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I have found myself thinking a lot about farmers in recent days.  Several things have contributed to these thoughts.  Certainly our recent purchase of a farm, in addition to harvesting my own seeds this year, has had an impact.  I think another contributing factor has been meeting our new neighbor.  I affectionately refer to him as “Farmer Bob and his dog Earl”.  You can’t make that stuff up!  His name is Bob and he does have a dog named Earl.  Our new neighbor has been incredibly gracious and a great example of what a good neighbor should be.  Just this week, he came over and cut down several acres of waist high grasses and weeds, so my hubby could get a leg up on his new grass cutting duties.  Bob quickly reminds me how I need to work on my own neighboring skills.

I’ll never forget, as a child, when my own grandfather died on our farm.  As dairy and vegetable farmers, we had a well in front of the milk house that contained chemicals drained off while farming.  In the 60’s and 70’s, those were a lot more chemicals than are used today.  We’ve learned so much about our environment, and our own health, and the impact.  A company would come every so often and clean out the well with a big hose connected to a tanker truck.  They would suck it out and go down the lane out back of our 40 acres and empty the chemicals into the soil of the woods.  Crazy, I know.  But that was the process back then.  It would often take a couple loads to fully empty the well. 

This day, the tanker was being emptied in its usual manner when my grandfather remained near the edge of the well in waiting.  With loose rocks around the edge, my grandfather slipped and either fell into the well after being knocked out by the rocks on the edge, or blacked out soon after entry into the well from the chemicals within it.  When the tanker driver returned, he valiantly tried to save my grandpa by jumping in.  Soon thereafter, a helping hand on the farm also jumped in to assist.  The first man died, leaving behind a young wife and children.  The second struggled for many years due to the effects physically from the chemicals and mentally from the event. 

The rest of that day/week is still surreal to me today.  I was twelve.  I will soon be 49.  It feels like yesterday.  Neighbors began arriving as the news spread.  Cows still needed milking that evening.  Straw still needed to be cut later that afternoon.  Hay still needed to be baled, and vegetables still needed to be hoed.  No one had to ask.  No one had to make calls and line up a schedule.  Farmers knew what needed to be done and simply did it… for days… for weeks, actually… until we had a handle on what life was going to be like on the farm without grandpa at the helm. 

I also remember the food.  Food showed up like clockwork every day… breakfast, lunch and dinner.  No one called and said “If you need anything, please… just let us know… “  They just did whatever needed to be done.  My mother is eldest of six.  My grandmother had died four years earlier of an asthma attack and had left behind a five year old child, two high school youth, and three young adult children.  Plus there was my brother and I who practically lived there, as well.  We were all in need. 

I hear on the news about milk legislation, commodity prices, and weather reports and with each report I say a prayer for our farmers.  It is so easy to forget who they are, what they do, and how much we rely on them.  They are often the silent and the committed, the dedicated and the overworked.  As you begin to cut up some veggies this week, grill up some burgers, or pour some rich, pure, refreshing milk over your crispy, mulit-grain cereal, say a prayer for all the Farmer Bobs and their dogs named Earl.  Pray for their safety in one of the most dangerous professions out there.  Pray for strength as they work harder than most any of the rest of us.  And pray for their families, who more often than not, sacrifice more than we can ever imagine.  Most of all, pray that the rest of us would learn a thing or two about being a better neighbor, ourselves.