moron when asked a question. I'm also planning my outfits, so as to look like I'm not too "downstate," but not so fancy that I look like I'm trying too hard. Black pants, it is!
Anyway, my point is, any one can learn to talk the talk, it's figuring out how to talk it in a way that people understand and care about what you're saying is what is most important.
That, and what shoes to be wearing while you're talking!
Showing posts with label farming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label farming. Show all posts
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Weekend Woes
We messed up last night. Well, actually, I messed up. Apparently, at the last t-ball game, amidst the chaos that is t-ball itself and t-ball pictures, there was a schedule change. So, when Anna and Joe showed up at the ball diamond, they were there, for the last batter, as our game had changed times.
I was supposed to know that.
It's now Saturday, the day when families are supposed to be fishing, swimming, grocery shopping, and the like, and it's 5:00, and Joe has just stepped into our "little porch," drenched in sweat from square baling hay in this crazy heat.
Thankfully, I'm not the one baling hay...I made a cake, but seriously. I have a love/hate relationship with the weekend. I know that this is supposed to be family time. Time to relax, time to regroup, time to spend together, but it is just another day for us. It's just another time when things have to be done. There's no grocery shopping together. There's no Saturday laziness. It's another day.
It's becoming obnoxious.
Sorry farmers, I'm a little annoyed right now. I'm sure that this is the life that we want. I'm certain that this is the profession Joe loves, but I'm also certain that there are aspects of this life that I cannot stand. While Joe takes care of all things farming, my job is to take care of most things kid (I say most because he does do a lot with the kids), but there are times when I cannot cram any more into my little brain, and I need a 9 to 5 dad with weekends off to step in sometimes and help me figure this life out. I'm blaming this t-ball incident on farming...can you tell?
Another weekend preconceived notion I have is playing around with the kids, doing yard work together, and generally hanging out on Saturdays. However, when Joe works all day outside, even on the hottest of days, even on a Saturday, when we are enjoying the slip-n-slide, why would he want to run around with the girls outside when he could and should be cooling off in the air-conditioning? Why would golf or fishing or hunting appeal to him, when he's out in the elements at all times?
The summer is getting to me. I'm feeling like we are just treading water...literally and figuratively, if you count the pool time we've had. I feel like our cup is running over with blessings, but we barely have time to enjoy said blessings because of hay and cows and wheat and the weather and a newborn and a toddler and our two active big girls and playdates and the like. When do we slow down?
More like, how do we slow down?
The simple answer is, "do less." Thank you, Mr. or Mrs. Obvious, but then we would be bored, right?
Honestly, I wish that Anna didn't miss last night's game because I wish I would have heard or written down or listened more carefully to the schedule change. I wish Joe could be around at 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon instead of after 5:00 because then maybe we could do something as a family, other than what we do nearly every night...however, with a newborn, a 2 year old and two other big girls, what can you do?
My expectations for what my family picture looks like and how and when we do things are high, I know, and farming is cramping my style! My hope is that I'll look back at these days and think, "wow, was I tired, busy and INSANE, but happy."
So let me vent for a bit, and then I will choose to be happy. Take that, farmer's schedule!
I was supposed to know that.
It's now Saturday, the day when families are supposed to be fishing, swimming, grocery shopping, and the like, and it's 5:00, and Joe has just stepped into our "little porch," drenched in sweat from square baling hay in this crazy heat.
Thankfully, I'm not the one baling hay...I made a cake, but seriously. I have a love/hate relationship with the weekend. I know that this is supposed to be family time. Time to relax, time to regroup, time to spend together, but it is just another day for us. It's just another time when things have to be done. There's no grocery shopping together. There's no Saturday laziness. It's another day.
It's becoming obnoxious.
Sorry farmers, I'm a little annoyed right now. I'm sure that this is the life that we want. I'm certain that this is the profession Joe loves, but I'm also certain that there are aspects of this life that I cannot stand. While Joe takes care of all things farming, my job is to take care of most things kid (I say most because he does do a lot with the kids), but there are times when I cannot cram any more into my little brain, and I need a 9 to 5 dad with weekends off to step in sometimes and help me figure this life out. I'm blaming this t-ball incident on farming...can you tell?
Another weekend preconceived notion I have is playing around with the kids, doing yard work together, and generally hanging out on Saturdays. However, when Joe works all day outside, even on the hottest of days, even on a Saturday, when we are enjoying the slip-n-slide, why would he want to run around with the girls outside when he could and should be cooling off in the air-conditioning? Why would golf or fishing or hunting appeal to him, when he's out in the elements at all times?
The summer is getting to me. I'm feeling like we are just treading water...literally and figuratively, if you count the pool time we've had. I feel like our cup is running over with blessings, but we barely have time to enjoy said blessings because of hay and cows and wheat and the weather and a newborn and a toddler and our two active big girls and playdates and the like. When do we slow down?
More like, how do we slow down?
The simple answer is, "do less." Thank you, Mr. or Mrs. Obvious, but then we would be bored, right?
Honestly, I wish that Anna didn't miss last night's game because I wish I would have heard or written down or listened more carefully to the schedule change. I wish Joe could be around at 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon instead of after 5:00 because then maybe we could do something as a family, other than what we do nearly every night...however, with a newborn, a 2 year old and two other big girls, what can you do?
My expectations for what my family picture looks like and how and when we do things are high, I know, and farming is cramping my style! My hope is that I'll look back at these days and think, "wow, was I tired, busy and INSANE, but happy."
So let me vent for a bit, and then I will choose to be happy. Take that, farmer's schedule!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Memories of Memorial Day
Okay, so I'm a week late, but between a newborn, a nearly two year old, two very busy older children, and NO INTERNET for the past few days, I need some grace.
Anyway, life on the farm is at a bit of a frustrating stand still, as the heat, humidity and rain are great for the corn crop, but frustratingly terrible for some one trying to make hay...i.e., Joe.
So, we've spent a lot of time together as a family, which is great, and one of those times together was Memorial Day. Joe and I have shared many Memorial Day memories, from his childhood memories of picnicking with his family, mowing hay, and subsequently baling it. My memories include watching my dad shoot his gun in the honor guard with the American Legion, tumbling in the Memorial Day parade...either freezing or sweating, and watching Dad frantically try to mow his roadsides before Memorial Day, because "that's just what you do," but my most memorable Memorial Day was the day we lost my Grandpa Mac.
It has been seven years, but my grandpa is a topic of conversation often, as he was a cattleman. He loved Joe, was proud of me for picking someone who was "worth something" (he never minced words), and loved that Joe shared his love for livestock. Unfortunately, we lost Grandpa right before we found out we were expecting Anna, and he never got to see Joe in action as a cattle farmer.
Grandpa was a World War II vet, and the irony of the date of his death was that it occurred on the "true" Memorial Day, and although I was truly miserable and happy to deliver Jack early, he was due on this date as well, May 29th. I figured if I made it to my actual due date, it would be a fitting tribute to my grandpa.
He would have loved my kids. Anna and her quirks, her tomboyish attitude, and her love for animals; Josie and her sass would have gotten a harsh look, but her spunk would have made him proud. And, just this week, Amelia's new phrase is "Check cows, Daddy?" Grandpa would have loved this, and would have especially been touched by the picture Joe took of the two girls looking over a pasture, where Grandpa kept his cows.
Grandpa would have loved that we didn't name Jack something "weird" that we would regret, and would have probably given us a lot of advice raising this boy! Again, not a "word mincer!"
In farming, we're not out to be rich or famous. We're not out to be anything but good stewards of the land. This path that has been laid by not only my Grandpa Mac, but Joe's grandpas, my other grandfather, my dad, Joe's dad, countless uncles, aunts, grandmas, mothers, etc. We are walking along the same road, along the same fence line, in the same fields as generations before us. I am new to this world, but it is not new to my family line. I need to remember that.
A day like Memorial Day is one of those times that I am reminded of how lucky we are to be in this profession.
Anyway, life on the farm is at a bit of a frustrating stand still, as the heat, humidity and rain are great for the corn crop, but frustratingly terrible for some one trying to make hay...i.e., Joe.
So, we've spent a lot of time together as a family, which is great, and one of those times together was Memorial Day. Joe and I have shared many Memorial Day memories, from his childhood memories of picnicking with his family, mowing hay, and subsequently baling it. My memories include watching my dad shoot his gun in the honor guard with the American Legion, tumbling in the Memorial Day parade...either freezing or sweating, and watching Dad frantically try to mow his roadsides before Memorial Day, because "that's just what you do," but my most memorable Memorial Day was the day we lost my Grandpa Mac.
It has been seven years, but my grandpa is a topic of conversation often, as he was a cattleman. He loved Joe, was proud of me for picking someone who was "worth something" (he never minced words), and loved that Joe shared his love for livestock. Unfortunately, we lost Grandpa right before we found out we were expecting Anna, and he never got to see Joe in action as a cattle farmer.
Grandpa was a World War II vet, and the irony of the date of his death was that it occurred on the "true" Memorial Day, and although I was truly miserable and happy to deliver Jack early, he was due on this date as well, May 29th. I figured if I made it to my actual due date, it would be a fitting tribute to my grandpa.
He would have loved my kids. Anna and her quirks, her tomboyish attitude, and her love for animals; Josie and her sass would have gotten a harsh look, but her spunk would have made him proud. And, just this week, Amelia's new phrase is "Check cows, Daddy?" Grandpa would have loved this, and would have especially been touched by the picture Joe took of the two girls looking over a pasture, where Grandpa kept his cows.
Grandpa would have loved that we didn't name Jack something "weird" that we would regret, and would have probably given us a lot of advice raising this boy! Again, not a "word mincer!"
In farming, we're not out to be rich or famous. We're not out to be anything but good stewards of the land. This path that has been laid by not only my Grandpa Mac, but Joe's grandpas, my other grandfather, my dad, Joe's dad, countless uncles, aunts, grandmas, mothers, etc. We are walking along the same road, along the same fence line, in the same fields as generations before us. I am new to this world, but it is not new to my family line. I need to remember that.
A day like Memorial Day is one of those times that I am reminded of how lucky we are to be in this profession.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Hip To Be...
...born in a barn?
Have you noticed that it is completely socially acceptable as well as commendable to be "getting back to the basics?" While I agree that we should all eat a little more fresh, play more outside, and depend less upon technology for entertainment, shouldn't we be embracing technology a little more and realizing how good we have it?
Case in point: my house. I live where my grandma and grandpa raised four kids. The house, while they lived in it, housed six people, had one bathroom, and my aunt used to have to plug in her hair dryer upstairs, in the hallway, as it was the only outlet up there. Fast forward 30 years and six months of major renovations, three bathrooms, new heat/central air conditioning (hallelujah!), new plumbing, and now about nine thousand installed outlets later, here we are, thinking we do not have enough space to raise our four children without adding onto our house.
I know, I know, my grandma is looking at me from heaven, thinking I'm spoiled.
And, I am, as many of us are. However, I feel as if this luxury of making choices, living comfortably, even lavishly, has caused us to attack the very core of what makes living where we do and when we do great. Innovation is in our blood. Finding something better, faster, safer is good, isn't it? I'm thankful my husband does not have to thresh wheat, but, rather, sits on a tractor and watch a machine do a job that could potentially cut his arms off. The age of technology is around us. Convenience is king. And while we do our best to try to get back to the basics, could we really?
I know as a farm family that utilizes equipment that is GPS enabled, seed that has been engineered to resist certain diseases, and cell phones that are used to let me know when they're coming home for dinner, we couldn't farm the way we do without technology. And, conversely, you couldn't live the way you do, eat the way you do, and/or choose to not eat what we help produce without our technologically advanced methodology. I'm not saying that what we produce is juiced up, jacked up or in any way, shape or form engineered to do anything but make your life better, and what you eat safe. I'm just saying that if you believe for one second that all farmers could live like they did 20, 50 or even 100 years ago, and still produce food and fuel for the country and its needs would be impossible. We would starve. Worse yet, since many of us have never felt truly, truly hungry, think of it like this: your choices would be limited and (gasp) expensive.
While I believe that eating from your garden in the summer (especially if you live in Illinois, and don't can...only in the summer!), buying locally grown, great tasting beef or pork or poultry, supporting local businesses is ideal, and generally good for your local economy, friends, and waistline, is it always an option? How many of us frequent a grocery store (weekly, bi-weekly, DAILY?), and even though may acknowledge that they may have had to ride on a truck for a day, still buy California grapes for our kids' lunches, because they taste good and are a healthy snack, fully of Vitamin C and other good stuff? I realize that this may sound smarty, but I have never had less than 10 choices of bread types in the grocery store. I could choose to make my own bread, as my great-great grandmother did, but I'm certain, she's smiling at me from above when I choose my Cottage Wheat bread from Hy-Vee instead of spending an afternoon making a week's supply of bread. I am able to spend more time with my kids as well as spend more time ranting on my blog because I BUY MY BREAD!! Ha, ha!
If you're still not convinced that your life is made easier by technologically savvy farmers, please note that when you start to cast judgment on the American farmer in his big, (hopefully) green tractor, I hope you're wearing the outfit that you made from the cloth you have woven from the cotton you have grown after having taken your horse and buggy to town to buy the seed for said cotton plant. Only when we realize that modern conveniences may have made our lives more complex, however much easier, can we also realize that not all technological advances are crumbling the moral fiber of our being.
Have you noticed that it is completely socially acceptable as well as commendable to be "getting back to the basics?" While I agree that we should all eat a little more fresh, play more outside, and depend less upon technology for entertainment, shouldn't we be embracing technology a little more and realizing how good we have it?
Case in point: my house. I live where my grandma and grandpa raised four kids. The house, while they lived in it, housed six people, had one bathroom, and my aunt used to have to plug in her hair dryer upstairs, in the hallway, as it was the only outlet up there. Fast forward 30 years and six months of major renovations, three bathrooms, new heat/central air conditioning (hallelujah!), new plumbing, and now about nine thousand installed outlets later, here we are, thinking we do not have enough space to raise our four children without adding onto our house.
I know, I know, my grandma is looking at me from heaven, thinking I'm spoiled.
And, I am, as many of us are. However, I feel as if this luxury of making choices, living comfortably, even lavishly, has caused us to attack the very core of what makes living where we do and when we do great. Innovation is in our blood. Finding something better, faster, safer is good, isn't it? I'm thankful my husband does not have to thresh wheat, but, rather, sits on a tractor and watch a machine do a job that could potentially cut his arms off. The age of technology is around us. Convenience is king. And while we do our best to try to get back to the basics, could we really?
I know as a farm family that utilizes equipment that is GPS enabled, seed that has been engineered to resist certain diseases, and cell phones that are used to let me know when they're coming home for dinner, we couldn't farm the way we do without technology. And, conversely, you couldn't live the way you do, eat the way you do, and/or choose to not eat what we help produce without our technologically advanced methodology. I'm not saying that what we produce is juiced up, jacked up or in any way, shape or form engineered to do anything but make your life better, and what you eat safe. I'm just saying that if you believe for one second that all farmers could live like they did 20, 50 or even 100 years ago, and still produce food and fuel for the country and its needs would be impossible. We would starve. Worse yet, since many of us have never felt truly, truly hungry, think of it like this: your choices would be limited and (gasp) expensive.
While I believe that eating from your garden in the summer (especially if you live in Illinois, and don't can...only in the summer!), buying locally grown, great tasting beef or pork or poultry, supporting local businesses is ideal, and generally good for your local economy, friends, and waistline, is it always an option? How many of us frequent a grocery store (weekly, bi-weekly, DAILY?), and even though may acknowledge that they may have had to ride on a truck for a day, still buy California grapes for our kids' lunches, because they taste good and are a healthy snack, fully of Vitamin C and other good stuff? I realize that this may sound smarty, but I have never had less than 10 choices of bread types in the grocery store. I could choose to make my own bread, as my great-great grandmother did, but I'm certain, she's smiling at me from above when I choose my Cottage Wheat bread from Hy-Vee instead of spending an afternoon making a week's supply of bread. I am able to spend more time with my kids as well as spend more time ranting on my blog because I BUY MY BREAD!! Ha, ha!
If you're still not convinced that your life is made easier by technologically savvy farmers, please note that when you start to cast judgment on the American farmer in his big, (hopefully) green tractor, I hope you're wearing the outfit that you made from the cloth you have woven from the cotton you have grown after having taken your horse and buggy to town to buy the seed for said cotton plant. Only when we realize that modern conveniences may have made our lives more complex, however much easier, can we also realize that not all technological advances are crumbling the moral fiber of our being.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Patience Is a Virtue
. . . that I do not possess.
Honestly, this is something I really need to work on. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent, college educated adult, but my patience for events, big ones and small, is lacking. Joe and I dated for nine months, had a nine month engagement, and then waited nine months until we realized we were ready to start a family. I try to run fast, hate waiting in line, try get projects done without procrastination, and want Christmas to come quickly. This can be a good set of character traits (or flaws, whichever way you want to look at it), but as a farmer, I would be terribly disappointed and annoyed most of the time.
I have always known that Joe is more patient than I am. He is the ying to my yang. We are opposites on a lot of things, and patience is one of them. I knew that as just a person in general, having patience made Joe so much more pleasant to be around in places such as Disney Land or while we're stuck in traffic, but as a farmer it is necessary for one to have a lot of patience.
This is why he's the farmer, and I'm the farm wife.
Take harvest for example: this season in itself is an exercise in patience. Each field and its variety has a certain time when it's ready, and if it's not, you must wait, no matter what the weather is, what the neighbors are doing, etc.
Then, once you get rolling, there's the whole waiting in line elevator. This can be minutes or stretch as long as an hour or so. I'm not saying that Joe enjoys waiting, but he is good at entertaining himself, making new friends with the other drivers, and getting to know the staff at the elevator. These are basic exercises in patience.
Then there's the whole marketing side to being a patient farmer. Friday was a great day, as the markets soared. All the farmers around here were excited, as there was still a lot of grain in the field left to sell. However, Joe, being a planner, as well as being patient, has already sold quite a bit of grain ahead of schedule through his relationship with a grain selling advisor. This is generally a good practice, and since the predictions by a lot of experts this spring said to sell early in order to lock in good prices. It seemed as if Joe was doing the right thing.
Then, the fall happened. Slowly but surely, the grain markets have crept up, and on Friday, were limit up (see here for an explanation of this term... as I can't put it into words as well as lindsimulated.com can!). Anyway, being patient on your ground is necessary, but as far as marketing go, it's like gambling. You can make a great deal more money if you wait for the markets to go up, or you can lose thousands of dollars in a single day. Thankfully, Joe has some insurance, meaning, he has some things in place to allow him the option to sell at a higher level, even when his grain has already been contracted to sell at a certain price, so all is not lost, but his patience has been tested.
My methodical, patient, calm husband is realizing that although patience is a virtue, some times, one just needs to go with one's gut, and roll the dice!! His personality won't ever change, but he is coming to realize that being impatient and impulsive is some times a good thing. I love it when a personality trait I have that is seemingly undesirable is some times right!
Honestly, this is something I really need to work on. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent, college educated adult, but my patience for events, big ones and small, is lacking. Joe and I dated for nine months, had a nine month engagement, and then waited nine months until we realized we were ready to start a family. I try to run fast, hate waiting in line, try get projects done without procrastination, and want Christmas to come quickly. This can be a good set of character traits (or flaws, whichever way you want to look at it), but as a farmer, I would be terribly disappointed and annoyed most of the time.
I have always known that Joe is more patient than I am. He is the ying to my yang. We are opposites on a lot of things, and patience is one of them. I knew that as just a person in general, having patience made Joe so much more pleasant to be around in places such as Disney Land or while we're stuck in traffic, but as a farmer it is necessary for one to have a lot of patience.
This is why he's the farmer, and I'm the farm wife.
Take harvest for example: this season in itself is an exercise in patience. Each field and its variety has a certain time when it's ready, and if it's not, you must wait, no matter what the weather is, what the neighbors are doing, etc.
Then, once you get rolling, there's the whole waiting in line elevator. This can be minutes or stretch as long as an hour or so. I'm not saying that Joe enjoys waiting, but he is good at entertaining himself, making new friends with the other drivers, and getting to know the staff at the elevator. These are basic exercises in patience.
Then there's the whole marketing side to being a patient farmer. Friday was a great day, as the markets soared. All the farmers around here were excited, as there was still a lot of grain in the field left to sell. However, Joe, being a planner, as well as being patient, has already sold quite a bit of grain ahead of schedule through his relationship with a grain selling advisor. This is generally a good practice, and since the predictions by a lot of experts this spring said to sell early in order to lock in good prices. It seemed as if Joe was doing the right thing.
Then, the fall happened. Slowly but surely, the grain markets have crept up, and on Friday, were limit up (see here for an explanation of this term... as I can't put it into words as well as lindsimulated.com can!). Anyway, being patient on your ground is necessary, but as far as marketing go, it's like gambling. You can make a great deal more money if you wait for the markets to go up, or you can lose thousands of dollars in a single day. Thankfully, Joe has some insurance, meaning, he has some things in place to allow him the option to sell at a higher level, even when his grain has already been contracted to sell at a certain price, so all is not lost, but his patience has been tested.
My methodical, patient, calm husband is realizing that although patience is a virtue, some times, one just needs to go with one's gut, and roll the dice!! His personality won't ever change, but he is coming to realize that being impatient and impulsive is some times a good thing. I love it when a personality trait I have that is seemingly undesirable is some times right!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Hobbies: Happiness or Hooey?
We get a lot of agricultural mail: weekly newspapers, monthly magazines, parts catalogues, bills, etc. Today, however, we received an invitation to subscribe to Hobby Farming magazine. We even were sent cute little return address labels with fuzzy sheep, red barns, and an alpaca (or a llama. . .I don't know which one, but it has a long neck.). However cute these labels are, the premise of this magazine is funny to me, as we are not in this biz for a walk in the park.
So, it got me to thinking. . . who is?
Who are these mythical, mysterious hobby farmers, and what are their real jobs? Moreover, why would they choose such a labor intensive, costly, and frustrating hobby?
In my research on this magazine (i.e. googling Hobby Farming magazine and reading a few articles.), I am understanding hobby farmers are those who aren't investing hundreds of thousands of dollars on equipment, seed, land, and/or operating loans. These folks are just hanging with their animals, probably in a small area, treating them as pets. They're gardening, probably (well, definitely) more successfully than my gardening attempts. They're enjoying the land because they are not having to pay their power bills off of it.
This realization of farming for the simple enjoyment of the land and its beasts made me look at the farmers in our gang of land lovers. Do they have a hobby? The answer is yes and no, I guess. Luckily, these guys are doing something they enjoy, so a hobby seems a little unnecessary. When one is accomplishing something during the day and enjoying what he is doing, then why would a day on the golf course be necessary? If you're spending a lovely fall day by enjoying it with your cattle in a pristine pasture, then why would you equate relaxation with something like hunting? So, I guess my farmers don't need hobbies. . .they may think that they're hooey.
However, I am a hobby girl. I love running. I love reading. I used to scrapbook. . . until I had Amelia. . .poor picture and sticker deprived child. I love shopping. I think I'd like to golf. I would like to keep up playing the piano. I guess it sounds like a do a lot of messin' around. However, activities such as these keep me sane. They keep me who I am. They keep me whole.
So, should Farmer Joe take up skeet shooting? Probably not, but I do believe that these guys, when the season is right, and the markets are up, and the stars, moon and sun are all in the correct alignment should take up something just for their own sanity and enjoyment. One that's end result doesn't affect our bottom line.
But for now, I'll just toss the magazine subscription, even though it's cheap (they understand farmers and their bank accounts!), keep the stickers for the girls, and if you receive a note from me, expect an alpaca (or llama) return address label.
So, it got me to thinking. . . who is?
Who are these mythical, mysterious hobby farmers, and what are their real jobs? Moreover, why would they choose such a labor intensive, costly, and frustrating hobby?
In my research on this magazine (i.e. googling Hobby Farming magazine and reading a few articles.), I am understanding hobby farmers are those who aren't investing hundreds of thousands of dollars on equipment, seed, land, and/or operating loans. These folks are just hanging with their animals, probably in a small area, treating them as pets. They're gardening, probably (well, definitely) more successfully than my gardening attempts. They're enjoying the land because they are not having to pay their power bills off of it.
This realization of farming for the simple enjoyment of the land and its beasts made me look at the farmers in our gang of land lovers. Do they have a hobby? The answer is yes and no, I guess. Luckily, these guys are doing something they enjoy, so a hobby seems a little unnecessary. When one is accomplishing something during the day and enjoying what he is doing, then why would a day on the golf course be necessary? If you're spending a lovely fall day by enjoying it with your cattle in a pristine pasture, then why would you equate relaxation with something like hunting? So, I guess my farmers don't need hobbies. . .they may think that they're hooey.
However, I am a hobby girl. I love running. I love reading. I used to scrapbook. . . until I had Amelia. . .poor picture and sticker deprived child. I love shopping. I think I'd like to golf. I would like to keep up playing the piano. I guess it sounds like a do a lot of messin' around. However, activities such as these keep me sane. They keep me who I am. They keep me whole.
So, should Farmer Joe take up skeet shooting? Probably not, but I do believe that these guys, when the season is right, and the markets are up, and the stars, moon and sun are all in the correct alignment should take up something just for their own sanity and enjoyment. One that's end result doesn't affect our bottom line.
But for now, I'll just toss the magazine subscription, even though it's cheap (they understand farmers and their bank accounts!), keep the stickers for the girls, and if you receive a note from me, expect an alpaca (or llama) return address label.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Littlest Farm Girl
We have had a big day so far, and it's not even 10AM!! Anna headed to Kindergarten today, just for a half day, but off to the big school nonetheless. We are all excited about this new endeavor for her, all except Josie.
Josie is three. She is a lot like me, not just in her physical appearance (curly hair she'll despise as a teenager, big toothy grin), but she is extremely emotional. While Anna took today in stride, having only a little bit of nervous energy as we got closer to school, Josie was a mess from last night on. She cried this morning at breakfast, cried when I left to take Anna on this special day, and cried when her little sister accidentally bonked her head with the door. Emotions are high today.
However, a new chapter for my middle child begins today, all thanks to the farm. Josie is the one riding with Dad in the farm truck with the dog, headed over to my uncle's to check the cows. She put on her big girl work jeans ("not the fashion ones, Mom"), asked if maybe she could get a new pair of rubber boots, and headed out in the crisp morning air with Daddy. Jos is the big cheese at our house. . .until the end of the school day!
I believe with every fiber of my being, that even though the farm is unpredictable, both financially and scheduling-wise, dirty as all get-out (check out the inside of my SUV's door frames. . .YIKES!), and sometimes frustrating, being a farm kid is completely worth all the stuff that just makes my life a little inconvenient. What a blessing this opportunity is for our middle child, who some times is too little to do what her big sister is doing, but too big to be the baby. She is lucky that nearly every day is "Take Your Daughter to Work Day!"
We are anxious to hear about Anna's day. I am excited to hear about the schedule, what she did, how many new friends she made. But before that, I will have a full report from my littlest farm girl. Unlike Anna, who is her father and will report matter of fact-ly about the basics, and offer little details, Josie, my girl, will give great detail in regards to not only the happenings on the farm, but the state of the interior of Daddy's truck, the conversations they had, and the dirt collected on her pink running shoes.
That's my girl!
Josie is three. She is a lot like me, not just in her physical appearance (curly hair she'll despise as a teenager, big toothy grin), but she is extremely emotional. While Anna took today in stride, having only a little bit of nervous energy as we got closer to school, Josie was a mess from last night on. She cried this morning at breakfast, cried when I left to take Anna on this special day, and cried when her little sister accidentally bonked her head with the door. Emotions are high today.
However, a new chapter for my middle child begins today, all thanks to the farm. Josie is the one riding with Dad in the farm truck with the dog, headed over to my uncle's to check the cows. She put on her big girl work jeans ("not the fashion ones, Mom"), asked if maybe she could get a new pair of rubber boots, and headed out in the crisp morning air with Daddy. Jos is the big cheese at our house. . .until the end of the school day!
I believe with every fiber of my being, that even though the farm is unpredictable, both financially and scheduling-wise, dirty as all get-out (check out the inside of my SUV's door frames. . .YIKES!), and sometimes frustrating, being a farm kid is completely worth all the stuff that just makes my life a little inconvenient. What a blessing this opportunity is for our middle child, who some times is too little to do what her big sister is doing, but too big to be the baby. She is lucky that nearly every day is "Take Your Daughter to Work Day!"
We are anxious to hear about Anna's day. I am excited to hear about the schedule, what she did, how many new friends she made. But before that, I will have a full report from my littlest farm girl. Unlike Anna, who is her father and will report matter of fact-ly about the basics, and offer little details, Josie, my girl, will give great detail in regards to not only the happenings on the farm, but the state of the interior of Daddy's truck, the conversations they had, and the dirt collected on her pink running shoes.
That's my girl!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
By the Sign
Things are going to get noisy here in a few days. Joe is getting ready to wean calves, and both parties (mama and calves) will not be excited. The bawling, constant and loud, will commence once these little guys and gals realize what's going on. I could not be more excited, considering I have a sleeping toddler whose bedroom is directly across from this noisy pasture. However, I have no choice, because the sign said to start, and that's all there is to it.
Seriously, we go by the elusive "sign." Joe is very cutting edge in other aspects of both the cattle and grain operations of our farm. We use GPS systems to navigate both the planting and harvesting processes; Joe receives grain market updates via text message, and there's something about a micro chip in our purebred cattle, I think. . . either we have that going, or it's coming (need to research that more!), among other things. However, when it comes to processes such as weaning, Joe heads to the good ol' Farmer's Almanac.
Unlike my father-in-law, we don't have the paperback edition. Instead, to make this old-timey farming tradition more Generation-X, Joe heads to the online version. Just by clicking, you can not only find out what days are the best day to wean, cut hair to retard growth, etc., but you can also take a Smartphone Survey and get a "free almanac collection of charts and guides."
Honestly? Does this seem for real? You're basing a decision off the sign of the moon, but you're getting it sent to your smartphone? To me, it seems a little off, but that's farming: mixing the old timey with the cutting edge.
I guess that's what makes farming appealing to all walks of life. We still do some chore work and unloading of grain with my dad's old John Deere 4020 he bought in the 60s and then re-bought (something my dad tends to do . . . ask him about my college car that he bought twice.). However, our combine and most of the other new tractors can drive themselves with the help of Autotrack steering. This allowed me to make a huge farm wife mistake in my first season of this gig. . . thinking that Autotrack would allow Joe to eat shrimp pasta for supper while he cut beans. Just because the tractor drives itself doesn't mean the farmer is up there playing solitaire on his laptop or watching a DVD. The guys still have to pay attention.
Regardless, the juxtaposition of old and new makes farming something that has and will stand the test of time. New farmers will come and embrace the technology, teaching the older ones. . .much like teaching my grandparents how to run their satellite TV remote. However, the more mature farmers will know that trends come and go, but going back to what has withstood all the trendy technology is some times the best.
For now, I'll wait for that blessed day when the sun, moon, and stars all align and shut my windows, as to not hear the bawling calves.
Seriously, we go by the elusive "sign." Joe is very cutting edge in other aspects of both the cattle and grain operations of our farm. We use GPS systems to navigate both the planting and harvesting processes; Joe receives grain market updates via text message, and there's something about a micro chip in our purebred cattle, I think. . . either we have that going, or it's coming (need to research that more!), among other things. However, when it comes to processes such as weaning, Joe heads to the good ol' Farmer's Almanac.
Unlike my father-in-law, we don't have the paperback edition. Instead, to make this old-timey farming tradition more Generation-X, Joe heads to the online version. Just by clicking, you can not only find out what days are the best day to wean, cut hair to retard growth, etc., but you can also take a Smartphone Survey and get a "free almanac collection of charts and guides."
Honestly? Does this seem for real? You're basing a decision off the sign of the moon, but you're getting it sent to your smartphone? To me, it seems a little off, but that's farming: mixing the old timey with the cutting edge.
I guess that's what makes farming appealing to all walks of life. We still do some chore work and unloading of grain with my dad's old John Deere 4020 he bought in the 60s and then re-bought (something my dad tends to do . . . ask him about my college car that he bought twice.). However, our combine and most of the other new tractors can drive themselves with the help of Autotrack steering. This allowed me to make a huge farm wife mistake in my first season of this gig. . . thinking that Autotrack would allow Joe to eat shrimp pasta for supper while he cut beans. Just because the tractor drives itself doesn't mean the farmer is up there playing solitaire on his laptop or watching a DVD. The guys still have to pay attention.
Regardless, the juxtaposition of old and new makes farming something that has and will stand the test of time. New farmers will come and embrace the technology, teaching the older ones. . .much like teaching my grandparents how to run their satellite TV remote. However, the more mature farmers will know that trends come and go, but going back to what has withstood all the trendy technology is some times the best.
For now, I'll wait for that blessed day when the sun, moon, and stars all align and shut my windows, as to not hear the bawling calves.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Vacation- All I Ever Wanted
I'm a planner, and there are a mere 36 hours until we go on our little getaway, a very little getaway, but time away together, no less. I still have a list of things to accomplish before we head out, but my idea of preparing for a vacation and a farmer's are as different as the amount rain in the beginning of this summer and now the lack thereof.
It's that time of the summer when everyone and their brother are going somewhere on vacation, even farmers. Those who are grain farmers have a window of time during these dog days of summer to get away. The crops are in; the grain has been hauled (for the most part); and mowing is not imperative. Life is good.
Vacations for livestock farmers are a bit more of a trick. Once we started having cattle, I learned that even a simple day trip takes major planning and preparation to pull off. As a control freak and planner, I thrive on this. However, it's not just the basic reservations, destinations, and financing that make taking a trip possible. As a livestock farmer, we basically need babysitters for our cattle. Luckily, cattle are less labor intensive at this time of year, thanks to our spring calving season and good pasture for them to graze upon. However, Joe still has to line up the hired man to come out--often times on his day off-- to do the chores and look after our dog. There are basic chores to do but for the most part, Joe can leave without much hassle. However, there's a small piece of home that always gets packed with us whenever we leave: worry.
Fretting about what may or may not happen on the farm while we're away makes relaxing while on a vacation a trick. The farmers around here, and I'm sure more out in the rest of the rural world, never truly leave the "office at the office." There's no way to do so when your profession depends on the amount of rain in the gauge and sun in the sky. How does one ignore the weather? Thanks to the blessing (and curse) of technology, when we're away from our local news weather forecast, Joe's Blackberry radar screen is up and checked on a regular basis. Even though there's no way we can control any situation from hours away, the farmers around here can still worry and fret about the threat of rain or wind or even lightning. We learned the lesson that disaster strikes just as easily when you're sitting at a wedding, hours away, thanks to an unfortunate lightning strike. Said lightning hit a tree and then, consequently, 4 out of the 5 purebred cattle in our Simmental herd. Lucky Strike, the lone survivor lives on, as does the memory of the phone call, calling us out of a fun night with friends.
Anyway, I feel as if I am a kindred spirit to my farmers around here when any of us are getting ready to leave. They too are control freaks. Joe would much rather be there if a cow gets out to race across the road and get the cow in and repair the fence himself, rather than have the hired man, a mere 5 minutes away, take care of it. My dad would much rather be watching the torrential downpour and straight line winds from the comfort of his own living room, rather than hearing about it on his trip. In my short time researching this, I have found that puttering around home, really not doing a lot of time sensitive activities is much more relaxing for the farmers than hanging out at some silly, albeit beautiful beach, hours and miles away.
Maybe some day, when this farming thing gets easier and more second nature, we'll take our big family vacation and not have to check the Blackberry time and again. Instead, we'll bury our feet in the sand and note that it feels good to just relax.
It's that time of the summer when everyone and their brother are going somewhere on vacation, even farmers. Those who are grain farmers have a window of time during these dog days of summer to get away. The crops are in; the grain has been hauled (for the most part); and mowing is not imperative. Life is good.
Vacations for livestock farmers are a bit more of a trick. Once we started having cattle, I learned that even a simple day trip takes major planning and preparation to pull off. As a control freak and planner, I thrive on this. However, it's not just the basic reservations, destinations, and financing that make taking a trip possible. As a livestock farmer, we basically need babysitters for our cattle. Luckily, cattle are less labor intensive at this time of year, thanks to our spring calving season and good pasture for them to graze upon. However, Joe still has to line up the hired man to come out--often times on his day off-- to do the chores and look after our dog. There are basic chores to do but for the most part, Joe can leave without much hassle. However, there's a small piece of home that always gets packed with us whenever we leave: worry.
Fretting about what may or may not happen on the farm while we're away makes relaxing while on a vacation a trick. The farmers around here, and I'm sure more out in the rest of the rural world, never truly leave the "office at the office." There's no way to do so when your profession depends on the amount of rain in the gauge and sun in the sky. How does one ignore the weather? Thanks to the blessing (and curse) of technology, when we're away from our local news weather forecast, Joe's Blackberry radar screen is up and checked on a regular basis. Even though there's no way we can control any situation from hours away, the farmers around here can still worry and fret about the threat of rain or wind or even lightning. We learned the lesson that disaster strikes just as easily when you're sitting at a wedding, hours away, thanks to an unfortunate lightning strike. Said lightning hit a tree and then, consequently, 4 out of the 5 purebred cattle in our Simmental herd. Lucky Strike, the lone survivor lives on, as does the memory of the phone call, calling us out of a fun night with friends.
Anyway, I feel as if I am a kindred spirit to my farmers around here when any of us are getting ready to leave. They too are control freaks. Joe would much rather be there if a cow gets out to race across the road and get the cow in and repair the fence himself, rather than have the hired man, a mere 5 minutes away, take care of it. My dad would much rather be watching the torrential downpour and straight line winds from the comfort of his own living room, rather than hearing about it on his trip. In my short time researching this, I have found that puttering around home, really not doing a lot of time sensitive activities is much more relaxing for the farmers than hanging out at some silly, albeit beautiful beach, hours and miles away.
Maybe some day, when this farming thing gets easier and more second nature, we'll take our big family vacation and not have to check the Blackberry time and again. Instead, we'll bury our feet in the sand and note that it feels good to just relax.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Radio Spot
If you live in farm country, you may listen to a few radio stations that give the market prices during the noon news report or play commercials sponsored by the county/state Farm Bureau.
Ever wonder who voices those???
Well, wonder no more!! Two of the voices on this commercial are people who have blogged or been blogged about.
Give up?
Even if you haven't given up, I'll give you the answer: it's my dad and me! We were given the opportunity to be a part of this, thanks primarily to who we know, as well as what we know!
However, my quest to learn more about all things agricultural has lead me to read more and more about this farming biz. I have come to realize that there are a lot of folks out there who are doing great things for agriculture. They write, speak, present, and just do a great job advocating for agriculture. Those in leadership positions, as well as those with loud voices (ha, ha) tell all "ag-vocates," new and old, to get their voices heard. Tell the story of farm life as you live it. Let people know that if they eat, they are involved in agriculture (thanks for that phrase, my dear DeAnna).
I am hopeful the experiences I write about can be somewhat entertaining, while also educating myself and others about agriculture. There have to be more people than me who need more information on this seemingly and stereotypically "simple" farming lifestyle!!
Thanks for reading, and enjoy my commercial debut!!
Ever wonder who voices those???
Well, wonder no more!! Two of the voices on this commercial are people who have blogged or been blogged about.
Give up?
Even if you haven't given up, I'll give you the answer: it's my dad and me! We were given the opportunity to be a part of this, thanks primarily to who we know, as well as what we know!
However, my quest to learn more about all things agricultural has lead me to read more and more about this farming biz. I have come to realize that there are a lot of folks out there who are doing great things for agriculture. They write, speak, present, and just do a great job advocating for agriculture. Those in leadership positions, as well as those with loud voices (ha, ha) tell all "ag-vocates," new and old, to get their voices heard. Tell the story of farm life as you live it. Let people know that if they eat, they are involved in agriculture (thanks for that phrase, my dear DeAnna).
I am hopeful the experiences I write about can be somewhat entertaining, while also educating myself and others about agriculture. There have to be more people than me who need more information on this seemingly and stereotypically "simple" farming lifestyle!!
Thanks for reading, and enjoy my commercial debut!!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Love/Hate Relationships
It's raining, and I think that's good. . . kind of. I actually have no idea, but rain in moderate amounts does the Earth good, right? In our part of the country, we haven't had the bucketfuls of rain as other parts in our state, but still the rain has wreaked havoc on Joe's plans to cut hay. However, it's helping with the little corn plants that are coming up in the field to the west of our house, but the beans are struggling to come up in the field north of our house because of the rain that came just a few hours after we finished planting.
Do you see why I have no idea whether or not this rainy day is good or not?
Farmers tend to have a love/hate relationship with the weather. . . and the markets. . . and the color of tractor they drive. . . and livestock their raising. . . . and the semi they're driving or loading. . . and the profession of farming in general. There's always something to consider, worry about, fix, check, or fuss over. It's a frustrating and vicious cycle.
Then why are there farmers? Why are they working in a profession with end results that are left basically to a wish and a prayer? Well. . . I'm not sure, but I love someone who, although the markets are down (at this time. . . maybe not in a few hours!), and the hay is not (which is the first step in the whole cutting/baling hay process), he still loves it, getting up and going every morning, regardless of the circumstances. Is it nice to have a job that allows Daddy in at lunch time, as well as breakfast and dinner? Yes. Is it nice to have a job that allows him to help feed and fuel our country? Yes. However, is it fun to pull a calf (all you ladies out there. . .ouch) in the dead of night when it's below zero? No. Is it fun to put the crop in and wait, watching the elements as they come, or not? Absolutely not. But it's the innate drive to work in the dirt and be responsible for the good of, well, all of us that outweighs the unpredictable, cold, wacky aspects of agriculture.
My relationship with farming is growing. We are getting to know each other better, and I am feeling a little more love and a lot less hate as I become a more seasoned farm wife. Joe would answer with a vehement yes that he was born to be a farmer, and my hope is that some day, I will be able to answer with that same strength that I was born to be a farm wife, too.
Do you see why I have no idea whether or not this rainy day is good or not?
Farmers tend to have a love/hate relationship with the weather. . . and the markets. . . and the color of tractor they drive. . . and livestock their raising. . . . and the semi they're driving or loading. . . and the profession of farming in general. There's always something to consider, worry about, fix, check, or fuss over. It's a frustrating and vicious cycle.
Then why are there farmers? Why are they working in a profession with end results that are left basically to a wish and a prayer? Well. . . I'm not sure, but I love someone who, although the markets are down (at this time. . . maybe not in a few hours!), and the hay is not (which is the first step in the whole cutting/baling hay process), he still loves it, getting up and going every morning, regardless of the circumstances. Is it nice to have a job that allows Daddy in at lunch time, as well as breakfast and dinner? Yes. Is it nice to have a job that allows him to help feed and fuel our country? Yes. However, is it fun to pull a calf (all you ladies out there. . .ouch) in the dead of night when it's below zero? No. Is it fun to put the crop in and wait, watching the elements as they come, or not? Absolutely not. But it's the innate drive to work in the dirt and be responsible for the good of, well, all of us that outweighs the unpredictable, cold, wacky aspects of agriculture.
My relationship with farming is growing. We are getting to know each other better, and I am feeling a little more love and a lot less hate as I become a more seasoned farm wife. Joe would answer with a vehement yes that he was born to be a farmer, and my hope is that some day, I will be able to answer with that same strength that I was born to be a farm wife, too.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Farming and Exercise
It may be obvious that farming is an exercise in patience, but farming as a form of exercise? As a town girl transplanted to the country, I am finding out that this is true.
Case in point: this morning. We were visiting Joe's family on their farm, and after visiting Grandpa Dick and Grandma D-lo (she was D-lo way before J-Lo, so Joe says!), I decided to run back to my parents-in-law's house. It was a three mile trek, but I needed an easy run after yesterday's long run. Joe's grandfather was horrified.
"You're going to do WHAT? WHERE? And WHY?"
He was not necessarily shocked at the fact that I was running, but the fact that I was going to tool down the gravel road up to the hard road and then up to the home place. It seemed completely logical to me, as the only cars that truly frequent this route are those with the drivers who have the same last name as me. Wouldn't it be safer for me to run on this set of side roads rather than a busy street in town? Plus, I don't have to drive into town to do my run that day (have I mentioned that I even keep a running stroller at my parents' house. . .yes, I have two, but who cares. . . in town?).
Anyway, I took off, with my grandparents in-law watching and shaking their heads at their grandson's crazy wife, and was left to the silence of the country road. I enjoyed my three miles of solitude, and do I mean solitude. The only creatures I passed were birds, one cow (who quickly ran the other way, after seeing me), and a wild kitty. My run was glorious, alone, silent, and done for the day. It was bliss.
So why were the farmers around here so freaked out that I was going to use their roads as a workout facility? Why aren't more farmers and farm wives taking up walking/running/biking down these solitary roads with light traffic? Where are the farmers in my PowerPump class? Where are the farmers in the community softball league?
Well. . . I think I have figured out some possible reasons:
1) Farmers rarely have times for hobbies such as exercising. This goes without a lot of explanation. Joe rarely has time to keep up on his paperwork and bills, let alone take up running.
2) Farming in itself is exercise. I live with an example. My husband, upon taking on the cattle operation, dropped 35 pounds and gained muscle. He looks fantastic. My dad, uncle, grandpa, father-in-law, grandfather in-law all are other examples of what getting in and out of tractors, hefting bags of seed and bales of hay and walking fields can do for your body. They are fit as a part of their occupations.
3) Roads in the rural route, although solitary and not too congested, are pretty dangerous to use as a running route. Crazy farm dogs, farm wives headed out to town, tractors pulling heavy equipment all are on these roads and are not looking out for Little Ole Me. The hills are great, but are blind, and while I loved running by myself in the middle of nowhere, the gravel could have done some serious damage to my ankles.
I will continue to pack my running clothes when we visit my in-laws, however, I am not going to make running our country roads a habit. Instead, I'll keep packing up my kids up in the car and head to town and run. Town folks don't shake their heads and watch me until I'm just a dot on the gravel road as my grandparents in-law did today. Rather, town folks won't even notice the crazy lady pushing two kids as she runs.
Case in point: this morning. We were visiting Joe's family on their farm, and after visiting Grandpa Dick and Grandma D-lo (she was D-lo way before J-Lo, so Joe says!), I decided to run back to my parents-in-law's house. It was a three mile trek, but I needed an easy run after yesterday's long run. Joe's grandfather was horrified.
"You're going to do WHAT? WHERE? And WHY?"
He was not necessarily shocked at the fact that I was running, but the fact that I was going to tool down the gravel road up to the hard road and then up to the home place. It seemed completely logical to me, as the only cars that truly frequent this route are those with the drivers who have the same last name as me. Wouldn't it be safer for me to run on this set of side roads rather than a busy street in town? Plus, I don't have to drive into town to do my run that day (have I mentioned that I even keep a running stroller at my parents' house. . .yes, I have two, but who cares. . . in town?).
Anyway, I took off, with my grandparents in-law watching and shaking their heads at their grandson's crazy wife, and was left to the silence of the country road. I enjoyed my three miles of solitude, and do I mean solitude. The only creatures I passed were birds, one cow (who quickly ran the other way, after seeing me), and a wild kitty. My run was glorious, alone, silent, and done for the day. It was bliss.
So why were the farmers around here so freaked out that I was going to use their roads as a workout facility? Why aren't more farmers and farm wives taking up walking/running/biking down these solitary roads with light traffic? Where are the farmers in my PowerPump class? Where are the farmers in the community softball league?
Well. . . I think I have figured out some possible reasons:
1) Farmers rarely have times for hobbies such as exercising. This goes without a lot of explanation. Joe rarely has time to keep up on his paperwork and bills, let alone take up running.
2) Farming in itself is exercise. I live with an example. My husband, upon taking on the cattle operation, dropped 35 pounds and gained muscle. He looks fantastic. My dad, uncle, grandpa, father-in-law, grandfather in-law all are other examples of what getting in and out of tractors, hefting bags of seed and bales of hay and walking fields can do for your body. They are fit as a part of their occupations.
3) Roads in the rural route, although solitary and not too congested, are pretty dangerous to use as a running route. Crazy farm dogs, farm wives headed out to town, tractors pulling heavy equipment all are on these roads and are not looking out for Little Ole Me. The hills are great, but are blind, and while I loved running by myself in the middle of nowhere, the gravel could have done some serious damage to my ankles.
I will continue to pack my running clothes when we visit my in-laws, however, I am not going to make running our country roads a habit. Instead, I'll keep packing up my kids up in the car and head to town and run. Town folks don't shake their heads and watch me until I'm just a dot on the gravel road as my grandparents in-law did today. Rather, town folks won't even notice the crazy lady pushing two kids as she runs.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Superstitions
Don't start planting on a Friday.
Never start harvesting or planting on the 13th.
The best day to plant corn is April ___________(fill in the blank depending upon your family's lore).
Is this for real? Is there any truth to these superstitions? Is farming comparable to voodoo? We haven't been farming long enough to know if these are tried and true results, family beliefs, or just guesses, but whatever the season, whatever the situation, there's superstitions.
Consider this morning: I woke up, thought about the fact that we finished planting last night, but then thought, "What if it frosts?" Where's my positive attitude? Shouldn't I be thankful we're done? Last year on this date, we hadn't even started planting anything yet!
Similarly, last night, upon congratulating my dad on a job well done, he said, "Now let's hope we don't have to go back and replant something." Great attitude, Dad. Even my husband, the owner of the book, How to Be an Up Person in a Down World (and if you know my husband, soooo appropriate for his mind set), is cautiously hopeful that something doesn't blow up or blow over.
Although it's easy for me, the newbie farm wife, or anyone who isn't 100 percent farm-minded, to execute a perfect eye roll at these thoughts, I have come to realize that superstitious thoughts as well as unpositive thinking are par for the course in a profession that relies primarily on acts of God and fluctuating markets (those are acts of God, too, right?). How could you not become a bit of a cynic when a freak hail storm could take your year's livelihood down? How could you not tend to stay away from doing anything on a date on the calendar when a tornado blew down the main farmstead buildings? How could you not be a little nervous when 8 out of your 10 purebreds, just purchased, moved into a new pasture, and tagged for identification (kind of like ear piercing) were struck by lightning, all while we were in attendance at our good friend's wedding? That anniversary is coming up, and we will never forget that phone call, or our friend's special day.
Regardless of the circumstances (whether fortunate or freakish), the farmers in our corner of the world all have superstitions. There are truths to some of them, and farming is a profession that has withstood the test of time, so who am I to question the date you should or should not plant corn? Farming is a profession that relies heavily on chance, so why not throw a little superstition into the mix? Maybe that will help the markets go up!
Never start harvesting or planting on the 13th.
The best day to plant corn is April ___________(fill in the blank depending upon your family's lore).
Is this for real? Is there any truth to these superstitions? Is farming comparable to voodoo? We haven't been farming long enough to know if these are tried and true results, family beliefs, or just guesses, but whatever the season, whatever the situation, there's superstitions.
Consider this morning: I woke up, thought about the fact that we finished planting last night, but then thought, "What if it frosts?" Where's my positive attitude? Shouldn't I be thankful we're done? Last year on this date, we hadn't even started planting anything yet!
Similarly, last night, upon congratulating my dad on a job well done, he said, "Now let's hope we don't have to go back and replant something." Great attitude, Dad. Even my husband, the owner of the book, How to Be an Up Person in a Down World (and if you know my husband, soooo appropriate for his mind set), is cautiously hopeful that something doesn't blow up or blow over.
Although it's easy for me, the newbie farm wife, or anyone who isn't 100 percent farm-minded, to execute a perfect eye roll at these thoughts, I have come to realize that superstitious thoughts as well as unpositive thinking are par for the course in a profession that relies primarily on acts of God and fluctuating markets (those are acts of God, too, right?). How could you not become a bit of a cynic when a freak hail storm could take your year's livelihood down? How could you not tend to stay away from doing anything on a date on the calendar when a tornado blew down the main farmstead buildings? How could you not be a little nervous when 8 out of your 10 purebreds, just purchased, moved into a new pasture, and tagged for identification (kind of like ear piercing) were struck by lightning, all while we were in attendance at our good friend's wedding? That anniversary is coming up, and we will never forget that phone call, or our friend's special day.
Regardless of the circumstances (whether fortunate or freakish), the farmers in our corner of the world all have superstitions. There are truths to some of them, and farming is a profession that has withstood the test of time, so who am I to question the date you should or should not plant corn? Farming is a profession that relies heavily on chance, so why not throw a little superstition into the mix? Maybe that will help the markets go up!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
The Lonely Profession
It's Mother's Day. Obviously, the Hallmark executives who started up this holiday were not farmers. Although today has been a great day spent with family, the farmers around here are working at a frantic pace to get the rest of the beans planted before the five forecasted days of rain. Each of the guys is in his own role, working in separate fields, separate tractors, and doing individual jobs. This is an efficient operation, however, a lonely one.
Why is this? Why is it that all of our tractors come equipped with "buddy seats," yet the guys work alone? Why is farming considered a family oriented operation, but a pretty lonely one at that? Why is it that we are a five family farm operation, but we rarely see but one or two of the five on a daily basis (did I mention we all live within a 2 mile radius of each other?)?
When Joe first started farming, the initial thrill of big equipment, cattle, dirt and four wheeling seemed to overpower the impending loneliness of a five hour wait in the semi during harvest. However, after the initial shock that we're actually doing this farming thing wore off and the realization that life goes on, and we all have a job to do set in, we both came to realize that farming full time is a lonely profession. There's no office buddy. There's no person to car pool with. There's no talking about "Dancing with the Stars" at the water cooler. Thus, the reason that coffee shops in small town America are full of farmers: there are some farmers who need contact, conversation, and also coffee.
Joe is not a coffee shop guy, but his need for adult and mainly agricultural conversation is similar to my need for my stay at home mom friends. We need to "cuss and discuss," as a friend of ours put it. Although we are able to be together as a family. . . a lot, which is mainly a good thing, everyone needs to be around people whom they are not directly related to once in awhile.
As a self proclaimed "people person," Joe has had to make a big adjustment in his lifestyle. He went from being a teacher to a state agricultural supervisor to a national educational consultant and speaker to a farmer. Sounds like a great professional progression, doesn't it? Although Joe is doing what he has always wanted to, it is still a lonely gig. Like the other farmers around here, he does a lot of his chores alone, works into the late hours alone, and comes in and does bookwork, marketing and the like alone.
There's not a lot of complaining around here, however. The farmers get together in front of the machine shed and kick dirt and discuss the weather and the plan of attack for the day. Then, like good foot soldiers, they disperse to their positions and work for HOURS alone, and even though my farmer husband is indeed a people person, he does this job with joy.
Farmers are lone wolves. Whether they are social people or agoraphobic, farming tends to be lonely, but you won't hear many farmers complaining. They're busy, out in the field, probably alone.
Why is this? Why is it that all of our tractors come equipped with "buddy seats," yet the guys work alone? Why is farming considered a family oriented operation, but a pretty lonely one at that? Why is it that we are a five family farm operation, but we rarely see but one or two of the five on a daily basis (did I mention we all live within a 2 mile radius of each other?)?
When Joe first started farming, the initial thrill of big equipment, cattle, dirt and four wheeling seemed to overpower the impending loneliness of a five hour wait in the semi during harvest. However, after the initial shock that we're actually doing this farming thing wore off and the realization that life goes on, and we all have a job to do set in, we both came to realize that farming full time is a lonely profession. There's no office buddy. There's no person to car pool with. There's no talking about "Dancing with the Stars" at the water cooler. Thus, the reason that coffee shops in small town America are full of farmers: there are some farmers who need contact, conversation, and also coffee.
Joe is not a coffee shop guy, but his need for adult and mainly agricultural conversation is similar to my need for my stay at home mom friends. We need to "cuss and discuss," as a friend of ours put it. Although we are able to be together as a family. . . a lot, which is mainly a good thing, everyone needs to be around people whom they are not directly related to once in awhile.
As a self proclaimed "people person," Joe has had to make a big adjustment in his lifestyle. He went from being a teacher to a state agricultural supervisor to a national educational consultant and speaker to a farmer. Sounds like a great professional progression, doesn't it? Although Joe is doing what he has always wanted to, it is still a lonely gig. Like the other farmers around here, he does a lot of his chores alone, works into the late hours alone, and comes in and does bookwork, marketing and the like alone.
There's not a lot of complaining around here, however. The farmers get together in front of the machine shed and kick dirt and discuss the weather and the plan of attack for the day. Then, like good foot soldiers, they disperse to their positions and work for HOURS alone, and even though my farmer husband is indeed a people person, he does this job with joy.
Farmers are lone wolves. Whether they are social people or agoraphobic, farming tends to be lonely, but you won't hear many farmers complaining. They're busy, out in the field, probably alone.
Friday, April 30, 2010
This IS Fun!
Joe has been full time farming for three planting seasons, and in those short years we have had one picture perfect, bumper crop, crazy yield year (the first), one where it never stopped raining and was so stressful we all wanted 2009 to be over and done (sorry, Amelia. . . born that June), and then this year, which has yet to be labeled. After finishing with corn last night, Joe came in, did the hand clasp victory move and proclaimed, "This IS fun!"
What guy wouldn't want to work with large equipment, be outside, and play in the dirt for most of his waking hours? What manly man doesn't feel a sense of accomplishment when he hefts large bags of seed (well, not us. . . we're in bulk now!! Whoo-hoo!) off of pallets and into the planter? What man isn't interested in four wheeling around a pasture on a perfect spring day, scoping out what calves have been born that day?
I'm not trying to be sexist, by just referring to men, but in my limited experience, Joe's friends (the men) seem to hang on nearly every word when he explains what a "day in the life of Farmer Joe" is like. Most of these men have somewhat agricultural backgrounds, but even those from the city have many questions regarding equipment, livestock and the like.
I guess the lure of farming to those not in the actual production agriculture biz is that is seems like fun. It would appear to some "outsiders" that it would be relatively stress free, have a flexible schedule, and would be great to own acres and acres of land. This is true, it would be nice to have all these things, but as a young, starting farming family, we don't have a lot of these amenities. With self employment comes no company insurance, a huge line of credit with the bank, and cash rent or sharecropped land. As a new farmer, we don't have the built up experience to know that some years are tough and some are great. We just freak out when it rains buckets, and watch with bated breath out our kitchen window as the wind threatens to knock down growing corn in our backyard. . . that was NOT a fun dinner time conversation.
I was a first year teacher some years back, and was hysterical most of my first semester, having NO idea what it was like to really be a teacher. At the mercy of 21 sixth graders, it some times was comparable to being a newly trained lion tamer. However, by the time I was ready to quit, after having our first child, I had finally figured some things out. Isn't that just the way?
Anyway, like teaching and any new experience, home, community, for that matter, it takes time before it becomes less "work" and more "fun." We are finished with corn in a timely manner, there were no big breakdowns, debacles, or much hysteria. It was fun, and that is exciting. Joe has a few years under his belt, and therefore, can enjoy fun planting seasons like this one.
Although farming is a different type of stress, with depending on God, the weather, and the grain/livestock markets, and whatnot, shouldn't all jobs be considered fun most of the time? Shouldn't work not feel like "work?" In theory, yes, but that doesn't happen much around here. It just feels like we're walking on eggshells.
My hope for the bean planting season, in the next few weeks, is that it will be written in our record books as one that was fun (and maybe even a little profitable come fall!).
What guy wouldn't want to work with large equipment, be outside, and play in the dirt for most of his waking hours? What manly man doesn't feel a sense of accomplishment when he hefts large bags of seed (well, not us. . . we're in bulk now!! Whoo-hoo!) off of pallets and into the planter? What man isn't interested in four wheeling around a pasture on a perfect spring day, scoping out what calves have been born that day?
I'm not trying to be sexist, by just referring to men, but in my limited experience, Joe's friends (the men) seem to hang on nearly every word when he explains what a "day in the life of Farmer Joe" is like. Most of these men have somewhat agricultural backgrounds, but even those from the city have many questions regarding equipment, livestock and the like.
I guess the lure of farming to those not in the actual production agriculture biz is that is seems like fun. It would appear to some "outsiders" that it would be relatively stress free, have a flexible schedule, and would be great to own acres and acres of land. This is true, it would be nice to have all these things, but as a young, starting farming family, we don't have a lot of these amenities. With self employment comes no company insurance, a huge line of credit with the bank, and cash rent or sharecropped land. As a new farmer, we don't have the built up experience to know that some years are tough and some are great. We just freak out when it rains buckets, and watch with bated breath out our kitchen window as the wind threatens to knock down growing corn in our backyard. . . that was NOT a fun dinner time conversation.
I was a first year teacher some years back, and was hysterical most of my first semester, having NO idea what it was like to really be a teacher. At the mercy of 21 sixth graders, it some times was comparable to being a newly trained lion tamer. However, by the time I was ready to quit, after having our first child, I had finally figured some things out. Isn't that just the way?
Anyway, like teaching and any new experience, home, community, for that matter, it takes time before it becomes less "work" and more "fun." We are finished with corn in a timely manner, there were no big breakdowns, debacles, or much hysteria. It was fun, and that is exciting. Joe has a few years under his belt, and therefore, can enjoy fun planting seasons like this one.
Although farming is a different type of stress, with depending on God, the weather, and the grain/livestock markets, and whatnot, shouldn't all jobs be considered fun most of the time? Shouldn't work not feel like "work?" In theory, yes, but that doesn't happen much around here. It just feels like we're walking on eggshells.
My hope for the bean planting season, in the next few weeks, is that it will be written in our record books as one that was fun (and maybe even a little profitable come fall!).
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Eternal Optimists
It's here. . . baseball season. Joe's finest hour: the greatest time spent yelling at the TV, watching his beloved Cardinals play. While we are definitely a house of Cardinals fans (there was a question about Anna being friends with someone at preschool because he was a Cub fan. We told her he was okay, just try to change him.), I can't help but see a lot of similarities between farming and being a fan of a not-so-great team. The "other" team in this house: THE CUBS.
The mantra many Cubs fans follow at this time of year is "This is the year. . ." Much like farmers in the spring, Cubs fans are clinging to the promise of the unknown, hoping that all the off season preparation will make a difference. Farmers follow the same creed. Seed purchasing based upon yield performance, early fertilizer purchases, and new equipment give us the promise of a better spring, better yields, and better financial picture in the end (whoo-hoo!).
Like being a Cubs fan, farming is heart wrenching. Joe's mama cow who lost her calf after birthing it in unseasonably cold temperatures in the wrong place in the muck was terrible to endure. The weather is unpredictable and maddening, much like the Cub pitching staff. However, you keep going, keep farming, keep rooting for the "home team."
"Maybe next year" is something all Cub fans think at the end of yet another losing season. Farmers say it, too. Last year was a tough year for us. From a terribly wet spring to a equally wet fall, we never seemed to catch a break. Everything was planted late, so it was ready late: a mean, vicious cycle. Our last round of harvesting corn was done in a skiff of snow. Even now, we're still feeling the affects of last year's craziness. We're currently hauling out grain that should have been out of the bins in January. Yikes. However, the three farmers in our operation, although frustrated by last year, knew that the next year would be better.
The promise of spring is bringing hope to the farmstead, making last year's nightmare just a memory. Everyone in our operation seems ready to start fresh. This optimism is pretty extraordinary when you think about it. Joe didn't walk away from his dream job when the seasons didn't cooperate. He just worked through the snow, giving my uncle a fist pump when they hauled their last load to the bin. He didn't sell all his cattle when he had to endure day after day of cold, wet chores during this crummy calving season. He just kept going.
All the signs of spring are starting to show up: baseball starting, the planter parked in the driveway, ready to go, green grass and warm temperatures. We don't know what this year is going to bring, but we do have a lot of hope. And, even though the farmers in our operation are not Cub fans, they share the same eternal optimism: the hope that "this is the year."
The mantra many Cubs fans follow at this time of year is "This is the year. . ." Much like farmers in the spring, Cubs fans are clinging to the promise of the unknown, hoping that all the off season preparation will make a difference. Farmers follow the same creed. Seed purchasing based upon yield performance, early fertilizer purchases, and new equipment give us the promise of a better spring, better yields, and better financial picture in the end (whoo-hoo!).
Like being a Cubs fan, farming is heart wrenching. Joe's mama cow who lost her calf after birthing it in unseasonably cold temperatures in the wrong place in the muck was terrible to endure. The weather is unpredictable and maddening, much like the Cub pitching staff. However, you keep going, keep farming, keep rooting for the "home team."
"Maybe next year" is something all Cub fans think at the end of yet another losing season. Farmers say it, too. Last year was a tough year for us. From a terribly wet spring to a equally wet fall, we never seemed to catch a break. Everything was planted late, so it was ready late: a mean, vicious cycle. Our last round of harvesting corn was done in a skiff of snow. Even now, we're still feeling the affects of last year's craziness. We're currently hauling out grain that should have been out of the bins in January. Yikes. However, the three farmers in our operation, although frustrated by last year, knew that the next year would be better.
The promise of spring is bringing hope to the farmstead, making last year's nightmare just a memory. Everyone in our operation seems ready to start fresh. This optimism is pretty extraordinary when you think about it. Joe didn't walk away from his dream job when the seasons didn't cooperate. He just worked through the snow, giving my uncle a fist pump when they hauled their last load to the bin. He didn't sell all his cattle when he had to endure day after day of cold, wet chores during this crummy calving season. He just kept going.
All the signs of spring are starting to show up: baseball starting, the planter parked in the driveway, ready to go, green grass and warm temperatures. We don't know what this year is going to bring, but we do have a lot of hope. And, even though the farmers in our operation are not Cub fans, they share the same eternal optimism: the hope that "this is the year."
Monday, April 5, 2010
Down the Road We Go
As we traveled across the countryside this weekend, I noticed something. Usually, as we travel, there's a constant stream of questions from the back two rows. I try to answer eight thousand questions, ranging in topics from flags on people's cars to trampolines to school buses and their destinations. However, this time, while the two little ones were napping and Anna was quietly coloring, the running commentary was not from the "way back," but from the driver's seat.
This is not the first time I have noticed that Joe comments on all things agricultural as we travel. However, now that I have embarked upon my quest to learn more about farming, I took note of these musings. Every time we passed a field where there was evidence of either ground that had been "worked" or anhydrous applied (I just learned the difference during this trip. . . before, it all looked black and bumpy! Hooray for small victories!!) Joe would comment on it. Not a derogatory comment, usually, just a comment. In fact, we have been known to take different routes to our destinations just to see what's been going on.
This fascinates me. As a former teacher, I would think about school and lesson plans and the kids, but I would never go a different way home just to see who has the best playground equipment. I would also never peek into windows to see who had the coolest bulletin boards. In farm country, however, it's a different story. In fact, as I was cleaning up from breakfast on Easter Sunday, a pick up truck was CRAWLING down our road. It was nearly stopped across from the semi parking lot (i.e., my driveway), and it hit me. The man in the driver's seat wasn't trying to keep his car clean from the gravel road for Easter Sunday church. He was counting the rows on our new planter! Honestly, this guy was totally scoping out our stuff, without any pause or act of discretion! Now I tend to note cute shoes or a great purse or a big diamond ring, but there's no way that I would slow down my car to count the carats! That's just crazy!
However, in farm country, you take note, just for noting's sake. Farmers pay attention to each other's practices, but just for the simple fact that they are curious. No real competition, just curiosity. The same seems to go for when the grain markets are fluctuating. We cheer them on whether we're selling or not.
We notice people's activity in the spring and fall, paying attention to who's done with planting/harvesting and who's had a breakdown or not, just for conversation.
In my little world as Joe's farm wife, this is the way it is. And as bizarre as it may seem, it's refreshing to not be worried about keeping up with the Joneses. . .just wondering what they're doing.
This is not the first time I have noticed that Joe comments on all things agricultural as we travel. However, now that I have embarked upon my quest to learn more about farming, I took note of these musings. Every time we passed a field where there was evidence of either ground that had been "worked" or anhydrous applied (I just learned the difference during this trip. . . before, it all looked black and bumpy! Hooray for small victories!!) Joe would comment on it. Not a derogatory comment, usually, just a comment. In fact, we have been known to take different routes to our destinations just to see what's been going on.
This fascinates me. As a former teacher, I would think about school and lesson plans and the kids, but I would never go a different way home just to see who has the best playground equipment. I would also never peek into windows to see who had the coolest bulletin boards. In farm country, however, it's a different story. In fact, as I was cleaning up from breakfast on Easter Sunday, a pick up truck was CRAWLING down our road. It was nearly stopped across from the semi parking lot (i.e., my driveway), and it hit me. The man in the driver's seat wasn't trying to keep his car clean from the gravel road for Easter Sunday church. He was counting the rows on our new planter! Honestly, this guy was totally scoping out our stuff, without any pause or act of discretion! Now I tend to note cute shoes or a great purse or a big diamond ring, but there's no way that I would slow down my car to count the carats! That's just crazy!
However, in farm country, you take note, just for noting's sake. Farmers pay attention to each other's practices, but just for the simple fact that they are curious. No real competition, just curiosity. The same seems to go for when the grain markets are fluctuating. We cheer them on whether we're selling or not.
We notice people's activity in the spring and fall, paying attention to who's done with planting/harvesting and who's had a breakdown or not, just for conversation.
In my little world as Joe's farm wife, this is the way it is. And as bizarre as it may seem, it's refreshing to not be worried about keeping up with the Joneses. . .just wondering what they're doing.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A House of Cards
There is a billboard on the way to the Par-a-Dice in Peoria that sports a number for "Gambler's Anonymous." Ironic, eh? I think, however, this billboard should also be placed on various gravel roads along the countryside. Gambling is legal in Illinois, but did you know that it is part of the actual farming profession?
Seriously, as a farmer, you have to also be a gambler. Now, my husband enjoys a game of cards once in awhile, likes to go to Vegas now and again, but doesn't have an "issue" with gambling from a card or gaming perspective. In farming world, however, there are times that I think he needs to put the cards down and walk away from the table. We gamble every night with the weather man. Listening to the precipitation percentages, trying to beat the odds by saying, "it's not that bad" with the wind chill factors, and playing with fire during wind speed updates when the corn is just about ready to blow over are just a few of the gambles we take as farm folks. We waited each night with bated breath during a particularly wet fall (that shall remain "year-less"), hoping that the weather man's 75% chance of rain would be wrong, and we could roll the dice and take the combine out into the field that was most fit for cutting beans. There's another gamble: which field to work on and when. No matter what season, this is truly a crap shoot. Even a masters and bachelors degrees in ag education cannot get you away from gambling in this situation. Holy smokes! Last Mother's Day, my very intellegent, savvy, and somewhat excitable husband went "all in" and spent this particular spring day with himself, my uncle, uncle's friend, and a bulldozer, trying to pry the Turbo Chopper 3000 out of the muck. Not a winning hand at all that day.
Other potential gambles: equipment- red or green- no question in our house, seed varieties, nitrogen application or not, livestock or none, new bin or rent storage. . .the list goes on. Then, there's the gamble with taxes. The rush to the tax man at the end of the year and the hurried spending before January 1st would leave a shopper like me in a flushed, excited state. However, to my tight fisted, poker faced hubby, this is torture! It's like cashing in your chips when you're on a roll, or so I have been told.
I am having a hard time with this gamble, especially during the bleak winter days where the fields are- although pretty and white-- bleak and far from the promise of the tiny corn plants lining them, which, in turn means hope for a college education for our daughters, and maybe some new running shoes for my spring races. However, I need to remember that unlike gambling, the quick rush of excitement that comes with winning is not what farming is about. We are steady, patient, excited, and hopeful with each season. As farmers, no matter what, our profession is a good hand, no matter what.
Seriously, as a farmer, you have to also be a gambler. Now, my husband enjoys a game of cards once in awhile, likes to go to Vegas now and again, but doesn't have an "issue" with gambling from a card or gaming perspective. In farming world, however, there are times that I think he needs to put the cards down and walk away from the table. We gamble every night with the weather man. Listening to the precipitation percentages, trying to beat the odds by saying, "it's not that bad" with the wind chill factors, and playing with fire during wind speed updates when the corn is just about ready to blow over are just a few of the gambles we take as farm folks. We waited each night with bated breath during a particularly wet fall (that shall remain "year-less"), hoping that the weather man's 75% chance of rain would be wrong, and we could roll the dice and take the combine out into the field that was most fit for cutting beans. There's another gamble: which field to work on and when. No matter what season, this is truly a crap shoot. Even a masters and bachelors degrees in ag education cannot get you away from gambling in this situation. Holy smokes! Last Mother's Day, my very intellegent, savvy, and somewhat excitable husband went "all in" and spent this particular spring day with himself, my uncle, uncle's friend, and a bulldozer, trying to pry the Turbo Chopper 3000 out of the muck. Not a winning hand at all that day.
Other potential gambles: equipment- red or green- no question in our house, seed varieties, nitrogen application or not, livestock or none, new bin or rent storage. . .the list goes on. Then, there's the gamble with taxes. The rush to the tax man at the end of the year and the hurried spending before January 1st would leave a shopper like me in a flushed, excited state. However, to my tight fisted, poker faced hubby, this is torture! It's like cashing in your chips when you're on a roll, or so I have been told.
I am having a hard time with this gamble, especially during the bleak winter days where the fields are- although pretty and white-- bleak and far from the promise of the tiny corn plants lining them, which, in turn means hope for a college education for our daughters, and maybe some new running shoes for my spring races. However, I need to remember that unlike gambling, the quick rush of excitement that comes with winning is not what farming is about. We are steady, patient, excited, and hopeful with each season. As farmers, no matter what, our profession is a good hand, no matter what.
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