This is a photo of my dad and my husband taken this fall. I’m not sure there is another photo in existence with just the two of them in it. They represent the two sides of my world.
I’ve talked about growing up on Main Street in town and moving out to the country when I married my husband. That just touches the tip of the ice-berg on the differences in my past and my present. Here’s another little piece.
Dad was in upper management at a company in the big town. For as long as I can remember, he wore a suit to work every day and arrived home between 5:30-6:00 pm. every night. He sat at a desk and used a computer and had one of those honking big phones with the thing to prop it up on your shoulder. That was before they invented headsets I guess.
I remember visiting him in his office and being proud of him. He had a secretary and a big rolley chair that he always sat in with one leg kind of up under him or something goofy like that (which I thought was cool too.) He had an extension for heaven’s sake! Now he is retired and I haven’t seen him in a suit in years come to think of it!
Dad hung out in the garage or the yard at night after work. He was always fixing and pruning and tinkering. He was never one to be inside! He was always home for supper and often fixed it for my sister and I. He was King of the Crock pot!
Fast forward to after college when I married the hard-core farmer who wears jeans and t-shirts and work boots everyday to work. You mean a tie isn’t necessary on a combine? He doesn’t fix his hair or have a fancy pen. I married a farmer who can seriously never ever tell me when he will be home. And if he does tell me when he will be home, he’s wrong 90% of the time. Things come up, I get it now…. I married a farmer who gets out of the door in the morning like a animal freed from it’s cage. I married a farmer who’s job never ends at 5:00 and who has never, ever, ever, ever TINKERED! Talk about polar opposites. It took some getting used to, but I think all these years later I get it.
I have to get up early to chat. I try to stay up late to catch up with him on life’s happenings. We go ahead and eat supper without him. I don’t wait until the last minute to load the kiddos in the car to go somewhere in hopes that he will show up to wash faces, smooth hair, find lost shoes and the like. I load and go. If he gets in as I pull out of the garage in his dusty boots, I smile and hand him a change of clothes and pull on out. (and if you don’t believe that, just ask him, always a smile from me, never a frown. ever.) If he doesn’t make it into the car, well, I go it alone.
I’m thankful for his work ethic (though I’m afraid he’s going to wear himself out by age 40!) I’m thankful for his passion and drive. I’m thankful for all the “farmer” in him. I’m thankful that his temperament comes straight from his grandpa who farmed this ground and lived in this house. I’m thankful he is who he is. It’s just different than the typical town life I had known and loved for 20 some years.
I don’t know which lifestyle I prefer and I don’t think I need to decide. I believe I’m where I’m supposed to be with a wonderful man who loves me, doing a job he believes in. My goal is to be his support, his helper. It’s still a juggle to figure out just where I fit into the family farming way of life, but I believe in trying to sprout where you are planted and I keep trying.
I’m thankful for my towny upbringing with my dad (I love you Dad! Thanks for all your raising!) and I’m thankful for my farming adult-life. Different is good. Life is good.
But hey babe, think maybe you can be home by 5 tomorrow? Maybe fix supper, text Dad, he’s got a great beef stew recipe!? Possibly?
