A Mile in His Crappy Boots

Today I walked a mile in Husband's crappy boots. Actually, they were my boots and they were only crappy because I stepped in lots of actual crap. And I had to walk largely because I didn't know how to do this thing called choke on the farm's John Deere Gator.

On the agenda today, cleaning out the pens where we keep our farrowing (birthing) sows (mama pigs).

The kids took advantage of the sunny day to help clean one of the pens, scraping out manure and putting in clean straw for the pregnant sow. How did we coax our kids away from the TV to go outside and scoop manure in the cold? 

They couldn't WAIT to do it!

While the kids were cleaning out pens for expectant sows, Husband was busy stealing the piglets from their mothers (briefly) to give them their ear notches and shots. Ear notches are small cuts to the edge of a pig's ear that will identify it for the rest of its life. Look at the notches in the sow's ear above. The notches are a secret code among farmers.

Good mothers that they are, the sows are concerned when Husband arrives to take their babies away in the recycling bin (who says farmers aren't green). The sow above paced the whole time her babies were out of her sight. One reason Husband takes them away is that the pigs squeal when they get their shots and ear notches, which further aggravates their mother and all of the other sows around too. He doesn't want the little pigs to get too cold either.

And what was my job? Well, in addition to supervising, taking photos, abandoning the stalled Gator in the barnyard and getting the wrong bulbs for the heat lamps, I'm not sure what value I added. I was assigned the job of installing heat lamps for little pigs that will be born later this week, a task I ably delegated to Morgan.

I did also take it upon myself to help capture some little pigs that had escaped from their pen. Ryan and I worked to chase them back through the gate we opened. One little pig was too afraid and ran around squealing. I tried to grab it when it flew past me and I fell on the ground. Pigs were squealing, sows were pacing and I was down. When I finally got up the boys said, good job Mom. I didn't even see the pig crawl back under the fence but I'll take it.

I helped for way less than two hours, came inside took a shower and was completely exhausted. Husband does all this 365 days a year and doesn't complain. It's nearly midnight as I write this and Husband is getting ready for bed. He will get up at 4 a.m. and go outside in freezing temperatures to check on his sows.

I wish more people--especially people who pass judgement on agriculture--could walk a mile in his crappy boots.

20 Questions only a Farm Wife Would Ask

In my 15 years of farm wifehood (wifery?), I have said things that I never dreamed that I would, things like Why does this lettuce smell like pig semen?

In honor of all the farm wives out there, I have compiled a list of 20 real things I have asked Husband over the years. I must confess, some of these are sarcastic, some are rhetorical, some are exclamations but all are true.

1. Why is there pig medicine next to the orange juice?
2. Do you want these nails I just fished out of the dryer?
3. What is that smell?
4. Will you put that semen away before my sister's baby shower?
5. Now that these jeans are ripped in both the crotch and the butt, can I throw them away?
6. What is this stuff smeared on the flashlight?
7. Why can't I ever find a hammer?
8. Do you smell that?
9. Will you get off your John Deere and mow the grass?
10. Will you wash your hands before you stink up the baby's head again?
11. Is that a pig tooth in your eyebrow?
12. Why didn't you pay this much attention to me when I was about to give birth?
13. For the love of GOD, don't you SMELL that?
14. Why are you walking around the kitchen in those boots?
15. What is that on your arm? Oh, my, it's all the way to the elbow.
16. Don't you think we should get that nasty injury looked at by someone other than the veterinarian?
17. Did you get the pigs/sheep/heifers/neighbors livestock back in the pen?
18. Why is THAT in the house?
19. How did THAT get out in the barn?
20. Seriously, you spend all day wading around in shit, you're telling me you can't change that diaper?

Marriage, children, getting older are all full of surprises, what have you said to your spouse that you never thought you would?

A Friendly Letter on Fathers Day

Ryan had a school assignment to write a letter to a friend or relative about what they want to be when they grow up. The teacher shared this letter with my mother-in-law (also a teacher) who kindly intercepted it to be presented today as a Father's Day tribute.

A sweet tribute to the man who has taught him everthing he needs to know in life--from his friend, Ryan M.

Your Duties There?

It's springtime on the farm. Time for pig sales, playing in puddles and for me to flex my vocal chords for another season of screaming at my kids: SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE DOOOOOOR!

I was thinking the other day that it would be easier if I just stationed myself by the door. And it made me remember my high school days as volunteer waitress at the annual springtime FFA banquet. In case you haven't had the opportunity to participate in a formal FFA opening ceremony, let me explain that it begins with each officer located in different places, with the vice president calling role. Each officer reports in that they are stationed by the door (sentinel), by the flag (reporter), by the ear of corn (secretary), etc. and the symbolic reasons why.

So with utmost respect for FFA traditions, let me adapt this meeting format for a new era in my life. At this time I would like to call to order the Desperate Farm Wives Club of America. Let us call the role:

Vice President: Playtime Mom
Playtime Mom: I am stationed by the door
Vice President: Your duties there?
Playtime Mom: Through this door pass many muddy boots, bugs and the occasional non-house-trained farm dog. It is my duty to stem the inbound flow of things that have been in the barn, plus ensure that all gathered flowering weeds are placed in crystal vases and boxed reptiles are released before dark.

Vice President: Mealtime Mom
Mealtime Mom: Stationed by the fridge
Vice President: Your duties there?
Mealtime Mom: The fridge is the symbol of healthy, well-planned family meals, which is why we keep one in the kitchen--to remind us of that unrealized ideal. I hand out popsicles, apply peanut butter to crackers and encourage the consumption of apple slices.

Vice President: Activities Mom
Activities Mom: Stationed by the mini-van
Vice President: Your duties there?
 Activities Mom: I transport the farmer's children to their many activities: baseball, ballet, swine boot camp, soccer, etc. The mini-van stays mud-splashed from pot-hole filled gravel farm lanes and smells like Tractor Supply, all in accordance with the by-laws of the Desperate Farm Wives Club of America.

Vice President: Madam President, all officers are at their appointed stations.

President: Where did all these kids come from? HEY, GET YOUR MUDDY BOOTS ON THE RUG! WATCH IT--you are dripping popsicle on your sister! I TOLD YOU not to leave your cleats in the barn!

All Present: GO OUTSIDE AND FIND YOUR FATHER!

Weekend Plans Cut Short

I haven't been at my current job long enough yet, apparently, because people still make the mistake of asking me what are you doing this weekend? I say that it is a mistake to ask me about my weekend plans because that question is supposed to be followed with an ordinary answer like going to see a movie or yardwork.

But when you ask me about my weekend plans, you're likely to get an answer like this: well, we'll be pretty busy getting ready for our pig auction. Husband has to give haircuts to 100+ pigs.

Yes, you read that right. Pigs get haircuts. Husband is grooming them for the pig auction (we call it a sale) that we are having on Saturday. In the market for a pig? Head over here.

Pigs have short, coarse hair that in days of old was used to make brushes (and maybe still today). Husband and other pig farmers clip the hair of the pigs shorter to make them look more appealing to potential buyers, who in this case are 4-H kids and parents looking for a hog to take to the county or state fairs.

What are the steps in cutting a pig's hair? And do you have photos? I thought you'd never ask.

The first step in any animal grooming project is corralling the animal to be groomed. In this case, Husband uses our farm trailer to transport a litter of pigs (brother and sister pigs) to the barn beauty parlor. Ryan, Justin and Morgan were along for the ride, along with nationally renowned pig clipper, Claude', whose secret identity we must preserve lest he be stolen from us by our swine grooming competiton. (Claude' is not his real name; his credentials may have been exaggerated.)

The pigs are then snared at the nose to keep them from running off and then Husband uses animal grooming clippers to clip all the hair on the pig's body. The pigs, surprisingly, are not keen to have their normal routine of pooping, chewing on the fence, eating, sleeping, and more pooping disturbed. While the haircut does not harm them, they do not like the process and tend to squeal.

Proving again that our children have very different milestones than most kids, today was a big day for Ryan as he clipped his very first pig.

Claude' was kind enough to guide him through the process while Husband entertained some potential buyers from out of state. Justin maintained a supervisory role while Morgan hid in the house to avoid the squealing.

Husband and Claude' clipped about 35 pigs this weekend, only 75 more to go! Fortunately, we have the services of Claude' all week. He and Husband will get all the pigs groomed in time for our sale, I'm sure.

Stay tuned for next weekend's adventures, which include bathing 100+ pigs (Husband and boys) clerking a pig auction with my in-laws (me), and closing down Frisch's in Eaton (all). 

Winter Wonder Farm

Yesterday we got eight inches of snow. My driveway is not scraped; my back porch remains icy. Here on the farm, all the shoveling and snow removal is focused on the livestock. Snowed-in farm wives, minivans and sidewalks are not a priority.

A self-proclaimed fair weather farmer, I ventured out today with Morgan, sacrificing my cozy sweatpanted existance to bring you a winter weather farm report. I even caught the farmer out hamming it up (get it!).

By the time I got out there, the shoveling was done and feeding time had begun. These hungry sows (mama pigs) were glad to have a cleaned off spot in their pen to eat dinner.

Right now we are in baby pig season at the farm. I know it seems like a better idea to have babies in the spring, but since we will be selling the majority of the pigs to 4-H'ers for the county fair and to other farmers as breeding stock, we want them mature (250-280 pounds) by August/September for fair season.

Can you believe this sweet little guy will be a big hog in six months?

Or these? I love the little Herefords. Thanks to Husband's hard work, they can come out of the little house they share with their mother and not get buried in snow.

Fortunately, this little one and her brothers love to shovel snow. If I can just get them strong enough to put the snow blade on the John Deere, we'll be all set.

I Never Liked Those Cows Anyway...Sniff

Next week the cows are leaving. Thank God.

Unable to sustain feeding, housing, breeding and milking our 40 cows twice a day, my father-in-law made the decision to stop milking. The cows will be leaving. They will not be going to another farm.

I never liked those damn cows anyway.

Every time I tried to take a shower, they would drink and use up all the water pressure. They were always bawling in the night when I was trying to sleep. Every two days a semi-tanker would drive under my bedroom window at 3 a.m. to pick up the milk; it took months before I stopped waking up to the diesel engine humming outside.

One time they got loose and ran all over the neighborhood. Actually, they did that several times.

And when it got really wet, they stunk.

Those cows were a nuisance. They chained the whole family to this farm, preventing us from taking vacations, attending family events. Did you know each cow produces 100 pounds of manure a day?

Who needs those cows? Who needs little calves running to the fence out of curiosity about your upturned hand? Who needs homemade ice cream so rich no one noticed when I forgot the vanilla flavoring? Who needs to run out their kitchen door with the measuring cup just to get a quick cup of milk for a recipe? Who needs freshly washed heifers lying on a bed of straw at the county fair?

I never liked those damn cows anyway. So why am I crying now?

Token Farmer

The fact that I straddle the worlds of corporate America and agriculture is a theme of this blog but it has really come home to me this week with the number of friends and family who have stopped us to get our opinion on Ohio Issue 2.

Some have been apologetic for "bothering" us about this, but really we're the only farmers they know. I have been happy to help via Facebook message or e-mail but at the request of a good friend and fellow blogger, I decided to post about how we are voting and why.

First, let me summarize by saying that we are voting YES. We have the sign in our front yard proclaiming our intentions. Second, if you disagree with me, then fine. I'm not writing this to change anyone's mind--only to reach people who are undecided and value our opinion as real farmers.


I'll start by pointing out that the vote-no-people, the Humane Society of the US, is a vegan organization who (by their own admission) have the end goal of eliminating consumption of meat and dairy. One tactic is to make farming so difficult and food so expensive that people look for alternatives. Also, they are NOT affiliated with any actual humane societies and spend only token money on helping dogs or cats.

Even though some materials say small farmers are opposed to Issue 2--that is simply not true. We are a very small farm but we are in favor of Issue 2. It's true, as the critics note, that this board was rushed into existence chiefly to keep the HSUS from imposing some draconian rules on Ohio agriculture (see motives above). But we truly believe that consulting large animal vets, the head of agriculture education at Ohio State and Ohio consumers (all on the proposed board) would be a better way to manage our livestock care issues.

Here's a real-life example of how the changes proposed by well-meaning animal lovers could affect pig farms... They want to eliminate gestation crates that don't permit the sow to turn around. Husband doesn't use these partly because we would have to build an entire new expensive barn to accommodate and we don't have the volume of sows to justify. BUT since he doesn't use them, he has to stay up all night, almost every night from December through February to make sure that the sows don't squish the babies as they are born and so they don't freeze to death (gestation barns are climate controlled). If Husband had hundreds of sows like a farm that provides meat to the grocery, this would be impossible to manage and every day piglets would be getting stepped on by their mothers--which is very painful and usually rips them open.

This is my long-winded way of saying that farmers came up with these methods not out of meanness but out of a desire to raise as many healthy animals as they can quickly and economically--something we enjoy every week at Krogers.

So tell your Facebook friends and your crazy neighbor who e-mails you about the evils of "factory farms" that you heard it straight from a farmer--vote YES on Issue 2.

What Farm Kids Do for Fun

I was just watching an episode of Jon & Kate Plus 8 (I'll keep my opinions on the whole thing to myself.). Anyway, in this episode the Gosselin boys went to a dude ranch. They had never seen a horse in real life. Or a goat. And they giggled the whole time about the poop.

What a different life my kids lead. Different than the majority of kids in this flyover State of Ohio, even. I have written before on the theme: What Farm Kids Do for Fun and the things they do are so foreign to people, that I may make this a regular feature. Plus, my little farm kids are very cute while they entertain themselves.

Here are Justin and Morgan making up some sort of barnyard parade that looks wacky even to other farm kids. But this is what you can come up with on a Sunday afternoon when you have a gravel circle behind your house large enough for a semi-tanker to manuever in.

Here's Morgan on the swingset, enjoying a Saturday sunset. She shares her neighborhood only with wrapped hay bales, the odd hay wagon and a soybean field that's looking a little weedy.

Here is Justin in his tree house. It's actually in a split tree trunk two feet off the ground. Even though he has a swing set nearby--that took his father nearly four days to assemble--Justin prefers his made-up hideaway.

So don't feel sorry for the farm kids. Even though they don't have neighbor kids to run around with, or sidewalks for their bikes, they have developed the ability to explore and use their imaginations. And let's face it, they've long ago finished laughing about the poop.

Speaking of poop (we were?) and farm kids having fun, see below, by popular demand, more photos from our fun-filled exhausting week at the 2009 Montgomery County Fair. Enjoy.

Our Favorite Week of Filth and Exhaustion

Summer isn't really over for our family until we have spent a week filthy and exhausted at the county fair.

For most people, a county fair is a nice place they visit on a Saturday afternoon to eat some of the greasiest food ever invented, buy a Sham-Wow, ride a few rides, pet a calf, see some sheep and head home. Yes, that's how normal people "do" the county fair.

Country people, however, are required by the sacred oath of farmers to move in at the county fair, forsaking all other activities or home life. They MUST BE PRESENT lest some cow poop and there be no one to immediately clean it up.

Not only do we gather up our finest livestock and 4-H projects (Ryan isn't old enough for 4-H and yet we still do all this), we create additional work for ourselves, baking cookies, making scarecrows (4th place Angelina Jolie and her babies, above) and taking photos.

The preparation for the fair is work and the being at the fair is draining. And the dirt, good God, the dirt. Greasy asphalt, bleacher dust mixed with poop and shavings, random blackness--all coating the knees of my children and streaking down their faces like they had sh!t for dinner. (Pre-fair, fairly clean photo of Justin above with his soon-to-be 1st place owl cupcakes.)

But for every moment spent vacuuming straw out of the carpet or every load of laundry, there are great moments like these: Ryan winning first place in pee-wee swine showmanship (above), Morgan winning third in the kiddie tractor-pull, Justin collecting a ribbon in the pig show.

We know why we spend a week at the fair filthy and exhausted--it's the best place in the world we could be.

Guy Reads

Guy (that's my nickname for my husband) gets his paycheck from the farm, which in turn gets a lot of its steady income from milking cows. So even though his time and energy are spent on pigs, I try to keep him updated on cow news. Which means it's time for another installment of Guy Reads, the exciting segment where I share with you the news items I clip out of the paper for my husband.

In international news, CNN.com is reporting that a woman in England was trampled by cows while walking her dogs. I want Guy to see this, not because I really think any of us stand a chance of being trampled, but because the 98 percent of the nation who is not involved in agriculture will see things like this and believe cows are dangerous.

My husband does not get to have the conversations I do with Friendly Suburban-Dwelling Co-Workers to understand how little people do know about agriculture.

But here's something I didn't know... the Associated Press reports:

Belching from the nation's 170 million cattle, sheep and pigs produces about one-quarter of the methane released in the U.S. each year, according to the Environmental Protection Agency. That makes the hoofed critters the largest
source of the heat-trapping gas.

Yuck. Let me just share that I have smelled a sheep burp and it is nasty. I'll save that story for another post.

Thanks to our powerful farm lobby and the quick thinking of Rep. Todd Tihart R-Kan., the EPA will not be allowed to include biological processes of livestock in their greenhouse gas regulations.

So in summary... do not mess with the cows. They will hunt you down, and burp on you.

Dreaming of Thirsty Cows

There are many great things about farm life. But there are some downsides. Ask any farm wife: the farm comes first. The farm comes before weddings--boy did my college roommate screw up by getting married during the county fair. The farm comes before babies--four decades ago my mother-in-law rode in a pick-up truck across four states in January to ensure she would be with her husband when she had her firstborn. The farm comes before holidays--we can't see what Santa brought until all the pigs have had their breakfast.

Once, just once, I would like the cows to approach their automatic water tub and say oh, #$%@! the lady of the house must be taking a shower!

Instead of the other way around.

Master of My Domain

Recently, all the professional farmers in the family were either on vacation or off at a pig show (I count my seven year-old son as one of the professionals). By a crazy twist of fate, I was the only person left to be officially in charge of the farm for the day.

So I did what any hardcore farm wife would do when left in charge of the farm--I went shopping. Luckily for me, Husband had retained the services of a real farmer to help with the feeding. My only real job was to make sure that everything was still here when the real farmer came to feed.

After my shopping trip I took the inventory:

Cows. Check.

Road-kill munching farm dog with adorable patch on her eye. Check.

Tractor. Check. Hay bales. Check.

This thing. Check.

Pigs. Check. Observational cat. Check.

Fortunately, Husband found the farm in pretty good shape when he got home. I hope I get to be in charge again soon. I could use another trip to the mall.

Pork and PR

We get a lot of publications at our house that feature many, many pictures of pig balls. Get your mind out of the gutter! These are serious publications that include ads from boar studs (a boar stud is exactly what you think it is) that are showing the males they have for sale.

We also get a number of earnest publications put together by the Pork Producers Council and the Farm Bureau featuring swine manure management strategies or perhaps stories about farmers and how they plant the exact grasses in their pasture to maximize the digestive process of their goats (an actual story that I read).

The point I'm getting to is that in looking over the farm literature that comes into the house daily I'm starting to see a trend. Farmers, at least when talking to each other, are tired of lying back and letting others shape their image.

I participated in my first #agchat on Twitter tonight. For two hours, I watched over 130 tweets roll in from people all over the world who are concerned about the image of agriculture and the way certain groups have gotten ahead of us in framing a conversation based on emotion rather than the science most farmers are more comfortable with.

I helped Husband tweet about the Ohio Pork Tour, a print, Web, YouTube campaign to show that Ohio's pig farmers are real people who care about the environment, taking good care of their hogs, and supporting their families. As a PR person and a hog farmer, I find this to be an interesting campaign at an opportune time. I encourage you to check it out.

Agri-Tourism

Sometimes farm life becomes all about the downside. The spouse who works 365 days a year (no, Santa doesn't feed the sows on his way through), the semi-tanker milk truck that rumbles under my bedroom window in the middle of the night, the non-air conditioned farm house, the dust--good God, the dust.

But when people learn we live on a farm, they are always fascinated and often ask if they can bring their kids to visit. And we are happy to oblige. Walking around with other Moms who just hope that their kids can retain some knowledge about where food actually comes from and/or the family's long-gone agricultural roots, I realize how great I have it.

Today we hosted some very cute kids whose parents (and grandparents, aunts and uncles) we knew when we were kids. They live in our largely rural community but still were not familiar with raising pigs or milking cows. Morgan helped her new friend look for a crawdad.

There's nothing like seeing a child realize that the farm mommies and babies they see in books and the animal noises they practice as a game are REAL.

Our farm is a lot more National Geographic (real, gritty) than Disney (clean, perfect) but our guests never fail to help me see the genuine, natural goodness of farm life and increasingly, the rareness.

How many times have we said to the locals you are so lucky to live here. And like anyone else who lives in a tourist destination, it always helps to see things through the eyes of our visitors who in our case never fail to say what a great place to raise kids. Amen.

I ama pig farmr.

There is no better moment as a parent than when you look over the little head of your offspring to make eye contact with your spouse, both bursting with pride and stifled laughter. We do this often with Ryan like when he visits every pig pen in the entire State Fair to pick out a gilt to buy, or when he notices that the Hampshire sow we bought in Iowa is now in a different barn on the farm, or when he takes little scraps of paper outside to grade this winter's litters.

Today, Ryan came home with a paper he did at school. Heaven only knows what his Friendly Suburban-Dwelling Teacher thought when she saw this:

In case you can't read 1st grade-ese, I'll translate:
What is special about me: I am a pig farmer.
What makes me happy: pigs.
Animals I like: pigs
What I like to do: Go to pig shows.

This fall he had to do a poster about himself where he cut out various things to represent what he liked to eat and play, etc. I had to LIMIT him to two pigs per box. He just couldn't understand why he couldn't put a Duroc sow and a Hampshire boar as two separate things that he liked.

How do you tell a seven-year-old future pig farmr that to most people, a pig is just a pig.

Venturing Out

We enjoyed today what one sleep-deprived meteorologist called an "ice sandwich." A layer of snow covered in ice and then coated with another four inches of the white stuff.

I ventured to the end of the lane to get the mail and newspaper. I guess all that rain, sleet, snow, dark of night stuff is for real--both were delivered on time.

What do tough country kids do when it snows? They put on their Carhartt jackets and head out.

I may have spawned a fair weather farmer after my own heart.

We live on a busy county road, with cars usually whizzing by at 55+ mph. Today, there was little evidence we even had a road at the end of our lane.

Here's the view facing west. I only include this to impress my husband who often laughs at my inability to know which direction I am facing. The little blacktop showing is courtesy of my brother-in-law who scraped the lane and then kept going.

THIS is snow removal country style. Oh, yeah. Of course, Husband spent all day shoveling out the pigs, so my car and little cement pad behind the house remain covered in ice sandwich.

You know you're married to a farmer when ensuring that every animal has a place to poop takes precedent over de-icing the minivan.

Thanks for Reading in 2008

Happy New Year! Thanks for reading this blog.

Thanks to those of you who openly read the blog and bring it up in conversation with my husband who then says I didn't know that. And thanks to those who are closet readers and try to pretend they don't even know I have this blog--I know who you are (can you say Google Analytics) and I am very tempted to out you by posting embarrassing photos of your spouse [just kidding, I think].

And a special thanks to my friend M who started last year at this time urging me to start a blog, so she alone didn't have to hear about how I thought my son felt like an octopus when he was being born.

What a year it has been. We had a a presidential election, a hurricane, an earthquake, and a blizzard and this blog was there to cover it all.

I tried to offer content you couldn't get on other blogs, so I enrolled all of you in remedial agricultural education, including pigs 101 and field trips to the World Pork Expo and the county fair. In covering agriculture I tried to give you special access to exclusive information like the secret code of pig farmers. I worked to broaden your horizons and teach important terminology. I toggled between grossing you out and sharing cute photos of pigs.

I put a lot of myself out there for you, including sharing my compassionate side and my best motherhood wisdom in addition to my thoughts on married life. And sometimes I very gently joked about my husband. Like the time he fought crime.

Oh, and just to keep this blog really from finding a niche, I made "interesting commentary" on PR and marketing issues.

The best compliment I ever had on the blog was from my friend MP who said after reading on her lunch hour I almost shot Diet Coke out my nose. Here's to more ruined nasal passages in 2009!

A Real Farm Wife

Farm wives are a special breed of women. And while I'm much closer to being one than the VAST majority of females in this nation, I'm not really sure I'm a genuine farm wife.

I have known a few REAL farm wives in my time. I'll compare myself to what I think of when I say "farm wife."

Household Vet
Farm Wife: Has conducted bloody operations on pigs/calves/lambs/chickens with needle and thread in her own kitchen.
Me: Are you kidding me? It's all I can do to allow husband to store his pig medication in the refrigerator in bottles--I make him use the veggie drawer.

Heavy Equipment
Farm Wife: Drives the tractor with hay baler, cause that's the girl job. Jumps off at noon to prepare fried chicken and potatoes for all the farm hands.
Me: I mowed the lawn once and reduced a six foot pine tree to toothpicks. Afterward, I decided to Shake and Bake some boneless breasts. Does that count?

Pooper Scooper
Farm Wife: Covers her hair with a kerchief, grabs a pitchfork and gets to work.
Me: I did fill MANY a manure spreader during my 4-H years, including the morning after my Prom (no, this wasn't even punishment, just the way my Dad did things) I have since retired my pitchfork.

Living off the Land
Farm Wife: Tends an enormous garden full of vegetables, which she cans and freezes to enjoy year-round. Raises chickens for eggs and has a freezer full of hamburger from the last steer she had processed.
Me: I like to eat a few tomatoes from the in-laws' garden but I hate chickens. I know most farm wives would shudder, but I buy all of my meat at the grocery.

In fairness, I am comparing myself to farm wives from a different generation who made wife and mother their career. I guess in this day and age of two-income families, a farmer is happy to be married to a woman with a 401K and occasional business trips to satisfy her need to travel further than than the end of the lane.

I think my husband appreciates all my attempts to help out on the farm. Like all the times I have looked out the window and said, "The cows are out. Who should I call?" Or the time I drove the truck and trailer during a long trip so he could nap--luckily he woke up just in time to help me cross four lanes of traffic and make our exit. I know husband will always remember fondly the time I filled out the paperwork for a litter of pigs and used his pet name for one of the boars--that we sold and had announced at multiple shows and sales afterward.

Maybe those weren't the best examples after all, but I know that I do try to be a good farm wife. What other kind of woman would still be around months after uttering this real, actual sentence to her spouse: Why does our lettuce smell like pig s&men?

Away in a Manger

The farmer was watching over his sows by night, waiting for them to give birth. When, lo, Miss appeared to be nesting and her heat lamps gave a great light.

And it came to be time for the infants to be born and Miss tried not to step on them and let them rest on a manger full of straw, because there was no room for them at the inn.

Later, after the birth, three wise men from Iowa came to offer gifts of cash, check or credit to the farmer.

The farmer pondered all these things in his heart, and planned for the day that these new pigs would shine at the State Fair. Amen.