Musings From the Mud Room

At first, I thought about titling this column, “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”  But, it’s not.  Christmas is reserved for this honor.   Instead, it’s the season for planting crops.  Well, it should be, but thanks to a cold and wet spring this critical time for many farmers has been hit and miss.  It’s the time of year when we’re at the mercy of Mother Nature, and I think she’s having hormone troubles.   

In a “normal” year, when planting season is progressing well, things can be a bit tenuous around the farm.   I hate to say it, but everything we stress in the Leadership Whitley County program – effective communication, conflict management, teamwork – well, it kind of goes right out the window as the machinery hits the fields.     This year, in addition to the weather that has delayed things considerably, those of us raising hogs received a double whammy when the media decided to put a black eye on our industry with a flu virus.    Not only was it raining outside, but hog prices dropped considerably over several days.    You think a 2-year old short on sleep is cranky…just try hanging out with a farmer whose corn planter is parked and just lost $4,000 on a semi-load of hogs.

The itch to get in the fields for many starts in early April.  As we drove back from Pennsylvania on Easter weekend, we saw fields being worked in southern Pennsylvania and northern Ohio.   That makes the itch a bit stronger.  Then add to that those farmers who take the race very seriously and have the best intentions to get done first.    They’re usually out there a good week or two before everyone else.  On the other side of the coin, there’s the few who seem to have no weather worries, and when they get done, they get done.  It’s enough to see a few more gray hairs sprout.

I’m not sure about other farm wives, but I enjoy harvest season so much more.   There doesn’t seem to be that consuming sense of urgency.  You can ride in the combine or have a packed lunch at the grain bins as corn unloads.  Not in the spring.  Even after 13 years, I still can’t figure it out.  I don’t know whether to make dinner or offer to help with chores and ease the burden.   I have found that my husband thinks I have a keen sense of ESP, and I always know what he is thinking.  Inevitably I’ll make dinner and it will sit on the stove until 10 p.m. because we haven’t effectively communicated that “I’ll be in as soon as I empty the drill” is a good 4 or 5 hours!   Lunch is easy.  Toss a few things in a brown bag and head out to the field.   Don’t ask any questions about when he’ll be done, especially this year.    I try not to take it personally.   As a matter of fact, I have found that ignorance can be bliss.    Nope, it’s not something I did…it’s the wet spot in the field, the vacuum on the corn planter broke, or just a few more rounds and we could have had that field done last night!

I have learned to breathe a sigh of relief when the corn planter and bean drill are washed and put in the barn.   The planting is done, but the season of busy, busy work continues.  Next there’s anhydrous, then hay, followed by wheat to cut, straw to bale, and even more hay.  ‘Tis the season to work from sun-up to sun-down.   So far, most farmers seem to be handling the delay quite well.   Dave Johnson of Churubusco says he is pleased with their progress and Tom Western recalled a recent year when it rained for two straight weeks in April.  It could be worse.  Even my own husband reminded me that in the year we were married (1996), they didn’t finish planting beans until June 14.

The recent sun and dry weather is helping, and hopefully it will stay this way to let the guys (and girls) out there get their crops planted.   I never paid much attention to the weather until I married a farmer, and now that Dillon and I are growing pumpkins I fret about the daily forecast even more.  I clearly remember one day last July when I was worried about the lack of rain and the impact on our pumpkin plants.   Donnie turned to me and said (I’ve cleaned it up a bit).  “You don’t even have one acre of plants you could water by hand.  How would you like to have 800 acres to worry about?”   Thanks, hon.  It put things in perspective and I have since learned to keep my moisture, bug and weed worries to myself the rest of the season.   There’s a kind of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy during crop growing season around our place.  

On another note, I would encourage everyone to be patient as they come upon a slow moving vehicle such as a tractor, combine or hay wagon.    When I was young, I remember we would take a vacation to Ocean City, Maryland, each summer.   Our travels took us on some back roads to avoid the beach traffic, but at times we also encountered one of these slow moving vehicles.   We were all anxious to hit the sand and my dad, who has little patience and blessed me with the same trait, would become so irate.  He would yell and couldn’t wait for a chance to pass.  I was right there cheering him on.  Hey, it was our vacation and we were going to the beach, so get out of our way!   My perspective today is quite different.    Many farmers rarely get to take a vacation, and when they do, they deserve it.   They are doing their job, and making the best effort to do it safely and with consideration to others.    Please give them the respect they deserve.

Soon it will be a beautiful drive throughout the country.    I think one of the prettiest times is when the corn is about knee high and the wheat is in full head but still green, waving in the wind like an ocean.  For one brief moment, we can stop and smile at the progress that has been made.   Then we’re off to bale some hay, weather permitting!

Author’s Note:

Following my last column, several of you inquired about Snowy and her eggs.  Thank you for reading the column and allowing me to share a snapshot of my life with you.   I do have to share some sad news, however.   Just two days before the eggs were due to hatch, a night-time creature found its way in to the enclosed duck pen.   It killed Picasso and Curly.   All the eggs were destroyed and several very tiny ducklings also lost their lives.   We never found Snowy.   It was a terrible morning for Dillon and me.   I watched as he walked around the yard and found several of her feathers, asking to keep them so he could remember her.   Dillon (and I) secretly hoped Snowy might come back as she had before, but we now realize she met the same fate as the others.  Unfortunately, that is life on the farm.   There is life and there is death.   For anyone that has lost a pet, you know the feeling.  The ducks were our pets, and the fact that she was so close to hatching the eggs made the hurt even worse.   Yes, there are life events that people face which are much more critical than losing a few ducks.  But on that day it meant a lot to us.   When Dillon arrived home from school, we buried the two drakes and the remaining babies in a sunny spot out in our pasture.   As we headed back to the house, Dillon said “they were good ducks, Mom, and I really enjoyed having them while we did.”  Then he put his arm around my waist and said “Tomorrow will be another day.”   Yes it will, son.  Yes indeed.