Confessions of a Farmer’s Daughter
***Written for a different purpose, in a different voice, nearly a year ago…Published today with a ‘why not?’
Ten ccs of penicillin looked like an awful lot for one sow.
Granted, I was more accustomed to taking care of the tiny, days old piglets and there was quite a bit of weight difference. But still, I had to double-check. I was given the okay and gave momma her medicine.
The next morning I saw my dad and cousin dragging her out of the Farrowinghouse.
“Oh my gosh, Jody, how much did you give her?!”
“Ten ccs! You said 10 ccs, right?!” I panicked. I couldn’t believe I had killed an animal.
Then I heard the laughter. Dustin knew I had been nervous about playing veterinarian and he had gotten me. Good.
There are just certain qualities you have to have to be a farmer. Book smarts don’t hurt, but they are not enough. What always escaped me was the ability to apply existing knowledge to a new problem.
Plus I was a ‘breaker.’ My dad said you’re born a breaker, or you’re not. It’s pretty expensive to be a ‘breaker’ in the farming world. This may be the reason I landed in the relatively safe profession of advertising.
The ‘breaking’ wasn’t intentional. I even did it when I was attempting extreme caution. One particularly icy day, I was traveling so slowly down a hill that the feed grinder I was pulling passed my tractor and pulled everything into the fence. The tractor stayed up, which was good. The fence, of course, was a project added to the family’s ‘to do’ list.
Another time, I looked behind me just in time to see I was headed toward the grain bins with an auger arm swung out 90 degrees and just feet away from being separated from the brand new (expensive) feed grinder. I think this public confession may be the first time the family has heard about that one.
Hands down, my worst mistakes were the times I would let my mind wander during my dreaded duty of cutting boar piglets. Twice, I unmanned a litter of ‘cornerstone genetics.’ I condemned the half of the litter that were boars to a mere 280 days on this earth when they were destined to a pretty cushy future, courtesy of their mail-ordered (expensive) genetics. I have a terrible memory of realizing my mistake and looking down at the aftermath. Those were mistakes I could not fix.
Working with my dad helped me see how I was never successful in my attempts to convince him I was too sick to go to school. I would walk into a finishing house and treat 15-20% of hogs just in case, and somehow miss every actually ill animal. I just didn’t have the eye. My dad could do it in an instant. He tried to show me the signs, but they all just looked like pigs to me.
Despite my failure as a farmer, I do now appreciate the extent to which I was blessed to have been raised in that endangered lifestyle. When I grew up, I thought every little girl had all the acres she wanted to run, play and explore. Growing up has shown me how amazing was my childhood privilege. I also appreciate what it takes to get supper on the table. As far as the farming community goes, I’ve never seen a group of people work harder or smarter.
