It's Always Something

In the fall of 2000 (loooong before I ever even dreamed about being a farm wife), it was downed corn, corn plants knocked over late in their life (thank goodness...because there were some kernels to harvest). I rode with my dad, since that was the only time we could see him that fall, in the cab of the combine. We drove roughly 2 mph, crawling through the field, picking up corn kernels with a contraption hooked on to the corn head of the combine that looked like a spider's legs. That was the year of my brother's wedding, where the guys leaped off the combine to come to the festivities, and then leaped back on, frantic in their pace.

In 2009, it was the rain, and rain, and rain. We probably should have considered an ark instead of whether or not we needed more dry storage that year.

Now, in a year that we have felt that we have dodged major bullets, the farmers are starting to get a little nervous. I have actually heard the sentence, "We could use a little shower," uttered a few times too many for me to know that now, we could really use a shower. After watching the radar this spring, and early this summer, and hoping beyond hope that the red and even pink blotches would not hit us or our family a little south of here. After seeing pictures of our friends' field (yeah, it's you, Andy...you made it again!), damaged by hail, although we wouldn't take something so extreme, the rain that accompanied that devastating hail would be welcome.

Our ground is in pretty good shape, thanks to some really good soakers this spring. However, the forecast is calling for extremely hot temperatures and no rain this week and even into the next.

Good for the pool. Bad for the farm.

It's always something.

Even last night, as Joe was wrapping up paperwork for his "other job," he mentioned that some of his clients were concerned about Japanese beetles. These are potentially devastating to a field.

Great.

So, this morning, as I'm writing, I am looking out at my grandpa's field. The one that looks really good. The one that's now taller than Joe, complete with tassels and little yellowish silks on the ears. The one that Joe used as a little agronomy lesson for me: if you notice that a corn field has ears and silks that are at a uniform height, that means that it has the potential to be good. There's some more to that explanation, but I forgot it. However, what I noticed was the semantics he used (because I am, in fact, a huge word nerd). What he said was the potential.

Always the optimist.

Today, even though my girls are psyched about breaking out the slip-n-slide, and we're looking forward to slathering on the sunscreen for the library's swim party, I will also be looking to the sky, hoping that these hot, hot temperatures will brew a pop up shower now and then during this week.

However, it can't have wind.

Or hail.

Or too much rain.

Because...it is always something.

The Weather Radio

It's official.

I'm married to a closet meteorologist.

Thanks to the purchase of a new, fancy-schmancy weather radio- which sits oh-so-gloriously (ha, ha) on my kitchen counter, resembling an old-timey answering machine- Joe has become even more obsessed with the weather. I do not blame him, only tease him, because we are dependent upon the weather, but SERIOUSLY! Lucky for us, it only goes off if there are storms in THREE counties, instead of just one, since we live just a few miles from two other county lines. Note the sarcasm?

Anyway, because of last year's truly close tornado call and all the recent devestating weather in Joplin, MO, Joe has become more and more obsessed with the weather. So much that the radar on his phone was lighting up our bedroom as I got up to feed Jack at 2AM. A rain was coming, so we needed to know to shut our windows, so I guess that's okay, but I'm beginning to wonder if I need to have a weather-related intervention with him.

I understand completely the affects of the weather conditions on farmer's bottom lines, general disposition, and psyche. I understand that we need to know the breadth of a storm, to know whether or not we need to duck and cover. However, what can we do about it? As a control freak, it is very bizarre that I am of this opinion, I know, but we cannot control the weather. We cannot go out and hover over our corn plants to protect them from hail. We can go to the basement to save our skins, and from a crop production standpoint, we can buy crop-hail insurance, which, if you're in need, I know a good agent (Ha, ha, again), but that's about it. So, why the obsession?

Why the need to worry, stand in the window, observe the clouds, comment enough to make the kids nervous and report on the weather themselves. In a kindergarten setting, I am sure that Anna answered more specifically the question of "is it sunny or cloudy," as she reported today, from Joe's parents' house, "There was a lot of rain, Daddy. Pappy needs a hug."

I tease Joe out of love, but completely understand the frustration the weather brings. We are solely dependent upon it during these vital weeks of growth. If our corn gets a good start and the beans are able to poke through and be sprayed at the right time, and there's no wind, hail, excessive rain, heat or cold, we should be okay to pay for the spray, seed, equipment, and kids we have on our operation.

So, I will put up with the excessive beeping of our weather radio, and the "shush" I receive when the weather report comes on the evening news.

Here's hoping the 2AM radar checks stop soon...that seems a bit crazy, right?

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.