Farming is in no way easy. It takes a special person to be a farmer. That person must be patient, strong willed, and a little bit crazy.
Growing up, I witnessed Dad go through just about every situation you could think of. There were good times and bad times. But through it all, Dad never lost sight of what was important. He always thanked God no matter what circumstance we were in at the time.
Planting season is ALWAYS a trying time. It starts with preparing the fields for new growth. Spreading manure ( such a sweet smell) is first then the harrow- like a big rototiller- tills up the ground and gets the nutrients from the manure into the soil. This is usually all done by The Boys. Then the planting starts. Always done by Dad. Usually done in a one to two week span, depending on the weather.
When I was a kid, the tractor that was used to plant was an old John Deere that had a roof but no door or windows. It was quite possibly the loudest tractor there ever was. Day after day, Dad would climb aboard the monster and plant the day away. Wearing a t-shirt, Dickies work pants, work boots, a baseball style hat with some kind of Farm brand on the front and ear protection, Dad spent hours in the field breathing in dust. Every couple hours, it would be time for him to fill up the 6 row planter.
Like clock work, Mom would head out with the farm truck full of corn seed to where ever Dad was planting that day and drop off bags of seed as well as a drink and maybe a snack or lunch if it was that time. She would pull into the field just about the time Dad was coming to the end of the row. He would put the obnoxiously loud tractor in park and gingerly jump down off the steps. Hours on a the tractor in a rocky field does no favors to the back. Dust flying off his pants, dirt darkening his face, he would pick up the seed bags one by one and carry them on his shoulder and fill up the bins. He never said much. Mom didn't take it personally. She knew it was usually because he was tired or his back hurt. He would take the water she brought him, say "thank you" and "love you" and be on his way. Mom would drive back to the farm, have one of the boys fill the truck with seed for the next trip and continue on with the next task. Making lunch, cleaning the house, tending the calves, running here, there and everywhere she was needed. Remember, Dad wasn't the only one in the field. The Boys were hard at work as well. And it wouldn't be "busy season" without breakdowns at least once a day! Bring tools here, bring chains to pull someone out of a mud hole there, turn around and it would be time for Dad to fill up with seed again! Sometimes I used to wonder who had the more exhausting job. Don't forget- I was still a little girl at this point. So she had me to tend to as well. I was a pretty good tag-along though.
Dad would usually be in the field from 7:30 am-5:30/6:00 pm. Mom would have supper ready for him after he had a shower. We would all wait to eat together. Dinner conversations usually consisted of how field work went that day, how the cows milked and how much ground Dad got planted. After the meal was done, Dad would usually go to bed almost immediately. But its only 7:00! Yes, but the cows need to be milked at 2:00 am and then starts another day of dusty fields.
This is usually how things went on a good week. Good weather, minimal breakdowns and no problems.
Not always the case. Sometimes it would rain every other day and Dad could't be on the fields. Or, a chain on the planter would keep breaking after every 3rd pass. Up and down, on and off the tractor he would go to fix it but it would just keep breaking. Time was ticking away, more rain was on its way and little to no corn was in the ground. Nothing would make him more angry than the thought of not getting the work done because of constant breakdowns. Especially when weather was coming in.
Remember when I said that on Sundays we limited work to milking and feeding cows? Well, that rule gets broken every once in a while. Like when there is rain in the forecast and if he doesn't get the seed in the ground now, it'll be too late. I remember a few Sundays going to church without Dad because he was in the field. He hated it but it didn't happen very often. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.
Then the day would come. The last field. The last kernel of corn would be put into the ground. Planting would be over. Praise Jesus.
Moods were automatically improved and we would usually celebrate by getting to go out for supper. Something that was few and far between when we were young.
Planting season is one of the most difficult times on the farm. Stress sometimes get the best of us, tempers fly, and words are said that aren't meant. But we know that its only for a short time and then we can watch the reward over the next few months.
Today, its still stressful and exhausting, but its a bit easier. Dad has since upgraded his tractor to a closed cab with air conditioner and a swivel seat that is easier on his back. He still works like a dog until he is so exhausted that he practically collapses when he gets home at night. That part hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will. It's who he is. God made this farmer to work until the job is done. And I will forever be grateful for the hardworking man he is.
If farming were easy, everyone would be a farmer.
Well, guess what. It isn't and they aren't. God hand picked the farmers to work this land. We're just lucky enough to be some of them.
No comments:
Post a Comment