The Farmer in Me...

A friend at work sent an e-mail to all of us bout a farmer, some puppies, and a little boy (see at the bottom of this post). When I read it I pictured the farmer standing at the fence with the little boy. I don't know what it is about farmers and farms- and maybe I am the only one that feels this way- but something inside me either IS or WANTS TO BE a farmer. Maybe it was growing up with cows and lots of other miscellaneous animals in 'Farmington' (of all places) that causes me to connect with farms and farmers. I must admit that when I "bought the farm" to build the house I am in now, that standing on the soil and looking over the old Rigby Edge-End Farm was probably what tempted me to do so. The farm feel and smell (I swore I smelled that sweet-manure-dairy smell) is what made me do it. It was my second visit to the lot- I had come with my brother, Kimball, to get his opinion. It was then that I made up my mind. I also must admit that I felt guilty demolishing and removing all that was left of the old farm (required by the city to get a building permit). I will not rest until I have written a short photo-history of the place.

We had a discussion some time ago as a family. It was started by my brother and sister-in-law, who asked if I considered myself as one who "grew up on a farm?" I'll let you decide...

I remember feeding our first five Hereford steers when I was in kindergarten and first grade. My dad had bought them to raise and sell for beef. Afterwards we had about four milk cows: Rose, Polly- who loved apples, Cocoa, and Susan. Susan, the biggest Holstein milk cow I have ever seen, gave us 10 gallons of milk each day- about 5 gallons each milking. In comparison, Rose gave my dad 5 quarts each milking (by hand). My oldest brother milked Susan using a milk machine and my brother Richard and I washed out the milk equipment.

We also raised several calves for beef. The first two were owned by my two oldest brothers- a Holstien and a Jersey. Then came Ralph (belonged to my brother & I) and Chester (my own) and two or three others that were born to some of our milk cows. In addition to the cows I estimate that over the years we had about 3 geese, several ducks and chickens, lots of cats, and a dog for a little while. If being a farmer meant selling your product- we produced milk, beef, and also sold hay from an alfalfa pasture purchased by my father in west Farmington. I think that the only purpose the eggs served was to feed the local varmints- skunks and raccoons that lived around. We even raised a litter of raccoons at one time. They were a lot of fun.

What do you think? Do these experiences in our growing-up years make our home a little farm and our family farmers? Farmers are unique- there is something pure and wonderful about them- making their living straight from the earth and nature itself. It is a great title- and I don't know that I would consider myself a farmer, but would consider myself lucky for the experience that my father gave us to work on fences, with animals, and to buck hay on to the old '66 red Dodge and then ride home on it (about 15 feet up) with Ribsy, our springer spaniel, next to us. I was on top of the world.

Thanks, Debbie, for sparking my thoughts!

This one you may of heard before I had but the lesson was a good reminder for me. - Debbie
A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of little boy.
'Mister,' he said, 'I want to buy one of your puppies.'
'Well,' said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, 'These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.'
The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.
'I've got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?'

'Sure,' said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. 'Here, Dolly!' he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.
The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.
As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.
Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up...
'I want that one,' the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, 'Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.'
With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.
In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.
Looking back up at the farmer, he said,
'You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.'
With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup.
Holding it carefully handed it to the little boy.
'How much?' asked the little boy. 'No charge,' answered the farmer, 'There's no charge for love.'
The world is full of people who need someone who understands.

Pictures courtesy of the National Archives website from the "Picturing the Century" galleries I and II. Check them out- some awesome photos. Click on the two above to see the large versions- they're even better full-size.