April 2011 – Modern Farm Wife

Woman vs. Farm: On Being a Farm Wife.

04/15/201101/15/2020by Modern Farm Wife28 Comments

My Dairy Man spends a lot of time out on the dairy. Like, a lot. He usually hits the dirt around 7 a.m. and I see neither hide nor hair of him until 8 or 9 p.m.

The time between when I get home from work and when I see the hardworking farmer can be a lonely time. In the first few months of our marriage (harvest time), it was actually much worse. I resented it. I felt like I barely had a husband. When he finally got home, we would scarf down a quick dinner, spend 20-30 minutes catching up, and then head to bed so that we could wake up to do it all over again. It got better when we actually started living on the dairy, but the Dairy Man’s life is still at the mercy of the farm. If something breaks, he has to fix it. If an employee needs assistance, he has to help. If the cows get out, he obviously has to wrangle. Regardless of the time, day or night, the dairy almost always comes first.

This reality has been the most challenging adjustment as I learn how to live as a modern farm wife. I grew up in a family that treated work very differently. My dad was home for dinner almost every night; no one was calling him at 4 a.m. to report a problem; he could plan his days and we could plan on him.

But farming is very different. Long hours and lack of freedom come with the territory. This is your name on the line, your reputation, your livelihood. There is a high level of personal investment. Farming is like any other small business … if the business were on steroids. Farming will never, ever be a 9-5.

Honestly? I’m still adjusting. I suspect it may take years. The all-encompassing nature of the farm still shocks and annoys me. My Dairy Man will spend the rest of his life trying to find balance and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to accept that we often won’t achieve it.

A few months before we got married, Dairy Man and I were in a premarital counseling session that changed everything. While addressing my fears of living in the country and marrying a farmer, I came up with a laundry list of worries: living in the middle of nowhere, dealing with my husband’s work schedule, and giving up career options to follow him. Would he make enough time for me? Would I get lonely? How could I survive when the nearest mall or Starbucks was 45 minutes away? What kind of future would I have?

When I stopped to take a breath, Dairy Man started talking. He talked about his love of farming and his eagerness to grow and innovate on the dairy. His passion was palpable; his eyes were gleaming; his ambition was remarkable. And then he said, “But I feel so guilty about all of this because I know Jess is unhappy. And I understand, but I just don’t know what to do.”

BAM. My selfishness hit me like a load of bricks. And it hurt. It hurt to see that I was unintentionally stomping all over his dreams. It hurt to know that I was taking the joy out of something he loved so much. That’s when I decided to stop digging in my heels. I chose him and thus, I chose this life. If we were going to be happy, I would have to start being ok with this.

I’m proud of my husband. I’m proud of how hard he works and how big he dreams. He inspires me to do more and push myself harder. I need to reciprocate. Even though the stiletto-wearing city girl from five years ago would have been horrified at the prospect of living in the land of sky, dirt, and cows, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

And so, when I am eating yet another dinner alone, I remind myself why I’m here. The Dairy Man and I both have things to learn, but we’re on the same team. Even if the team uniform requires old jeans and rubber boots.

Family

My Shadow.

04/12/201103/19/2013by Modern Farm Wife6 Comments

I would be remiss to discuss my life on the farm without mentioning the cat.

Though the Dairy Man long ago dubbed this black ball of fur “Shadow” because he followed me around like a bedraggled puppy, I am just as likely to call him by his original name: “Cat.”

Cat came into our lives when we moved into our first house after getting married. The previous owners mentioned that there was a black cat that occasionally lived in the barn. For the first several weeks, we didn’t see a hair of him. But the Dairy Man saw signs of life near the barn, so he started leaving food out to see if he could coax the feline out of hiding.

To make a long story short, the cat showed up. He started eating our food. And, much to my chagrin, the Dairy Man kept moving his bowl closer and closer to our house. It’s not that I don’t like cats, but once this cat was our friend, he was our friend. He was waiting outside the door to terrify/trip me at 6:30 a.m. when I left for work. He came bounding from the trees whenever my car pulled into the driveway and would follow/trip me up the steps to the house and try to sneak in the door behind me. If I didn’t get out of my car quickly enough, he would sit directly outside the door and meow incessantly. Once he even climbed on to the hood of my car and put his paws on the windshield as if to say, “GET OUT AND FEED ME.” He was constantly annoying me, tripping me, terrifying me, meowing at me, or staring at me. People would tell me, “It’s not a big deal, he’s just being friendly.” But I knew he was evil. Those beady eyes followed my every move. I was a prisoner in my own house. Dairy Man affectionately called him Shadow. I indignantly called him “Dangitcat!”

Then, for no reason other than to distract him from my legs, I started feeding him. I discovered that if there was food in his bowl, he would leave me alone and I could walk to the house in peace. This discovery brought a level of begrudging tolerance to our relationship. I even started making him earn his supper—no food would be poured until he rubbed against my legs to acknowledge his subordinate role and gratitude.

Thus was my fatal mistake. Cat started to like me. I started to like Cat. I vehemently denied this fact to family and friends, but Cat had started to weasel his way into my heart.

A few months after I married the Dairy Man, we moved to a new (our current) house ON the dairy farm. We faced a dilemma: to take the cat or not to take the cat? On one hand, he was 100 percent an outside cat. People saw him all over the neighborhood. This was his turf, his home. We fed him, but he was perfectly able to fend for himself. Would he be happy on the new farm?

We feared he would try to run away from the new house, exposing his furry self to cars, cougars, and getting lost, so we left him. But out of guilt, I kept going back to the old house to feed him. I couldn’t leave him alone. So, one dark night, the Dairy Man catnapped our feline and brought him clawing and squawking to the dairy.

Since then, Cat has adjusted well. He appears to be the leader of a small group of wayward barn kitties and is seen all over the farm, as evidenced below:

Cat by the sliding door (watching us eat dinner):

Cat looking in the kitchen window:

Cat in the barn:

Cat has been here (poor car):

All of his creepiness aside, I’m glad that Shadow and I have worked out our differences. I might even like him just a little bit. But shhh, don’t tell.

Family

Family on the farm.

04/04/201103/19/2013by Modern Farm Wife1 Comment

My family derives a great deal of joy of out my placement in this farming wilderness. The Jess of old would have never set one delicate high-heeled foot into such a place. But this Jess is different. This is the Jess that fell sway to the charms of a sweet dairy man and had to make some big changes. This Jess is different but happy.

That being said, they still get a kick out of seeing me in boots.

They giggle when they think of me stepping in cow pies.

They remember a Jess who was afraid of dirt but not of rush hour traffic. A Jess who would eat any type of sushi but wouldn’t touch a rare steak. A Jess who had big dreams of big cities and was getting out of Michigan as soon as possible.

The tales of my new life provoke delighted laughter. Ironic guffaws. Incredulous snickers. A whole lot of, “I never thought I would see the day …”s. But deep at their cores, my family is happy for me.

And now they also have a farm to play on.

Two weekends ago my parents and sister came up to tour the dairy. It was a beautiful March day and my dairy man was in his element as tour guide. (Though I did have to keep reminding him to give the “kindergarten tour;” not everyone can be as passionate about the details as he!) We saw the parlor, the barns, the steers (young males), the horses, the tractor, the barn cat. For my suburban family, it was a treat. My dad let the cows lick his hands and my mom got her shoes dirty.

Understandably the cows were very curious about these city slickers:

The Dairy Man and I had a great time showing my family around our farm. I may have fabricated some of the details in my portion of the tour, but at least I now have the vernacular to SEEM knowledgeable.

Those city folk didn’t know the difference.