“I made my mind up I would never marry a farmer” a friend of mine stated after we were discussing milk prices and the long grueling hours. She was raised on a farm and had decided that farming life was not for her.
My first thought was – I can’t believe you feel that way. Followed by – that’s OK; everyone has a God given place in this world.
Farming is not for everyone. We don’t get overtime, holidays and rarely vacations. Sick days don’t exist and there are no arbitration meetings with the BEBs or any other entity connected to the farm. There are no guarantees, no cost of living raises, and no unions other than when the BEBs are merging together in front of the crowd gate.
We purchase our seed and supplies at a set price and sell our final product, good quality milk, at a set price. None of the prices are set by us.
Over the past thirty nine years, I have driven tractors, milked cows, delivered calves and balanced checkbooks. I have filed bills, raked hay, disked fields, and sat in cow poop while holding sheets inside a cow keeping her from bleeding out. I have carried pails of milk in 90 degree weather while the sweat ran down my back and have had my pants frozen stiff from spilled milk in the winter time. I have fed new born calves, cleaned out stalls, assisted in surgeries, medical treatments and breeding. I have had dust, dirt and grime packed into my eyes and smeared on my face. I’ve spit out bugs, coughed up shavings dust and run from bees.
We have had years of decent crops and good milk prices followed by several years of bad crops and poor milk prices. There have been years of drought, floods and insects that have dried up, washed away and eaten any profit we hoped for.
So, I can totally understand why she and others feel that way.
But. . .
For me personally, I am blessed and honored to tend the land. This land has been in our family for generations. This land has such a history and every now and then it gives us glimpses. There have been arrow heads and other relics found through the years. We have discovered that the Indians and early settlers passed through our property to travel between the Grand River and the Kalamazoo River.
Our land has been traversed by horse and plow, tractors with metal wheels and now high tech GPS driven machinery. The land demands much – long hours, toils and tears, but oh, the treasures God’s green earth gives us.
Early in the spring the fresh smell of the dirt as it is first turned over after a long winter. The tender green leaves peeking out from the rich brown earth.
Rows and rows of green polka dots of plants pattern the fields.
All year long the plant gives us new wonders to enjoy – tall stalks, leaves that waft in the breeze, tassels that sprout and stand tall, and ears of corn that end up so heavy they droop towards the ground.
Then it slowly turns the color of a white tailed deer in the fall. There is something exceptional about riding in the combine and watching the machine eat acres and acres of the golden yellow kernels. As we ride we find hidden treasures in the field – wild turkeys, coyotes, rabbits, skunks, deer and more.
If you have never smelled freshly mown alfalfa you have missed one of the most intoxicating aromas God has given. Walking knee deep with alfalfa swishing your legs, seeing rows mown down in straight swaths across the field and then riding in the chopper to sweep it up leaving a field clean like a freshly vacuumed carpet is delightful to my soul.
The music created in the parlor by the milking machines pulsating, the brisket bar raising and lowering and the BEBs singing along rival our local symphony. Add in the sweet fragrance of the milk and two senses are elated at the same time.
Then, how do I explain the wonders of calves coming into the world.
Within hours of birth, even with their hair wet and curly where mama has been kissing them, they try to stand on unused legs. Their knees look too big for their feet. They get tangled up and cross legged and have a hard time keeping their ankles straight. They look like new ice skaters trying to keep up on the blades. And once they figure it out they run and jump and fall while bawling and baaing.
Farmers are an elite crowd of people. We are entrusted with such precious commodities and generate products that feed and clothe the nation. As I’ve stated before, as you shop for groceries and pick up that bag of potatoes, jar of pickles or gallon of milk, remember there is a farmer who has worked hard to offer you an excellent product. Many of the clothes you find in your closet or dresser drawers were created with a product from a farmer’s field.
There are so many wonderful parts to farm life that I could write about, but, the best part of all is . . . all of it.
