Well, it's coming, ready or... well, I'm ready. I am just a few weeks from the big delivery of our fourth and final child, a son. I am just as excited and uncomfortable as most of my other kids' pregnancies (sans Anna's, since I had NO CLUE, and no other kids to chase after!). However, all through this pregnancy, we have fielded the same question time and again:
Is your husband excited to finally get his boy?
Answer: Yes (to those in Target who are looking at me like I'm a fool, as I tool around the store in the gigantic cart filled with kids and paper products).
However, the answer to those who are closer to us is: Well...
Shouldn't we be happy with what God already blessed us with: Three beautiful, smart, and healthy girls? Shouldn't Anna's love for the farm, as well as Josie's and Amelia's budding farm-girlness suffice for a farmer? Shouldn't the farm be a part of all of them, regardless of the gender of each child?
Answer: YES, yes, and YES!
We are so, so blessed. We are so, so lucky, and we are so, so excited to have our boy, however, in my short time as a farm wife, I am seeing the roles farm women play in their operations that are just as big, if not bigger, than their husbands. I am shocked at how easy farm life and the love of animals come to my eldest daughter, and know that she will, no matter where she is in life, always have a strong work ethic and a stack of life lessons that far outweigh those learned in a classroom. I am surprised at how Josie, our girliest (thus far) is so excited when baby calves are born, wanting to pet them, care for them, and love them. I know that she may not seem to be as comfortable with the down and dirty details of it all (however...she's FOUR, mind you), but I know that her experience as a farm girl will be embedded in her strong little personality. Even our littlest, just shy of two years old, loves to wear her boots when she checks cows with Dad. She too is growing up in an environment that makes me so happy to overlook the dustiness of our road and the craziness of our schedules. She is able to run and play and watch the miracle that is life and growth right out in her backyard.
And, I'm excited for this little guy. What will he be like? Will we dress him in John Deere green, cowboy boots, and Carhartts? Yes. Will he receive tractors and cows and barns and other manly, farmy gifts for years? Of course! But, will we pin all of our family's hopes on the farm to continue on his little shoulders, no. I have learned, just watching Joe as a parent to his girls that they are to glean the good stuff from his lessons on the farm and apply it to whatever they do, where ever they do it. They are to respect the land and its beasts, as well as those who work it, and if they decide to follow in his footsteps, fine. If not, fine. Just be a good person, be kind to others, do your best, and work hard.
Those are lessons that you can't find just anywhere, and I am so lucky to be married to someone and in a place where my kids can get this firsthand.
Showing posts with label farm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label farm. Show all posts
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Emily, Your Childhood Wish Has Been Granted
What town kid, or any kid for that matter, doesn't wish for a puppy with a red bow around its neck at Christmas? I know that as a kid, I hoped for a pet to love, any pet for that matter, and was certain that a dog would be a wonderful fit for our family. We killed goldfish (not murdered, just killed), disliked cats because they walked all over my dad's pristine vehicles, and detested rodents, as they were too close to the mice that Mom declared war upon once a year. So, I knew that a dog would be perfect.
Well, my parents, both farm-kids-turned-town-folks, never granted this childhood wish of mine. They believed a dog belonged on a farm, where he or she could run free. Thus, I was left to enjoy the neighborhood dogs, if you could call chasing after a neighbor's dog as he "walked" me while I "dog sat." I was also able to listen to the neighborhood "barky" dogs who always seemed to bark at night, right when I was trying to get to sleep. I guess the lack of experience with dogs as well as the neat freak, perfectionist that I became made me less and less of a pet person of any kind as I grew older.
Fast forward twenty five years, and my childhood wish has been granted, three times. . . sort of. Joe is an animal lover, and grew up with loyal farm dogs that went with his dad everywhere. And, when he began full time farming, we (well, mainly he and Anna) decided that now all our farmstead needed to make it picturesque was a dog. With the promise that all other parties would take care of said dog, I begrudgingly agreed to get one. We lost Mabel, tragically, and even though I desperately wanted her to quit jumping, chewing, and getting my white pants dirty, I could hardly talk to the babysitter who came the night after she died. I was so sad.
Next came Pepper, and she was truly a gift. My father-in-law found a breeder with the exact same kind of dog that our first one was, and surprised the girls with her on a visit to their farm. She was so cute, and we tied a red ribbon around her neck for our Christmas picture that year. However, she met the same fate that our dreadful, dirty gravel road provided for Mabel. Again, I was so upset, I could hardly explain to the preschool teacher that day why Anna might be upset. Ironic, huh?
I swore off dogs after that. My childhood wish was not to have to bury two dogs and explain to my little girls about death. My childhood wish was to have a puppy forever: one that didn't jump, bite, run out in front of cars, or chew up my lawn furniture. Seriously, was this too much to ask?
Like I said, I swore off dogs, and when the utterance of the "d" word started this spring, I ignored it. When Joe started talking about adopting one that would be a herding dog, one that would go with him everywhere, I still ignored it. Then the kids got in on the deal. I couldn't ignore that. I would find Joe and Anna looking at potential adoptees on the Internet and even though they were both excited, I was not. My childhood wish was twice not fulfilled. My heart was twice broken, and I wasn't about to shoot myself in the foot again.
However, I was overruled, and Sadie, our rescued Australian Cattle Dog was brought home this summer. She was the epitome of man's best friend. She loved Joe, adored Anna, allowed Josie to rub her belly, didn't bark, didn't chew, didn't jump. I was in doggie love. Childhood wish: GRANTED!! Third time was the charm!
Until this week. . .
My farm dog that was supposed to be with Joe at all times has been hanging around the house, and has wreaked havoc on my outside decor. Items affected are: one landscaping light, one glider seat board, one watering can, and a few deck boards, not to mention her dog bed, a towel, Anna's Cardinals hat, and some random seed corn hat.
Seriously, what happened to my childhood dream? Why isn't she being the perfect dog she once was? Why the DECK???
Regardless, Sadie is a part of our family, whether she chews, jumps, barks or whatever. She's part of the family farm package. It's some unwritten rule that in order to be a farm family, one must have a dog.
All I'm saying is be careful for what you wish for as a child, it just might come back and chew up your landscape lights.
Well, my parents, both farm-kids-turned-town-folks, never granted this childhood wish of mine. They believed a dog belonged on a farm, where he or she could run free. Thus, I was left to enjoy the neighborhood dogs, if you could call chasing after a neighbor's dog as he "walked" me while I "dog sat." I was also able to listen to the neighborhood "barky" dogs who always seemed to bark at night, right when I was trying to get to sleep. I guess the lack of experience with dogs as well as the neat freak, perfectionist that I became made me less and less of a pet person of any kind as I grew older.
Fast forward twenty five years, and my childhood wish has been granted, three times. . . sort of. Joe is an animal lover, and grew up with loyal farm dogs that went with his dad everywhere. And, when he began full time farming, we (well, mainly he and Anna) decided that now all our farmstead needed to make it picturesque was a dog. With the promise that all other parties would take care of said dog, I begrudgingly agreed to get one. We lost Mabel, tragically, and even though I desperately wanted her to quit jumping, chewing, and getting my white pants dirty, I could hardly talk to the babysitter who came the night after she died. I was so sad.
Next came Pepper, and she was truly a gift. My father-in-law found a breeder with the exact same kind of dog that our first one was, and surprised the girls with her on a visit to their farm. She was so cute, and we tied a red ribbon around her neck for our Christmas picture that year. However, she met the same fate that our dreadful, dirty gravel road provided for Mabel. Again, I was so upset, I could hardly explain to the preschool teacher that day why Anna might be upset. Ironic, huh?
I swore off dogs after that. My childhood wish was not to have to bury two dogs and explain to my little girls about death. My childhood wish was to have a puppy forever: one that didn't jump, bite, run out in front of cars, or chew up my lawn furniture. Seriously, was this too much to ask?
Like I said, I swore off dogs, and when the utterance of the "d" word started this spring, I ignored it. When Joe started talking about adopting one that would be a herding dog, one that would go with him everywhere, I still ignored it. Then the kids got in on the deal. I couldn't ignore that. I would find Joe and Anna looking at potential adoptees on the Internet and even though they were both excited, I was not. My childhood wish was twice not fulfilled. My heart was twice broken, and I wasn't about to shoot myself in the foot again.
However, I was overruled, and Sadie, our rescued Australian Cattle Dog was brought home this summer. She was the epitome of man's best friend. She loved Joe, adored Anna, allowed Josie to rub her belly, didn't bark, didn't chew, didn't jump. I was in doggie love. Childhood wish: GRANTED!! Third time was the charm!
Until this week. . .
My farm dog that was supposed to be with Joe at all times has been hanging around the house, and has wreaked havoc on my outside decor. Items affected are: one landscaping light, one glider seat board, one watering can, and a few deck boards, not to mention her dog bed, a towel, Anna's Cardinals hat, and some random seed corn hat.
Seriously, what happened to my childhood dream? Why isn't she being the perfect dog she once was? Why the DECK???
Regardless, Sadie is a part of our family, whether she chews, jumps, barks or whatever. She's part of the family farm package. It's some unwritten rule that in order to be a farm family, one must have a dog.
All I'm saying is be careful for what you wish for as a child, it just might come back and chew up your landscape lights.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Sorry Ulysses, Yours is Not a Farm
I guess I should add in "anymore" to my title.
We have enjoyed a few days away, as mentioned in a previous post. St. Louis was our destination, because we needed a place potentially hotter than home! Not really, we love St. Louis for its Cardinal baseball, so many great (and free) things for the kids to enjoy, and its shopping! We tried a few new attractions this time, one being Grant's Farm, the once farmstead of President Ulysses S. Grant and now home of the Budweiser Clydesdales.
However, as we began our ride on the tram through the grounds, Anna's childlike innocence and its ability to pop into her head and out of her mouth got me thinking. She announced as we rode through the 80 sprawling acres with animals from nearly all continents, "This isn't a farm! Where are the crops?"
Anna's picture of a farm is her house, complete with out-buildings, our family dog, cattle in the pasture across the road, all being bordered on four sides by corn and soybean fields. However, to the city folks on the train, who were snickering at her "country" comment, this is a farm: animals (without caring whether they are producing anything for the farmer) and open space.
That made me feel strange. Sad, in a way, but not because these poor city people had no experience with the farming lifestyle (they are close to a Crate and Barrel and a Nordstrom, I can't feel too sorry for them!), but that the perceived farm in the greater, urban society is not a true picture. Just like in advertising, Americans today only experience what is placed, and also marketed, right in front of them. Offering a snow cone and a promise of seeing long horned cattle, a camel and an elephant is as farm-y as these people have ever gotten.
This is no one's fault but us in agriculture. We don't have any signage on our road promoting farm tours, offering tractor rides in the fall. We offer farm tours to those who purchase our beef, so that our buyers may see how we raise our cattle. As of today, we haven't had any takers. Why is that? Should I be offering snow cones and the opportunity to pet a calf while they are around? Are we not cutesy enough?
Like Grant's Farm, there are many kid friendly, sweet little farm parks around here, where kids can pet goats, feed chicks, and crawl around on an antique tractor. But again, they are not painting a realistic picture of production agriculture. These parks are more like the Disney World of the farming industry, catering to visitors as tourist traps, rather than educating them in all things agricultural.
So where do I go from here? I kept my trap shut when Anna proclaimed that the farm she was visiting was a sham. Why didn't I educate the public by loudly proclaiming that she was correct and all visitors on the tram were invited to our home to see a real farm? Why don't we open our doors to all those curious about production agriculture, instead of feeling a little defensive when the topic of conversation turns to organics at a girls' night dinner? Why is it hard to get our message out?
I guess I should start with a sign and snow cones, and hope that some day, Anna will be guiding tours of our farm and will explain why ours is a real farm.
We have enjoyed a few days away, as mentioned in a previous post. St. Louis was our destination, because we needed a place potentially hotter than home! Not really, we love St. Louis for its Cardinal baseball, so many great (and free) things for the kids to enjoy, and its shopping! We tried a few new attractions this time, one being Grant's Farm, the once farmstead of President Ulysses S. Grant and now home of the Budweiser Clydesdales.
However, as we began our ride on the tram through the grounds, Anna's childlike innocence and its ability to pop into her head and out of her mouth got me thinking. She announced as we rode through the 80 sprawling acres with animals from nearly all continents, "This isn't a farm! Where are the crops?"
Anna's picture of a farm is her house, complete with out-buildings, our family dog, cattle in the pasture across the road, all being bordered on four sides by corn and soybean fields. However, to the city folks on the train, who were snickering at her "country" comment, this is a farm: animals (without caring whether they are producing anything for the farmer) and open space.
That made me feel strange. Sad, in a way, but not because these poor city people had no experience with the farming lifestyle (they are close to a Crate and Barrel and a Nordstrom, I can't feel too sorry for them!), but that the perceived farm in the greater, urban society is not a true picture. Just like in advertising, Americans today only experience what is placed, and also marketed, right in front of them. Offering a snow cone and a promise of seeing long horned cattle, a camel and an elephant is as farm-y as these people have ever gotten.
This is no one's fault but us in agriculture. We don't have any signage on our road promoting farm tours, offering tractor rides in the fall. We offer farm tours to those who purchase our beef, so that our buyers may see how we raise our cattle. As of today, we haven't had any takers. Why is that? Should I be offering snow cones and the opportunity to pet a calf while they are around? Are we not cutesy enough?
Like Grant's Farm, there are many kid friendly, sweet little farm parks around here, where kids can pet goats, feed chicks, and crawl around on an antique tractor. But again, they are not painting a realistic picture of production agriculture. These parks are more like the Disney World of the farming industry, catering to visitors as tourist traps, rather than educating them in all things agricultural.
So where do I go from here? I kept my trap shut when Anna proclaimed that the farm she was visiting was a sham. Why didn't I educate the public by loudly proclaiming that she was correct and all visitors on the tram were invited to our home to see a real farm? Why don't we open our doors to all those curious about production agriculture, instead of feeling a little defensive when the topic of conversation turns to organics at a girls' night dinner? Why is it hard to get our message out?
I guess I should start with a sign and snow cones, and hope that some day, Anna will be guiding tours of our farm and will explain why ours is a real farm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)