Mar 20, 2022
If you have food on your table, thank a farmer. If you have wooden furniture, thank a farmer. If you have maple syrup for your pancakes, thank a farmer. If you have clothes to wear, thank a farmer.
March is the month to honor our farmers. I am sure there is a specific day or week, but I could not find it. I know that the dairy committee plans a special day for farmers in our area.
I think the month of March was chosen because it precedes the planting season. Farmers are gearing up to hit the fields with their plows and planters. As most of my readers know I belonged to a farm family for years. My first husband was a dairy farmer for his whole life. We made the most of life on the farm. It was certainly different than how I grew up, but I came to really appreciate it as a way of life.
People think of farmers as living pastoral lives. Everything is tranquil and pretty. Well, let me tell you there is nothing tranquil about a farmer’s life. He is up and about nearly 24/7. I vividly recall the times when we had to get chores done early to get to church on time for our family to sing. I had everything put together in our bedroom so my husband could breeze in and get dressed. Of course, I was out of the bathroom so he could get his bath. Yes, for most of the years that we farmed we had one bathroom – no shower just a bath tub. Of course, the children had to be able to cleaned up and ready as well.
Then, there were the holidays. Invariably, something would go amiss when we were trying to hurry to get to grandma’s or my sister-in-law’s. If the manure spreader malfunctioned, we were liable to be late.
The year we had to go for an IRS audit we got up real early because their last appointment was 10 o’clock in Bradford. I had to take a personal day for that!
Many years ago, one of my readers sent me a poetry book. It was filled with poems he wrote. I want to use one of them here. It is titled “I’m a Farmer”. It was written by Edward “Ted” Brown and included in his book. Thank you, Mr. Brown for this insight about farmers.
I’m a Farmer
A farmer is a special guy
Who loves to till the land
His back is sometimes aching
And there’s callouses on his hands.
He hopes for lots of showers
To make the green grass grow
And prays the sun will always shine
When the corn he has to sow.
He doesn’t like big government
With its orders and dictates
And hopes and prays the day will come
When they appreciate.
He produces food and fiber
For the people of our land
But still with all his efforts
They just don’t understand.
He doesn’t have unemployment
And doesn’t take welfare.
But when his back is aching
He wishes someone would care.
Twenty-four hours he works and worries
Very seldom relaxes
And wonders when the year is done
If he can pay his taxes.
He has much faith in the Lord above
Doesn’t rave and shout
But to survive a farmer must
Take in more than he pays out.
He is proud of his occupation
And ready to shout out loud
To all the world he’s a farmer
And for it he is proud.
He takes pride in his family
Through all the sweat and toil
Putting his trust in the Lord above
As he works to till the soil.
So ladies and gentlemen I stand here
Not rich or much of a charmer
But proud of my occupation
Thank God I’m a farmer.
I hesitate to think what would happen if the farmers quit producing food. This generation does not know how to be self-sufficient. Most of them do not know how to raise things in a garden. They do not know how to preserve things either. They like things that come easy. If you cannot push some buttons to get things, you are going to lose out!
What will the spike in gasoline prices do to our economy? Certainly, the farmers will take a hit. Those tractors do not run on nothing. It is anyone’s guess how high gas will get and what it will do to other prices. Needless to say things will be different.
P.S. I would like to thank all of my faithful readers for their expressions of sympathy with the death of my husband. Some of you called. Some sent cards. Some came to the funeral home. Some of you e-mailed. All of your expressions were appreciated. It is wonderful to know that you have so much support.
Ann Swanson writes from her home in Russell, Pa. Contact at hickoryheights1@verizon.net.
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