Feb 13, 2017 4 min read

It has come to my attention on more than one occasion that folks wonder why I continue to try to be a farmer. I’ve been told by several readers my exploits not only shine a light on how difficult farming can be, but give them pause as to whether I am actually cut out for the job. Admittedly, I’ve asked myself the same question once or twice.

The answer is both simple and complicated: I love this farm. I love the way the ground rolls across the hills and how the sun can’t light it all up at one time. I love the sound of the creek gurgling its way to the larger body of water across the road. I love the way I can tell when spring is coming by how hazy the trees look when they are all budded up and ready to leaf.

I also love the farmer. I love how he smiles at me when we are slopping through mud together trying to reach a calf that has become separated from its mother. I love the look of pride and accomplishment on his face when we have filled the barn to the peak with square bales, or the gravity wagon with feed that we have ground. I love how he goes out at all hours of night or day to nurse the occasional sick animal back to health, and I love how he cares about the comfort of a hog that will go to the slaughterhouse the following day. I love how proud he is when it is my idea that saves the day.

I love the feeling of togetherness that comes after we’ve faced adversity together. How we’ve spent more money trying to save the life of an animal than we could have made selling it, just because it’s the right thing to do. How we’ve worked from sunup to sundown in the blazing hot sun or the blistering cold only to find that we have barely broken even for the day. How creative we have had to be when the power has been out but we need hot water to make milk for the babies in the barn.

I am well aware that in the decade or so that I’ve been trying to farm with my husband, I’ve screwed up a lot. I’ve wrecked lawn mowers, jackknifed equipment, backed into – and over – TONS of things that I wasn’t supposed to, fallen down, let animals out where they weren’t supposed to be, put animals in where they weren’t supposed to be, burned important papers, scheduled events for the wrong day, fallen some more, and generally made a mess of things.

But I’ve also pulled drowning calves from freezing water, assisted in the birth of calves that were too large for the mother to birth alone, tube- and bottle-fed calves that were abandoned by their mothers, learned to bale hay, learned to paint, hand-dug ditches and drains, built miles of fence and developed springs.

I’ve had my fingers sucked on by baby calves. I’ve had chickens hop into my lap for neck-scratching sessions. I’ve ridden pigs and seen horses and cows become best friends.

I know my life isn’t glamorous, but that’s OK. Sure, it’s been hard at times, but what life hasn’t? It may not be for everyone, but it is just right for me. Even if I make a (giant) mess of it sometimes.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.