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.
