Honorable Profession

I have thought about this every day since ElleAnna and I went to the salebarn, and am going to try now to put it into words (finally, right Kathy?). With the snow falling gently outside today, it made me appreciate it even more and realize that I wanted to share it with you. I know it won't come out right, and I'll probably edit it a million times....
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Farming is truly an honorable profession. One that never gets the recognition it desperately deserves. Of course, as with everything, there are always bad seeds in the bunch. Please don't think about them as you read this. Forget about them for a while (I try to as much as possible as they only elevate my blood pressure). The farmers I am talking about work hard, probably as a family for many generations. They have earned what they have through self-determination, risk, and passion for the world in which they live.
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As ElleAnna and I went into the salebarn that day, it was filled with men and women in coveralls and boots. They have on warm stocking caps to block out the cold, or well worn baseball caps that rarely are about baseball. They usually have a John Deere logo or farm equipment advertisement on the front. Some have painfully true sayings about hard work and no money. Their hands are worn. Their nails are short. The buyers are always perched up top, usually wearing clothes that are obviously out of place. Their hands and nails are impeccable. They have on shiny cowboy boots that have probably never stepped foot anywhere but on the cement.
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The smells in the salebarn are strong and yet musty. They are a mixture of scents - of dirt, of cobwebs tangled on the ceiling fans that have never been dusted. Of the sweet cattle feed stuck between the hooves of the cows. Some think manure stinks, and IT DOES. But, in a sale barn, the smell is muffled and not as strong. Its undeniable, but subdued and not overwhelming. The salebarn smell stays on your shoes, in your hair, but you don't really mind.
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From the back, you hear the shouts of people trying to herd the livestock into the arena. You watch as years worth of hard work parades through the ring, to be purchased by the men in the white shirts. You hope for the best, pray to at least break even. You have cared for these animals when they were tiny, sometimes ill. There may be five, there may be a hundred, but good farmers know them - they know who their mother was, which calf she had last year, how much they've grown.
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There is much to be set about the souls of someone willing to carry a crying, wet, heavy, uncooperative calf in from the cold. Bringing him into the house to warm him and get him dry before retuning him to his mother. Alarm clocks going off at two hour intervals all night long during calving season to be sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible. Fighting the blinding snow to locate a mother and baby who have strayed from the warm straw bed.
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Its truly amazing to watch the cycle of growth as you plant a crop, watch it grow, harvest it as a family. Its heartbreaking when the rain does not come or the hail pounds a beautiful, flourishing crop into the ground, shattering all hope of a good harvest. There is nothing like wheat harvest - in spite of the heat and the dirt. The technology has advanced, but hands are still required to get the work done - many hands. Hands of grandmothers, grandsons, daughter, husbands... to bring the harvest in.
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It is so touching when farm families pull together in a time of crisis - Helping one another in spite of their differences when there is an illness or death. That they will put their own work aside and go fix fence, harvest a crop, feed the cows, or whatever is the most pressing task at the time. These strong farmers look as though they have never shed a tear, but they do. They break sometimes for the losses, because of nature's wrath, or the pain of others for whom they care about.
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The women involved are even more admirable - my highest respect goes to them. They juggle far more than any of us can imagine. They work along side their husbands, they comfort, they persevere, they clean and sew, they encourage, they manage the books, they cook, they love.... and they share the same respect for the land and the gifts that God gives us each and every day - including life, family, and hard work. They are amazing mothers and wives as well as truly dedicated to the community and church.
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If you eat, regardless of what you eat, you reap the benefits of the farmers in this nation. You may believe that the prices at the grocery store are too high, but I can assure you that the farmer is not reaping that money. He and/or she is still owed a world of thanks that will never be paid in full.
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I know that I owe a world of debt to my parents - very honorable farmers - who have made my life what it is today. Their amazing generosity, laughter, gritty determination, high standards, strong work ethic, love, and belief in God has touched my children, my nephews, and all the others with whom they know. They make us better people by sharing their love of the land with us. They make me want more for my future. They truly do value all the gifts that God gave us.
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