Why I Farm, Part I

~ This article first appeared in The Leader Vindicator Newspaper. ~

Years ago, a curious member of a cattlemen’s organization I was associated with possessed the insight to ask of his peers, “Why do you farm?”

The query met dead ears.  Unfortunately, most people within the greater agriculture community see no reason to ponder their motive, believing the answer to be self evident: We farm to grow food and feed the world.

Those who did a little considering before responding revealed sincere, but equally predictable, reasons for their efforts:  “Dad farmed, so I do, too.”  “It’s in my blood.”  “I love the outdoors.”

My answer fit solidly into the latter category, and the words felt shallow and inadequate as I recorded them.  Is that really the motive behind my efforts?  I simply fell into agriculture and couldn’t think my way back out?  My goodness, if that’s the whole philosophy backing sustenance production, then maybe we really are forever doomed to be on the brunt end of hick jokes passed around more urbane classes of society.

I know that sounds harsh, so allow me to elaborate.

When we are exposed to a situation that spotlights us in front of our peers, we automatically present our ‘A-role’ life in order to impress and gain credibility.  Talking about the good stuff conjures those nostalgic fuzzy feelings of euphoria.  After our brains are doped up on praise, the words pretty much form themselves: “I sure do love this, and wouldn’t want to do anything else.”  But the truth is that day-to-day life doesn’t resemble the edited version that’s presented to our peers; we live in the ‘B-role’, and it can be downright ugly.

Following are a few personal examples.

A herd of cattle affects daily activity in much the same way a black hole in space alters light particles: nothing escapes the pull.  Bovines require seven day a week, three hundred sixty five day a year work schedules that absolutely do not falter.  This routine would not be a problem if the farmer did actually live in space, with nothing else around.  Alas, we live on Earth, and we have wives, children, friends, interests, opportunities, and emergencies all vying for our attention.  When we’re pulled by one of these influences, that unwavering routine feels pretty heavy. 

On more than one occasion I’ve walked to the field as my wife cried because she feels like she hasn’t seen me for weeks; as my friends gathered for a good time – and had one – without even calling because they know for certain that I won’t come anyway; as travel opportunities came and went, leaving new territory unexplored.  During these moments I feel a strong desire to open the gate and chase the herd away as fast as I can.

There are days when the only thing I want to do is start a roaring fire in the fireplace, pick a book off the shelf, and read it cover to cover, without the slightest concern for what’s happening outside.  These, inevitably, are the days that water pipes freeze and the herd loses its collective mind because the animals are thirsty.  Forget lunch, forget dry clothes, forget any respite in a warm place; there is slow, cold, tedious, mentally draining work to do, all garnished with a thick layer of stress that really does nothing for the experience at all.

 I’ve been scorched so badly I thought my skin would fall off; I’ve been drenched with water on a freezing day; buried in snow that wouldn’t quit; stuck in mud that appears harmless until it swallows the pickup; cold to the point my thoughts quit thinking; plastered with manure; devastated by death; plagued by feelings of inadequacy; stepped on; frustrated by wildlife and weather; harassed by money; embarrassed; physically whooped; irritated to insanity because my phone won’t quit ringing, and every time I answer it’s someone looking for fish, or Christmas trees, or some obscure cut of beef they consumed in a hut along a road in Vietnam some time ago; and I can never find my gloves.

If we aggregate these annoyances, and organize them into a routine, and apply that routine to a lifetime, then it becomes apparent that nobody in their right mind would participate in such an agenda for reasons as one-dimensional as they like it.

There has to be some greater motivating factor to justify such endurance.  Absent that something, farmers simply collapse behind the façade, proclaiming publicly their love of the lifestyle while privately doing everything they can do to encourage their kids to ‘get out’.  The steadily increasing number of vacated family farms is proof that most farmers, somewhere along the line, lost track of their something.

It dawned on me, after pitifully answering the cattleman’s question all those years ago, that I darn well better identify my something if I’m going to make it in this business.

Years of consideration have made it more apparent.  It’s a simple and complex desire all at once.  My driving passion that enables me to wake up and tackle whatever comes down the pipeline of farm life can be summed up in two words.

Meat hunger.

If you’re curious, you’ll have to read on next time.

See you in a couple weeks.