Hi! I am Melissa’s Aunt Jeanette. I would like to invite you to take a stroll with me until Melissa walks with you again. Although teaching was my chosen career, I grew up on a farm and also married a farmer. That last thing – marrying a farmer – was something I said I would never do, but I guess you can’t take the farm out of the girl!

So here goes…..

The Seasons of a Farmer

Aahhh, Saturday morning. Maybe a leisurely cup of coffee while reading the news. Reality – “Are you busy? Do you have a minute?” Of course I did…..

While I was writing down the numbers on the ear tags of the cows and calves, I multi-tasked and also wrote this little story (and no one suspected!):

After the Super Bowl, and even before then, we all knew “Why God Made a Farmer.” We even knew why He chose certain special people to do His work. Well, God also made “The Seasons of a Farmer.” In my mind, those seasons are Planting, Irrigating, Harvesting and Preparing To Do It All Over Again. Since Planting is completed, or nearly completed, at least here in south central Nebraska, we are bracing ourselves for Irrigating – and in the meantime praying for a good, soaking rain. Now, just as there are transition days between the regular seasons, there are also those transition days between the farmers’ seasons. In this time between Planting and Irrigating, there are weeds to be sprayed, fences to be checked and fixed, cows and calves to be moved to grass, planters and drills to be cleaned and put away, and numerous other “what do you do with all your free time now that you’re done planting?” jobs! My part in all this? I maintain my sense of humor and when I get up in the mornings I usually try to be ready for the questions, “Are you busy? Do you have a minute?”

It’s 2:00. Now for that cup of coffee…..

I’m a child of the 80s, and I think the best part of the era was the music. It’s the kind of music that makes you want to roll down the window, rest your arm along the edge, let your hair down and cruise. It reminds me of summer evenings, fishing along the river and cutting up my feet from running barefoot in the grass.

As I sat down to talk to Grandpa this week to continue to try to capture what it was “really like” to be a farmer 80 years ago, an REO Speedwagon song kept replaying in my head:

So, if you’re tired of the same old story, oh, baby, turn some pages
I will be here when you are ready to roll with the changes, baby
Roll with the changes
Oh, you know, you know, you know you got to…

Keep on rollin’
Keep on rollin’
Roll with the changes

At a recent appointment, the doctor said, “You don’t look 90.” His response: “What is 90 supposed to look like?” I believe his youthful persona is partly due to rolling with the changes and not fretting about things he couldn’t control. He accepted change as it happened, embraced the opportunities and kept on rollin’.

So this week, listen as grandpa talks more about what it was like working on the farm in the 20s and 30s. I’ll summarize here: IT WAS HARD WORK.

Until we walk again …

Three years ago when we moved from Denver back to my rural hometown in Nebraska, I had driven to town to go to the bank and on my way out, noticed that the clock read 5:00 p.m. I immediately thought, “Oh no, leaving town right during rush hour.”

Then I laughed out loud. Rush hour in a town of 3,500 people with two stoplights…the worst that could happen is I get stuck behind a slow-moving tractor.

That instantly triggered another memory from my childhood: Each time we’d be driving down the highway and find ourselves following a piece of farm machinery, whether it be a tractor or combine, us kids would complain and say, “Aw, dad, go around him! He’s going SOOOO slow!”

Can’t you just hear the whining from the back seat?

My dad’s usual response? “Don’t complain about farmers. They paid for these roads.”

I didn’t know how true that statement actually was until I heard my grandpa tell the story about mud roads and how farmers were responsible for maintaining them.

So the next time you get stuck behind a farmer on the highway, just relax and take the opportunity to just drive a bit slower for a while and take in the scenery. And give a thank-you wave as you go around him so he knows you appreciate the roads you’re driving on!

Until we walk again …

After listening to hours worth of stories from my grandfather about old farm machinery, hand tools and butchering livestock, it dawned on me I’d never asked the most generic question of the farmer sitting in front of me: What was it like to be a farmer back in the 30s and 40s?

And by that I mean, describe a typical day. When did it start and end and all the good things in between. I could see him looking for the best way to communicate that “feeling” in words and in a little over a minute interview (and a few cuts and edits on my part), he was able to sum it up like this:

I’m not sure that tells the whole story. That’s just the spine on the novel – the words and pages are written in the wrinkles on his hands and the crease in his brow as he recalls threshing season, hot/humid summer days, and the kindness of rural neighbors “back in the day”. That’s where the real story takes shape.

He talks about growth and change, so much of both he never dreamed he’d see in his lifetime (of course, his own father said that!). He says he’s still amazed that farmers have 2,000 acres when the typical farm size back then was 80-160 acres as that’s all they could manage.

He gazes out the picture window at the field across the road……..

Then chuckles in agreement when I say, “You ate such large meals but still managed to stay thin – that’s how hard you worked.”

Until we walk again …

I’ve seen a few of these around but you have to look closer to see what they’re really made of. My in-laws have a windmill and tractor; my grandparents have a bird. Here’s what Sam is made of (or Fred because I’m not sure he’s a toucan):

Rebar, rake, dust pan, marbles (eyes), mower sickle guard (beak) and a grease cup (top of his head)

In learning about Sam, I also learned that back in the day instead of a grease gun, they had grease cups for “hard oil” to lubricate bearings. They’d put the grease in the cup and turn the knob to push the hard grease out.

So my grandmother’s saying holds true: Don’t throw anything away. “We could live off what your generation throws away.” And if not live off of it, build really unique things from it!

Until we walk again …

It was another one of those days today – I was staring at my computer wondering what to write about for AgWalk. As I walked upstairs, an idea just came to me. Or you can say an idea was sitting right in front of me.

This is an old school desk my grandpa saved and refurbished from a one-room schoolhouse. I think someone in our family once taught at that country school? My mom, aunt, cousin and I all have one and some even have the kids’ etching preserved (from the looks of some of the carvings, little Johnny had his eye on Emma!).

But I had to click this picture of my son sitting on the old desk chair with my iPad. And mind you, I snapped the picture with my Galaxy S3 smart phone. Now isn’t that irony?

Until we walk again …

I dug back through some of my old pictures this weekend and found one of the creek just ¼ mile up the road from our house. It reminded me of all the scavenger hunts my brother and I went on when we were young(er) and stayed with my grandparents. Maybe that was just Grandma’s ploy to get us out of the house and out of her hair – either way, it was fun!

My son is 4 ½ now and really getting to the adventurous stage. If there’s a mud puddle, it’s been splashed; if there’s a dirt hill, it’s been climbed; if there’s a charged up battery, it’s been driven. Bad thing is, his favorite dirt pile is right at the edge of this creek where, if he’d slip and fall, he just might end up tumbling down a 20-foot embankment through sticks and thorns and into the creek. I keep telling myself I can’t protect him from everything, but I try.

When there’s a garter snake in the creek, it’s just irresistible to throw rocks. And in order to do that, don’t you have to be as close as possible?

Again, there’s that 20-foot (did I say steep?) bank!

Maybe I ought to teach him the safest way to get down to the creek. That would satisfy both of our wants. And while I’m at it, I’ll teach him that his muddy boots are supposed to keep the water OUT.

Until we walk again …

Summer is coming, I can feel it. That may be wishful thinking, but a person can dream, right? A few warmer afternoons has me itching to be outside prepping my garden, dragging a hose around to water plants and mowing the yard. This time last year, I think I WAS mowing.

Spring weather beckons us outside and I don’t think it matters one bit to my family that dinner gets pushed back by at least an hour. Our son is at that age where he enjoys playing back by the wood pile, on top of the dirt pile and out behind the shed. But that presents another challenge: getting him inside for dinner!

But Santa had the forethought to bring our son something to solve that problem: the dinner bell. After a trip to the museum to see Santa where he rang BOTH big belfry bells, Braden was hooked and that’s the only thing he asked for. Santa delivered.

My husband put the skid loader auger attachment on last night and with Braden’s help, mounted the bell on its yoke right outside our front door. Braden rang it (again and again) and I need to ask my grandparents but I’m betting they could hear it ¼ mile away at their house.

I bet when he’s playing out behind the shed, the dinner bell will bring him running. Maybe someday I’ll have the heart to tell him that Grandpa produced the dinner bell for Santa from his stash of antiques.

Until we walk again …

In the agricultural world, we oftentimes talk about farm to fork, farm to plate, gate to plate, you get the idea. I think it’s imperative that we educate folks who live in the city where their food comes from and about the people who work hard to grow safe, wholesome food for our dinner tables.

But as a mom, I feel of equal importance is teaching my son about how “the other half” lives. We stared that straight in the face last week during a family vacation to New York City. I say vacation with a smirk on my face because after dragging a 4-year-old and 7-month-old through the streets of NYC, I was exhausted!

Two experiences I want to note:
One of our cab drivers was from Africa and after asking where we lived and he learned Kansas and Nebraska, the first words out of his mouth were: Oh, I love those cowboy movies from Kansas! I very much dislike the city and want to move to Kansas and have some land and some cows.

Of all places, Kansas!

The other thing I observed was that on every city block, there were probably at least 20 restaurants. Think of how long it would take to “eat your way through NYC” and never eat at the same place twice.

Yes, Americans like to eat. And without farmers, where would they get their food?

I was thankful to return to the quiet roads of Nebraska and away from the bright lights and crazy traffic. It’s nice to visit and get away to the city for different experiences, but I’ll take my quiet nights any day.

Until we walk again …