No rest for the weary

May 31, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I’m having one of those why-did-I-go-into-farming kinds of days. I’m not sure what triggered it this time (yes, it’s happened before), but I think several factors were at play.

One was the pace of activity here last week as we scrambled to complete a number of projects while we had sun in the forecast. For the uninitiated, farming requires that you cede control of your schedule to the whims of Mother Nature. When you have sun, you get it done. When you have rain, you plan again. Yet despite our best efforts – and a whole lot of extra help – we still didn’t finish our top priority, which was to move most of our 22 calves to a training pen so they can learn how to graze and respect the electric fence. And so that gets pushed to this week’s already-too-long list, along with the hope that the weather cooperates and nothing breaks down in the meantime. If only we didn’t have to spend 6-7 hours a day on milking-related chores…

Then we have this national holiday which not only honors the sacrifice of men and women who have fought for our freedoms, but also reminds us that there are no holidays for year-round dairy farmers. It’s a 24/7/365 commitment. This might not bother me so much if I had grown up on a farm. However, I used to have an office job with weekends, holidays and vacations. I know how nice those breaks are. I miss them. Fortunately, I am married to a man who seems to have an infinite capacity for self-sacrifice, so he affords me the opportunity to leave the farm when I need a break. Yet who’s giving him a break? I try to return the favor in my own feeble way by doing his laundry and cooking him meals. Somehow, though, we need to give him time away, too. It weighs on me that we still haven’t found a solution for this.

Finally (at least for now), I simply am not getting enough rest (see previous paragraphs). I don’t remember what it’s like to feel refreshed in the morning. I find myself eagerly anticipating the opportunity for an afternoon nap while I am eating breakfast. I jokingly offer to switch sleeping schedules and roles with my toddler, who is keen to help but not quite capable of handling the workload. Maybe if we just built a stool high enough he could attach the milkers “by self”?

Despite my emotional turmoil, I am still glad we are farming. We will figure it out. It is already significantly better than when we started. Though I will continue to have bad days and I will occasionally question my sanity, I will persevere because I believe we are meant to be here.

Filed Under: Farm Life, Perspective

The long and winding road

May 19, 2011 By Leave a Comment

We now return to our backstory, already in progress. We left off when I was a young child visiting my grandparents’ farm. Between my childhood memories of the farm and my Strong Interest Inventory results, you might think that farming was a lock for me. Ha!

Once my grandpa died and my grandma sold the farm, I lost my connection to the country. Sure, we still traveled out that way, but Grandma now lived in town. Despite her having a lovely little park behind her house, it simply wasn’t the same. As I grew older, I saw other opportunities for myself and began to imagine my future as a successful businesswoman with a condo in the city…and driving a Bronco. (Yes, folks, even my Manhattanite dreams are tinged with farmer practicality.)

When I entered college, I was not terribly interested in the natural world. I took only the minimum requirements in science, and did my best to sign up for the “modern and practical” (i.e., not challenging) science classes. I preferred to focus on volleyball, communication, and simply getting through school so I could do something fun with my life. Don’t get me wrong: I cared about my grades. But sitting in a classroom was such a drag.

I got a job in the corporate world when I was a junior in college. It was a data entry job — nearly the bottom rung of the ladder — but I thought I had hit the big time. Computers! Cubicles! Coworkers! And we were dealing with lots and lots of money. I once handled a personal check for a million dollars. This was exciting stuff. I was promoted relatively quickly and began to see a career path forming. I knew this was the place for me.

I immersed myself in corporate culture. I read books on dressing for success, learned the ins and outs of job grade and posting systems, signed up for Toastmasters, joined networks, and initiated projects. My efforts were rewarded with more promotions that got me closer to actually working in the field of my college degree. I liked where this was going!

Then I met John. It wasn’t love at first sight, but he intrigued me — largely because he was the antithesis to corporate culture. Frankly, he was the antithesis to me. And I found myself drawn to learning more about this mysterious creature.

My corporate career would continue, yet it began to take on a different meaning as my relationship with John deepened and my clear-cut future became a little hazy.

Filed Under: Backstory

Hope “springs” eternal

May 19, 2011 By Leave a Comment

(Note: This was originally posted on April 7, 2011)

As I gaze through Asian lady beetle-covered windows (apparently these things never go dormant in the country), I find myself contemplating the disparity in the browns of Spring and Fall. The landscape doesn’t look much different now than it did in November, but Spring browns are tinted with hope.

I’m not sure where I was going with this observation. On the surface it seems like the stuff of poetry. But for a practical gal like me, it’s really just a way to remind myself that better things are around the corner. After a winter like this, I need those kinds of reminders. Knowing that the grass will soon be green and the cows will soon be dotting the hills of our pastures gives me energy to tackle the many projects that await us during our busy, warm seasons.

Maybe I’ll even find the drive to blog at least once a week.

Filed Under: Farm Life

Our pampered existence

May 8, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I am lazy. Let’s get that out of the way right now. If there’s a job to be done, I usually take the following course of action: 1) Question whether it needs to be done; 2) If it does, see if someone else is better suited for it; and 3) If I must do it, find the easiest way to get it done.

But even in all my laziness, I was still struck by what one writer said about her recent experience at a farmstay in Illinois. She, her husband and their two young children spent the weekend on a diversified family farm where they harvested vegetables, picked apples, collected eggs and fed chickens. In other words, they were getting lots of fresh air and sunshine while walking, bending, lifting and reaching to gather food. Not easy work by any stretch, but satisfying work that nourishes the body, mind and soul. And they did it together, as a family. Quality and quantity time.

Then I got to this paragraph (emphases mine):

“On our last night, we played Old Maid and read stories by candlelight. Tucking my son in, I gently tugged a piece of hay from his curls. ‘Mommy,’ Thomas sighed, ‘I want to be a farmer when I grow up.’ Maybe he will be a farmer, but I’m not even sure I’d wish it. The evening before, I’d seen David, still in his work overalls, fall asleep at the dinner table. Farming is a life of integrity and satisfaction, but also one of rigor and exertion.”

There you have it. We are not to wish for our children a life that requires rigor and exertion, even if it is full of integrity and satisfaction. The Eloi have arrived.

Mind you, I am not criticizing the author. She is merely putting to paper what many of us think every day. It seems that the highest form of living is a life of ease. But we can’t grow and achieve without rigor and exertion. And anything really worth doing is worth exerting oneself for.

Farming is hard work for me. A lot of times I don’t like it. I frequently complain. I am often tired. I hate being frustrated by all the mistakes I make. But you know what? I felt all the same things when I became a mom. Are we not going to become parents because it requires rigor and exertion? I wonder what will happen to our society then?

So let’s bring this back to food, which is a passion of mine. If we value local, healthful food raised on sustainable family farms, we must begin to value rigor and exertion as a way of life because we will need more farmers to have this type of food system. Farming must be seen as a viable, satisfying and worthy occupation.

And we must be willing to wish it for our children if they choose it.

Filed Under: Perspective

Of (nearly) frostbitten proportions

May 7, 2011 By Leave a Comment

(Note: This was originally posted on March 23, 2011)

We interrupt our regular series of backstory posts for some breaking news: I finally lost my boots in the manure muck tonight. Both of them. At about the same time.

If you’re a fan of our Facebook page, then you already know that I’ve been crabbing about my difficulty in walking through the slurry of manure, mud, urine and melting snow. Perhaps you thought it was just idle chit-chat to fill our status box. (“Yeah, yeah, it’s mud season. Don’t you have a cute calf story or something?”) Or maybe I simply do a lousy job at conveying the gravity of a situation. (“There she goes with those exclamation points again!”)

Well. Third time’s a charm. Or, more aptly in this instance, a curse.

Things were looking good when I opened the barn door to get the cows for milking. Many of them were huddled nearby trying to stay out of the wind. I figured, hey! This is going to be a snap. I still needed to circle out to the hay bale rings and bedded pack to get the cows who were eating or lounging, but I was smart enough to take the uphill path to keep myself out of danger. I must have walked through a vortex, because on my way back I just followed the cows without thinking about where I was going. I realized much, much too late that I was on low ground in the midst of the worst muck on the farm.

There was no hope for me at that point.

I quickly sank down to nearly my knees. Pop! went the first boot. Sploosh! went my (cotton) sock foot into the muck. As I was trying to extricate the first boot, my other boot slipped off. Now, keep in mind that these boots are overshoes, and the shoes came off with the boots. So I had to make a fast decision: Sit, sink and struggle in knee-high goo to get the boots on? Or start running for the barn in stocking feet?

That was probably the fastest 50-yard-dash I’ve ever done.

And the barn wasn’t even my final destination. I had to warm my freezing feet and get some dry socks on, both of which were available only in the house. So I took a deep breath, steeled myself for the cold, and ran across our (much-too-long-in-hindsight) driveway in those same wet, dirty socks. Thank God John was in the mud room getting ready to come out for chores. Despite my best efforts to frighten him with my hysterical sobbing, he brought me a towel, a pan of lukewarm water, and dry wool socks. After experiencing the stabbing pain of blood returning to my toes (and letting the whole world know how much it hurt), I declared myself fit for chores and headed back to the barn.

The best part? John thanked me for milking tonight.

Filed Under: Farm Life

It’s in my blood

May 6, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I suppose I shouldn’t have been that surprised by my Strong Interest Inventory results. Farming is part of my family’s history. Of course, that’s true for many people my age. But maybe my childhood experiences on the farm made a more lasting impression on me.

Mom grew up on a farm in Kerkhoven, Minnesota, and my grandparents still owned that farm when I was young. Although Dad didn’t grow up on a farm, his cousins did and he loved visiting them. Not only that, he helped with the cultivating on my grandparents’ farm when the occasion called for it. So if you really stretch things a bit, you could call me a third generation farmer.

I first visited my grandparents’ farm when I was about three months old. Mom, Dad, my brother Karl and I made the trip back to the States from Germany, where Dad was teaching at an American high school. I don’t recall that trip. Good thing I have a picture as proof (that’s me on the right).

Fast forward several years. I have reached an age where things stick with me. I remember that the trip out to the farm seemed interminable. It was only two hours, but it was an eternity to a young child. Mom finally got so tired of Karl and me saying, “Are we there yet?” that she made a list of the towns we had to pass through to get from Minneapolis to Kerkhoven. Whenever we felt the urge to ask how long it would be, we were to consult the list. We also looked for landmarks like the huge ball of twine in Darwin.

Once on the farm, I liked to don my striped bell-bottoms and Snoopy sweatshirt before heading out to play. Karl discovered how to get on top of the corncrib and, being a dutiful little sister, I had to follow. It seemed like a great place to amuse ourselves because it was up high and away from the adults. In reality, it didn’t afford us much room to roam. But it was a fun lunch locale because Mom rigged up a string and pail that we used to pull up our sandwiches.

The trip home often included a stop at the Dairy Queen, and listening to “The Shadow” on WCCO-AM radio. With fond memories like these, how could I not go into farming?

Filed Under: Backstory

Foreshadowing

May 5, 2011 By Leave a Comment

You know those people who were always clear about what they wanted to be when they grew up? The kids who excitedly declared their firm commitment to becoming a doctor, astronaut, or firefighter? And then they grew up to be exactly that?

I am not of those people. And yet…

Back in my Minneapolis junior high school, I took the Strong Interest Inventory. The whole class took it. I’m not sure about the purpose. Were we supposed to start picking our life’s occupation when we were 13? I know they do that for 3-year-olds today, but it was a different time back in the ’70s. We were a lot less ambitious.

Anyway, I don’t remember much of anything about the results except this: My highest-scoring interest area was “Farmer.” Seriously. It was off-the charts high. Then again, many of my classmates got the same result. We all had a good laugh and decided that the entire test was suspect because, well, who becomes a farmer?

Thus my journey into farming began. And I didn’t even realize it.

Filed Under: Backstory

Is this for real?

May 4, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I can’t believe we’re really on a farm. It took us 10 years to get here. And I often tell people that if I would have known it would take 10 years, I probably would have told John, “No way. We’re doing something else.” Good thing I didn’t know.

So how did we get here? Why dairy farming? I’ll tell that story in the coming weeks. Probably not very artfully. I’m not a skilled blogger, after all. But I’ll do my best to hold your interest and give you insight on what it’s like to become a management-intensive, rotational grazing dairy farmer in mid-life when you have limited background in the field (literally).

My hope is that you will be entertained and feel a better connection to where your food comes from. And, eventually, I hope many of you will come and experience the farm for yourselves when we open our guest house to the public.

Filed Under: Backstory