This is the theme of our lives in all aspects, both domestic and occupational: so, so close.
Barring any disaster, be it natural, mental, or mechanical, we should be finished planting corn TODAY! Whoo-hoo! Joe, my dad, and my uncle, as well as our helper have put in long hours, stopping occasionally to eat and sleep (and my uncle to step off the planter for a bit to see his son off to prom), but thanks to the rain that hasn't come, dependable, big equipment that allows us big, big days, we are so, so close.
However, once again, the superstitions of our farmers shines through on times like these. Joe actually knocked on the wood trim in our family room last night as he explained that we could be done with our corn planting by tomorrow. Knocked on wood...for real, not just saying the phrase. It was quite humorous, but got me to think, when can we take a deep breath? Although it has been dry and windy and perfect here to plant, the guys are now worrying about whether or not it will rain at all in the next few critical days, to saturate the little seeds for them to have a good start. And, having a conversation with my daughter's preschool teacher (also a farmer's wife), she mentioned her husband feared torrential rain that would wash away all the little promises of income in the fall.
Seriously?
When do we get to breathe a SIGH OF RELIEF?
Answer: never. However, isn't that the case with every occupation, or every aspect of one's life, for that matter? As much as I feel ready, physically, mentally, and from a decorating standpoint, for this baby, I'm not. Am I truly ready to have FOUR KIDS? Yikes.
I wrote on Mother's Day about how farming is a lot like parenting, whether you're a livestock person or just a "crop" farmer. You care so desperately, choose the seed meticulously, plant when the conditions are, just perfect, and then you have to just trust. I have trouble with this aspect of both parenting and farming, as I am a complete and utter control freak, so I guess that's why I'll never breathe a sigh of relief in any way, shape, or form.
Life would be boring if it were predictable, right?
I'll just keep telling myself that.
Happy planting!
Showing posts with label planting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label planting. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Holiday Raincheck
Poor Joe.
The guy cannot win. I have a spring birthday, right in the heart of calving season. Our third daughter was born the day after we finished planting beans, the very day after the most difficult, frustrating, and sleep-deprived planting season in the history of the world (well, that's a bit dramatic, but whatever). We're having our son in a few weeks, deep into the planting season.
And now, this weekend, when the weather is finally cooperating, the planter and chopper are rolling, is Mother's Day.
That's why, when the weather cooperated again, Joe proclaimed he wished that he could get a spring holiday/birthday rain check, and allow for said events to be rescheduled during a more convenient time. His mom will not be getting her card in time. I'm certain that I will get one...just in a few days or weeks. I received the most special one my third mother's day when he wrote a cute poem in regards to his lack of acknowledgment of the holiday due to farming. It's tucked away in my "save" file.
I agree with the holiday raincheck theory. Who doesn't want a day to be celebrated, but there's no way that Joe can stop what he's doing now, take me out to dinner and then watch the kids while I go and sit at the spa, getting my toenails painted...since I haven't seen them in a while. However, contrary to popular marketing campaigns, I am not a mother who expects diamonds, flowers, chocolates, or a fancy cell phone. I am okay (and pretty good at it, if you ask my adoring, non-spender husband) with buying myself new things when necessary (or at a great price). I don't expect to be waited on hand-and-foot on mother's day. We're not brunch eaters...we get up too early.
It's not fair to guys, especially farmers, to have a holiday like this in the midst of a truly busy time. There are at least three mothers in our operation who will get the short end of the stick tomorrow, and we've all come to terms with it in our own little ways. We'll spend the day with our moms, be with our own children (the reason why we're celebrated on this day, anyway...who would have thought???), try to catch some zzz's or a bit of quiet time with a magazine when the kids are out and about. We'll do what we do every day, because we're moms. That's what we do. While it would be nice to be greeted with a "take the day off" proclamation, I know that's not the case for me, so my expectations are not there. I know Joe knows that I am a gift person, but unless I want a new hat from LG seeds or something chosen from the check out counter at the EZ Stop in town, I need to know that the thankfulness I get from him comes every day, or in the mere suggestion that they'll be done soon, and then, maybe then, I can treat myself to something in honor of being a mother.
But do I really need to? Does a pedicure equal a thanks for giving birth? On some days, yes, however, today, I am realizing that while I am the mother of three (nearly four) kids, Joe's job as a farmer is very close to mothering. As a cattle man and a grain farmer, he is just doing what I have done for the past nine months, even six years, and maybe I should celebrate that. He is creating an environment for his little "children" so that they can succeed and grow and do great things as food and fuel for our country. I should remember that he's not out golfing, goofing off or ignoring me. He's working to provide for our family and the world around us.
So, on this Mother's Day eve, I am celebrating myself, my mom, grandma, mother-in-law, and now my farmer. Life is good, and I don't need a pedicure to remind myself of what an honor it is to be in the professions we are. However, I would like to know what color my toenails are...
The guy cannot win. I have a spring birthday, right in the heart of calving season. Our third daughter was born the day after we finished planting beans, the very day after the most difficult, frustrating, and sleep-deprived planting season in the history of the world (well, that's a bit dramatic, but whatever). We're having our son in a few weeks, deep into the planting season.
And now, this weekend, when the weather is finally cooperating, the planter and chopper are rolling, is Mother's Day.
That's why, when the weather cooperated again, Joe proclaimed he wished that he could get a spring holiday/birthday rain check, and allow for said events to be rescheduled during a more convenient time. His mom will not be getting her card in time. I'm certain that I will get one...just in a few days or weeks. I received the most special one my third mother's day when he wrote a cute poem in regards to his lack of acknowledgment of the holiday due to farming. It's tucked away in my "save" file.
I agree with the holiday raincheck theory. Who doesn't want a day to be celebrated, but there's no way that Joe can stop what he's doing now, take me out to dinner and then watch the kids while I go and sit at the spa, getting my toenails painted...since I haven't seen them in a while. However, contrary to popular marketing campaigns, I am not a mother who expects diamonds, flowers, chocolates, or a fancy cell phone. I am okay (and pretty good at it, if you ask my adoring, non-spender husband) with buying myself new things when necessary (or at a great price). I don't expect to be waited on hand-and-foot on mother's day. We're not brunch eaters...we get up too early.
It's not fair to guys, especially farmers, to have a holiday like this in the midst of a truly busy time. There are at least three mothers in our operation who will get the short end of the stick tomorrow, and we've all come to terms with it in our own little ways. We'll spend the day with our moms, be with our own children (the reason why we're celebrated on this day, anyway...who would have thought???), try to catch some zzz's or a bit of quiet time with a magazine when the kids are out and about. We'll do what we do every day, because we're moms. That's what we do. While it would be nice to be greeted with a "take the day off" proclamation, I know that's not the case for me, so my expectations are not there. I know Joe knows that I am a gift person, but unless I want a new hat from LG seeds or something chosen from the check out counter at the EZ Stop in town, I need to know that the thankfulness I get from him comes every day, or in the mere suggestion that they'll be done soon, and then, maybe then, I can treat myself to something in honor of being a mother.
But do I really need to? Does a pedicure equal a thanks for giving birth? On some days, yes, however, today, I am realizing that while I am the mother of three (nearly four) kids, Joe's job as a farmer is very close to mothering. As a cattle man and a grain farmer, he is just doing what I have done for the past nine months, even six years, and maybe I should celebrate that. He is creating an environment for his little "children" so that they can succeed and grow and do great things as food and fuel for our country. I should remember that he's not out golfing, goofing off or ignoring me. He's working to provide for our family and the world around us.
So, on this Mother's Day eve, I am celebrating myself, my mom, grandma, mother-in-law, and now my farmer. Life is good, and I don't need a pedicure to remind myself of what an honor it is to be in the professions we are. However, I would like to know what color my toenails are...
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Hot or Cold?
I'm staring down a bacon cheeseburger.
No, it's not some weird craving...it's a good idea gone bad, no, strike that: gone cold.
You see, we've actually started working ground and planting TODAY, and although the world has a lot going on that is way more urgent than a cold bacon cheeseburger (you know, Osama, levees being blown up, and general malaise), around here, what's for dinner is crucial.
During the planting and harvest seasons, I am truly shown what a poor excuse for a farm wife I am. My husband is not demanding in any way in regards to food, he just wants to eat when he's home, or on the road, or in the tractor, around dinner time. He wants Nutty Bars (even though they were OUT of them at the store the other day...failed AGAIN!!). However, shouldn't I, after nearly three years in this biz, have some idea of what to make him, when, and how to get it to him if he's not around? However, my husband, growing up as a farm kid around some pretty amazing farm women, has high expectations. It's his genetics. It's what he knows. For example, his grandma once ordered pizza from the wrong place, but still drove the extra 30-40 minutes to get it, just so that the guys could have it in the field. Who does that? I would have canceled the order and given them Tombstone at 10:00 when they came in!
But I digress, back to the cheeseburger. My girls and I had a great day. It was gorgeous outside, and if there were ever a day that I were not driven crazy by writing all the things I did today on my Facebook status bar, today would have been the day. Anyway, we rewarded ourselves with a trip to B's Drive Inn (the local burger and ice cream joint). I was so excited to have an outing, plus the opportunity not to cook, and the possibility of giving Joe a hot meal at 6:00, I forgot that he was NOT in the field anywhere near B's, but rather is the chemical and seed deliverer today.
Blast!
So, his cheeseburger sits in our fridge. It's 9:00, the kids are in bed, and I'm alone with my thoughts of how I have failed once again Farmwifery 101.
However, life not cease due to a cold cheeseburger. It will be reheated, with a smile. Planting will ensue tomorrow. We will continue on at this pace as long as we can, with the hopes that some day, some how, I'll figure out how to feed three kids, myself, the dog, and a husband, all at different times of the evening.
No, it's not some weird craving...it's a good idea gone bad, no, strike that: gone cold.
You see, we've actually started working ground and planting TODAY, and although the world has a lot going on that is way more urgent than a cold bacon cheeseburger (you know, Osama, levees being blown up, and general malaise), around here, what's for dinner is crucial.
During the planting and harvest seasons, I am truly shown what a poor excuse for a farm wife I am. My husband is not demanding in any way in regards to food, he just wants to eat when he's home, or on the road, or in the tractor, around dinner time. He wants Nutty Bars (even though they were OUT of them at the store the other day...failed AGAIN!!). However, shouldn't I, after nearly three years in this biz, have some idea of what to make him, when, and how to get it to him if he's not around? However, my husband, growing up as a farm kid around some pretty amazing farm women, has high expectations. It's his genetics. It's what he knows. For example, his grandma once ordered pizza from the wrong place, but still drove the extra 30-40 minutes to get it, just so that the guys could have it in the field. Who does that? I would have canceled the order and given them Tombstone at 10:00 when they came in!
But I digress, back to the cheeseburger. My girls and I had a great day. It was gorgeous outside, and if there were ever a day that I were not driven crazy by writing all the things I did today on my Facebook status bar, today would have been the day. Anyway, we rewarded ourselves with a trip to B's Drive Inn (the local burger and ice cream joint). I was so excited to have an outing, plus the opportunity not to cook, and the possibility of giving Joe a hot meal at 6:00, I forgot that he was NOT in the field anywhere near B's, but rather is the chemical and seed deliverer today.
Blast!
So, his cheeseburger sits in our fridge. It's 9:00, the kids are in bed, and I'm alone with my thoughts of how I have failed once again Farmwifery 101.
However, life not cease due to a cold cheeseburger. It will be reheated, with a smile. Planting will ensue tomorrow. We will continue on at this pace as long as we can, with the hopes that some day, some how, I'll figure out how to feed three kids, myself, the dog, and a husband, all at different times of the evening.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Fidgety
There are a lot of similarities between the farmers around here and me. I am constantly fussing about and with something. Currently, I have a baby quilt on a rack, on my bed, ready to hang up. Poor Joe has about nine thousand hooks to hang in various places in our house (remember the Seinfeld episode..."Imagine! A series of hooks!" We're there.). I have furniture to move and paint to roll. I'm constantly rearranging drawers, changing pillow placement on couches, fluffing something. Something always needs to be put away or fixed, in my eyes. It's a nervous habit, I guess.
However, it's also a farmer's habit. It is raining again today, and although just last week the guys were tinkering in the driveway with the planter, lamenting on the lack of rain, it's now the third (or fourth) day of rain, or the potential, cooler temperatures, and one can hear a bit of grumbling. The grumbling at my house is coming from my husband who has been instructed with chalk lines and a power drill placed on his pillow (not really) to get to work on the honey-dos while the weather is crummy. I'm not naggy...I just have to jump on my chance to get some stuff done while he's in the house! Other grumblings include the fact that now it is after the "magic day" of April 15th, and there should be something going on around the countryside. Other farmers in our family (i.e., my father-in-law) have worked ground and even planted. Friends have called Joe, asking him the ever present question of the season, "What have you gotten done?"
Answer: Nothing, ground-wise. A lot, fidget and fuss wise.
That's not entirely true, and I would be in big trouble with my editors (aka, my dad, uncle, and Joe) if I didn't recognize the fact that the planter is unfurled and ready to roll, the Turbo Chopper 4000 is hooked on and staged like a runner at the start line, and the seed, fertilizer, etc. have been delivered. We are all ready to run our race; Mother Nature is just not necessarily cooperating.
Which leads us to the fidgeting.
I'm hopeful that the rain, although welcome for sure, stops and the temperature goes up to at least 65 degrees...for all of our minds. Kids need to be outside; farmers need to have a glimmer of hope that they will get out there and get going for planting season; and I have a garage to clean...with another series of hooks to install!
There's always something!
However, it's also a farmer's habit. It is raining again today, and although just last week the guys were tinkering in the driveway with the planter, lamenting on the lack of rain, it's now the third (or fourth) day of rain, or the potential, cooler temperatures, and one can hear a bit of grumbling. The grumbling at my house is coming from my husband who has been instructed with chalk lines and a power drill placed on his pillow (not really) to get to work on the honey-dos while the weather is crummy. I'm not naggy...I just have to jump on my chance to get some stuff done while he's in the house! Other grumblings include the fact that now it is after the "magic day" of April 15th, and there should be something going on around the countryside. Other farmers in our family (i.e., my father-in-law) have worked ground and even planted. Friends have called Joe, asking him the ever present question of the season, "What have you gotten done?"
Answer: Nothing, ground-wise. A lot, fidget and fuss wise.
That's not entirely true, and I would be in big trouble with my editors (aka, my dad, uncle, and Joe) if I didn't recognize the fact that the planter is unfurled and ready to roll, the Turbo Chopper 4000 is hooked on and staged like a runner at the start line, and the seed, fertilizer, etc. have been delivered. We are all ready to run our race; Mother Nature is just not necessarily cooperating.
Which leads us to the fidgeting.
I'm hopeful that the rain, although welcome for sure, stops and the temperature goes up to at least 65 degrees...for all of our minds. Kids need to be outside; farmers need to have a glimmer of hope that they will get out there and get going for planting season; and I have a garage to clean...with another series of hooks to install!
There's always something!
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Spring Scratch
Well, it's that time of the year. The time whenever we go anywhere and see someone working ground for early spring field work, my husband reports his thoughts on whether or not they're doing a good job, whether or not he should be out there working, and whether or not a rain would do something good or bad for aforementioned field work.
Farmers around here are starting to surface. They're starting to get equipment out and ready. They're starting to "scratch around," as Joe says. I always thought Spring Fever came with an itch, not a scratch, but that's a technicality.
Whatever the case, it's that time, and we're all a little anxious. Should we be doing more? Should we be setting the planter up? Should the guys have been out this last Sunday, when it was 85 degrees, like some of the neighbors?
Would'a, should'a, could'a.
Seriously. Even though we have only been in the full time farming gig for a few years every spring, it's the same conversation: When to start? Where to start? And, some times, Who is starting?
I'm just hopeful I don't have to hear the phrase again, "could you wait about two hours?" when I go into labor and Joe's planting beans. That was a fun moment in our marriage!
The potential to do something, to scratch around, if you will, is there. The seed salesmen are starting to deliver this year's seed. The weather is warming up. There are fields that have been prepped by Crop Production Services. There are neighbors who have worked ground.
However, what no one seems to mention is that we're all a little jittery. To me, this beginning of the planting season is a lot like Christmas shopping. I have sisters-in-law who get their shopping done by October, and come to Thanksgiving and talk about all they have done. I leave the dinner, anxious and cranky, wishing I had been on top of the early sales or had the energy to even consider tackling the lines at Target on Black Friday. However, we all come to our family Christmas with the same gifts, and no one seems to care whether or not I wrapped everything the night before, or three months before. It's all there.
That's what spring scratching is like. Everyone and every operation works at his or her own family's speed. Even within each operation, there may be those who work at differing speeds, but in the middle of summer, the corn is up, and in the end of the growing season, the plants are ready to be harvested. I know I will get a lot of comments from my family about the optimum planting time making the optimum product, I wholeheartedly believe that no one should start to get grouchy or antsy on April 4th.
Now, talk to me on May 4th, and if nothing's done, then I'll be singing another tune!
Happy spring!
Farmers around here are starting to surface. They're starting to get equipment out and ready. They're starting to "scratch around," as Joe says. I always thought Spring Fever came with an itch, not a scratch, but that's a technicality.
Whatever the case, it's that time, and we're all a little anxious. Should we be doing more? Should we be setting the planter up? Should the guys have been out this last Sunday, when it was 85 degrees, like some of the neighbors?
Would'a, should'a, could'a.
Seriously. Even though we have only been in the full time farming gig for a few years every spring, it's the same conversation: When to start? Where to start? And, some times, Who is starting?
I'm just hopeful I don't have to hear the phrase again, "could you wait about two hours?" when I go into labor and Joe's planting beans. That was a fun moment in our marriage!
The potential to do something, to scratch around, if you will, is there. The seed salesmen are starting to deliver this year's seed. The weather is warming up. There are fields that have been prepped by Crop Production Services. There are neighbors who have worked ground.
However, what no one seems to mention is that we're all a little jittery. To me, this beginning of the planting season is a lot like Christmas shopping. I have sisters-in-law who get their shopping done by October, and come to Thanksgiving and talk about all they have done. I leave the dinner, anxious and cranky, wishing I had been on top of the early sales or had the energy to even consider tackling the lines at Target on Black Friday. However, we all come to our family Christmas with the same gifts, and no one seems to care whether or not I wrapped everything the night before, or three months before. It's all there.
That's what spring scratching is like. Everyone and every operation works at his or her own family's speed. Even within each operation, there may be those who work at differing speeds, but in the middle of summer, the corn is up, and in the end of the growing season, the plants are ready to be harvested. I know I will get a lot of comments from my family about the optimum planting time making the optimum product, I wholeheartedly believe that no one should start to get grouchy or antsy on April 4th.
Now, talk to me on May 4th, and if nothing's done, then I'll be singing another tune!
Happy spring!
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!).
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Essence of Time
I have ten minutes to complete my thoughts today. Literally. Josie is riding with Joe as I write (in the "TurboChopperFreeFousand"), Amelia's napping, and Anna is working on her dog sitting business badges (gotta love the working spirit of a five year old. . .she feels it's time to earn her keep!).
Time is on the brain today. Yesterday was time to start; now it's time to keep going; time to go, go, go! Hysteria has not set in, as the weather is cooperating, and it's technically still "early," according to family lore. April 25th is the magic day when corn should be planted, in my family's beliefs. Any date before then that we can get in and get started is just gravy. Whatever the magic date is, farmers stick to that, and once the date is approaching it's time to hustle.
Once the prime time has passed, however, time becomes a hot commodity around here. My quest for being a true farm wife is truly tested, as I have to masterfully craft meals that will not only stick to Joe's ribs throughout a long day, but remain hot or cold when he's way back in the back of a field. We watch as the planter, chopper, whatever turns and starts to make a pass toward the house, and then load up and head out with the provisions.
Time spent with our resident farmer is precious, too. Although it's bumpy and dirty, even my girly girl Josie wants to sit in the tractor cab with Daddy to steal a few minutes with him. I have learned in my short time as a farm wife that during planting, my requests for Joe need to be prioritized, and I should always preface my "honey dos," with "this will just take a second. . . "
Time's ticking, and it's ticking fast. Everyone is excited that we're in the field, but there's still a nervous pace in the farmers' steps. Even though I truly know that I am a schedule and time freak, this race against time is one that may drive a person crazy. The race against time is one you can't win, but don't tell farmers, they're too busy trying to beat the clock.
Time is on the brain today. Yesterday was time to start; now it's time to keep going; time to go, go, go! Hysteria has not set in, as the weather is cooperating, and it's technically still "early," according to family lore. April 25th is the magic day when corn should be planted, in my family's beliefs. Any date before then that we can get in and get started is just gravy. Whatever the magic date is, farmers stick to that, and once the date is approaching it's time to hustle.
Once the prime time has passed, however, time becomes a hot commodity around here. My quest for being a true farm wife is truly tested, as I have to masterfully craft meals that will not only stick to Joe's ribs throughout a long day, but remain hot or cold when he's way back in the back of a field. We watch as the planter, chopper, whatever turns and starts to make a pass toward the house, and then load up and head out with the provisions.
Time spent with our resident farmer is precious, too. Although it's bumpy and dirty, even my girly girl Josie wants to sit in the tractor cab with Daddy to steal a few minutes with him. I have learned in my short time as a farm wife that during planting, my requests for Joe need to be prioritized, and I should always preface my "honey dos," with "this will just take a second. . . "
Time's ticking, and it's ticking fast. Everyone is excited that we're in the field, but there's still a nervous pace in the farmers' steps. Even though I truly know that I am a schedule and time freak, this race against time is one that may drive a person crazy. The race against time is one you can't win, but don't tell farmers, they're too busy trying to beat the clock.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Assumptions
With the calving season winding down, and planting season gearing up, there's a difference in the way our farm, and thus, our family is getting along these days. Although the unpredictability of calving is over, we Webels still cannot be considered a "regularly scheduled family." I have come to realize that farming is not only unpredictable, but there are some assumptions that a farm wife during a busy season should NEVER make.
Assumption #1: Never assume that because a Saturday worked the way you needed it to, the following Saturday could be scheduled the same way. Since calving is nearly complete, Joe's Saturday chores are a lot more flexible, thus, Joe is available to help with the kids so I can have some time to do a Saturday long run. However, this picture perfect Saturday plan I had in mind did not include that Joe was working on the Turbo Chopper 3000, trying to be ready to go out for a birthday dinner (for me) that night.
Which leads me to Assumption #2: Do not make plans, and assume that your farmer can a) commit to come a week--strike that a day-- in advance and b) would be okay with you going ahead and going without him. Seriously, I cannot win in this situation. I was born, lucky me, during planting season, and although I want to go to a nice dinner with friends tonight, because it's been hot, dry, and windy, all signs point to working day and night in the field.
Which leads me to Assumption #3: Don't assume that because the conditions seem perfect that all of the new equipment will work properly. As I write this, I see legs and a few ball caps buzzing around the new planter, as the farmers try to figure out why the fertilizer is not coming out the way it should. Did I mention it's Saturday, when a lot of things are not as readily available as on a week day. Thank goodness we helped fund the new Kliene's building in Brimfield with our equipment purchases. . . they're on the scene.
My final assumption, #4, is to not believe that the harried expressions, short conversations, and lack of details mean that the farmers are upset with what's going on at the homestead. Farming is a crapshoot- no assumptions there- and I am trying not to take personally that even though my girls are desperate for their dad's attention, and he breezes in, kisses them good night and falls asleep on the couch, doesn't mean he doesn't love them. He's preoccupied. This is the beginning of a growing season. The promise of a plentiful harvest means the opportunity to save money for the new truck Joe dreams of, or Josie's preschool tuition for next year or the purchasing of our own ground.
My psyche is at peace when my schedule is easy. My hope is that I can learn to go with the flow better. . .and maybe get a birthday dinner out of the deal!
Assumption #1: Never assume that because a Saturday worked the way you needed it to, the following Saturday could be scheduled the same way. Since calving is nearly complete, Joe's Saturday chores are a lot more flexible, thus, Joe is available to help with the kids so I can have some time to do a Saturday long run. However, this picture perfect Saturday plan I had in mind did not include that Joe was working on the Turbo Chopper 3000, trying to be ready to go out for a birthday dinner (for me) that night.
Which leads me to Assumption #2: Do not make plans, and assume that your farmer can a) commit to come a week--strike that a day-- in advance and b) would be okay with you going ahead and going without him. Seriously, I cannot win in this situation. I was born, lucky me, during planting season, and although I want to go to a nice dinner with friends tonight, because it's been hot, dry, and windy, all signs point to working day and night in the field.
Which leads me to Assumption #3: Don't assume that because the conditions seem perfect that all of the new equipment will work properly. As I write this, I see legs and a few ball caps buzzing around the new planter, as the farmers try to figure out why the fertilizer is not coming out the way it should. Did I mention it's Saturday, when a lot of things are not as readily available as on a week day. Thank goodness we helped fund the new Kliene's building in Brimfield with our equipment purchases. . . they're on the scene.
My final assumption, #4, is to not believe that the harried expressions, short conversations, and lack of details mean that the farmers are upset with what's going on at the homestead. Farming is a crapshoot- no assumptions there- and I am trying not to take personally that even though my girls are desperate for their dad's attention, and he breezes in, kisses them good night and falls asleep on the couch, doesn't mean he doesn't love them. He's preoccupied. This is the beginning of a growing season. The promise of a plentiful harvest means the opportunity to save money for the new truck Joe dreams of, or Josie's preschool tuition for next year or the purchasing of our own ground.
My psyche is at peace when my schedule is easy. My hope is that I can learn to go with the flow better. . .and maybe get a birthday dinner out of the deal!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Christmas in April
There is a buzz around my house today. The farmers are hustling from place to place. There's a trip planned to Canton for some hoses. A guy with a vac has come to work on sucking out the last few loads of grain from the bin to take to the elevator. The planter is hooked up and getting its final zerks (is that even a word??) greased. The Precision Planting guy even came during dinner and both Dad and Joe left ribeyes to get cold to go out and work on the planter.
Was that because the steaks weren't done to their liking?
No, it's because it's Christmas in April.
Santa Spring has come and the boys are all a flutter. We have various pieces of equipment out and being checked and worked on and such. There are some farmers even in the fields working, which, as we drove to preschool, Anna informed me that they weren't "doing it right, like Daddy." When I asked her to clarify, she said, "Mom! Look at the DIRT! It's WET! We don't want to get in until it's ready."
Silly me! Even though Anna thinks her old mom isn't wise in the world of farming, I do know that the farmers around here wait until window of opportunity is just perfect. . . which is a very, teeny, tiny window, so once that window is open, the guys will roll and go until the weather cuts them off. Everyone is a little trigger happy this spring, thanks to last year's rain and all its glory. However, we're waiting, as Anna says, until it's just right, just like a good little kid on Christmas morning. . . waiting for Mom and Dad to wake up until the presents can be unwrapped.
My preparation for planting is similar to my prep for Christmas: a lot of behind the scenes work. Like Christmas, shopping is key during planting season. Not only do I have to provide the regular fare for the girls, but I also have to hunt for the perfect "farm food:" food to be either packed and taken on the go or eaten well after the kids are put to bed. The job of this farm wife during this time is basically to be ready to load the kids in the car and take food, pick up farmers or parts in a moment's notice. Whenever I get a call that starts with, "Where are you right now?" or "Is anyone sleeping?" I know that I'm in for the gift of a trip to somewhere.
While planting season is unpredictable and some times frustrating (due to my control freak issues!), this Christmas in April time is a blessing. There is no happier farmer around here than a busy farmer. The best gift is a perfect spring day, with no breakdowns, and a Kit Kat bar in the lunch box.
Was that because the steaks weren't done to their liking?
No, it's because it's Christmas in April.
Santa Spring has come and the boys are all a flutter. We have various pieces of equipment out and being checked and worked on and such. There are some farmers even in the fields working, which, as we drove to preschool, Anna informed me that they weren't "doing it right, like Daddy." When I asked her to clarify, she said, "Mom! Look at the DIRT! It's WET! We don't want to get in until it's ready."
Silly me! Even though Anna thinks her old mom isn't wise in the world of farming, I do know that the farmers around here wait until window of opportunity is just perfect. . . which is a very, teeny, tiny window, so once that window is open, the guys will roll and go until the weather cuts them off. Everyone is a little trigger happy this spring, thanks to last year's rain and all its glory. However, we're waiting, as Anna says, until it's just right, just like a good little kid on Christmas morning. . . waiting for Mom and Dad to wake up until the presents can be unwrapped.
My preparation for planting is similar to my prep for Christmas: a lot of behind the scenes work. Like Christmas, shopping is key during planting season. Not only do I have to provide the regular fare for the girls, but I also have to hunt for the perfect "farm food:" food to be either packed and taken on the go or eaten well after the kids are put to bed. The job of this farm wife during this time is basically to be ready to load the kids in the car and take food, pick up farmers or parts in a moment's notice. Whenever I get a call that starts with, "Where are you right now?" or "Is anyone sleeping?" I know that I'm in for the gift of a trip to somewhere.
While planting season is unpredictable and some times frustrating (due to my control freak issues!), this Christmas in April time is a blessing. There is no happier farmer around here than a busy farmer. The best gift is a perfect spring day, with no breakdowns, and a Kit Kat bar in the lunch box.
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