Category: Family

Family

Hey, I’m going to Indiana

by Modern Farm Wife7 Comments on Hey, I’m going to Indiana

Texts between a Dairy Man and his wife:

Dairy Man (9:31 am): Hey, I’m going to Indiana. Might stay overnight. Ok?
Modern (9:32 am): What?!
DM (9:34 am): Is that ok?
MFW (9:37 am): Uuuuh when are you going?
DM (9:39 am): Now.

MFW picks up phone and dials.

DM: Hello?
MFW: (incredulous) You’re doing what!?
DM: Brant and I were talking about visiting his uncle’s dairy in Indiana and we decided this was the best day to do it. So we’re leaving in like 10 minutes.
MFW: Um, ok. And you’re staying overnight?
DM: Yeah. We want to stop in Shipshewana tomorrow to look at some heifers and machinery. Is that ok?
MFW: I guess. It must be nice to be a farmer, eh? It’s all loosey goosey over there. “Sure, I’ll leave the state today.”
DM: Yup! Living the dream. Are we good? I’m already late.

So, um, apparently the Dairy Man is gone for two days. Only in farm life do you wake up in the morning with a husband who isn’t going to Indiana and, by 9:30 a.m., it can all change. To be fair, I should mention that my particular farmer is always a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy. It drives me mad. I’m organized, deliberate, and decisive. The Dairy Man is spontaneous, impulsive, and flexible. Our marriage works because we are able to meet somewhere in the middle. I would spend days on a trip to Indiana: packing a suitcase, Mapquesting the best possible route, grocery shopping so that the Dairy Man wouldn’t starve, doing laundry, making lists. The Dairy Man spent 10 minutes: he threw some things into a bag and hit the road.

Farm life is all of the things I am not. It can change in an instant. One minute you’re making a milk production spreadsheet, the next, you’re in a truck on the way to visit a dairy in Indiana.

Baffling, really. I just hope he brings me back a souvenir. And not the mooing kind.

Family

On Real Love

by Modern Farm Wife5 Comments on On Real Love

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”

-from Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda

Even on this highly commercialized and overblown holiday, I don’t mind being reminded of my promise to love. I am grateful my husband makes the same promise.

I also thank God for love in all of its forms: familylove, friendlove, and puppylove. These selfless expressions make any day, even one drowning in fuzzy bears and pink macaroons, a blessing.

Personally, I believe that love is a choice you make every single day. Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s a decision. The dairy man and I choose to love each other despite all of our imperfections. We choose to trust, forgive, and sacrifice. We made an irrevocable promise to spend life together and we continue to affirm that choice every day. This love isn’t based on infatuation or perfection, it’s based on acceptance. It cannot be earned or forced.

Each morning, I choose this man all over again. I choose his wonderful habits alongside those that drive me batty. I choose his steady protection alongside his frequent absences. I choose to be on his team, on his side, in his corner, until the day that I die. I choose to sacrifice myself and trust that he will do the same. In a way, there’s something terribly beautiful about real love.

Now that I’ve gotten the obligatory mush out of my system: Go forth and accept love (in all of its forms) with joy!

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Family

The Road Less Traveled

by Modern Farm Wife8 Comments on The Road Less Traveled

As many of you already know, Michigan has been enjoying some delightful weather lately. This past Sunday was a beaut of a day. The sun was blazing, the sky was impossibly blue, and the temperatures were in the 40s. After a mid-afternoon nap, the Dairy Man, Jersey the pup, and I shook off the grogginess and headed out for a long walk.

Typically Jersey only gets to walk with one parent at a time. Dairy Man entertains the pups during the day and I try to take him on outings after work or on the weekends. It’s a rare occasion when he gets the chance to cavort around the dairy with both of us. Naturally, this thrilled him.

I have always loved these “family walks.” (As a note, the Dairy Man doesn’t like me to refer to the J-man as our “family.” In his mind, dogs are dogs and people are people. We’re the masters and Jersey is the subordinate. But I love that ball of fur like a baby. He has me wrapped around his little paw. And this is my blog.) Our walks are a rare time without distractions —no TV, no computers, no chores— it’s a time just to BE. We breathe clean air, marvel at the landscape, and really connect.

We also take turns holding the leash so that our shoulders are equally dislocated. That Jersey’s getting too strong for his britches.

It is on these walks that we lay out our plans and dreams. Something about the brief departure from our busy life catapults us into introspection. As we walk through the open space between the milking parlor and the road, the Dairy Man plots future barns. As we stumble through the grassy clumps behind the steer barn, I talk about writing, art, and family. As we climb the tall hill beyond the dairy, Jersey eats grass and rolls in unidentified piles of poo (ok, not all three walkers are catapulted into higher thoughts).

Each time we walk, I feel like I’m seeing our farm for the first time. Somehow there is always an angle I missed, a place I’ve never stood before.

This is the time when the Dairy Man hashes out his hopes and dreams for the dairy. He paints pictures of a bigger herd, new barns, and new machinery. His eyes glow and his words are satiated with optimism. In these moments, I am reminded anew of the ambitious man I married. I know enough about farming at this point to anticipate that his dreams will not come without terribly hard work, but as we tramp through the long grass, I fully believe that he can accomplish them.

In our harried life of farm and family, these walks give the Dairy Man and I a moment to connect, to get centered. We feel blessed, young, and hopeful.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the mud off my boots from these walks. Nor do I want to. My boots are destined to tromp around these farmlands, and so I am.

Family

Apparently Two is Better Than One

by Modern Farm Wife8 Comments on Apparently Two is Better Than One

A phone call between a farmer and his wife: 

DM: Hello?

MFW: Hi! I’m driving home for lunch. Did you just pass me in the orange tractor?

DM: No, I’m in the office. My dad and Jacob are both driving the tractors right now.

MFW: What do you mean? We only have one orange tractor.

DM: Um, no. We have two orange tractors.

MFW: (looooooooong pause) …We have two orange tractors!?

DM: Yes.

MFW: Huh. I thought we had one. Though this would explain why I see the orange tractor go up our driveway so often. I always wondered how you hauled manure that quickly…

DM: Woman, do you pay any attention to what goes on around here?

Oops.

+

=

2

Family

Batten Down the Hatches: Winter on the Farm

by Modern Farm Wife10 Comments on Batten Down the Hatches: Winter on the Farm

Something about that title makes me want to wear an eye patch, get a pet parrot named Polly, and end every sentence with “Yaaaaaaarrrrrr.”But this is not a post about pirates, yaaaaaaaaarrrr. This is a post about cows (but not cow pirates). Someday we’ll contemplate a world in which burly cow pirates roam the seas like those mischievous stars of the Chick-fila-A commercials, but not today.

Though Michigan has been experiencing some delightfully mild temperatures lately, I know the winter won’t pass us by. As we enter this second week of January, the suspense is building. The temps are slowly dropping and there’s snow in the forecast. These days it’s not unusual for the nightly lows to be in the 20s. And we’re not even in the throes of winter yet, people! This is the time of year when we have to bundle up from head to toe when entering the great outdoors. But what about our bovine ladies? How do they keep warm in the 4-6 months of blustery cold?

Is there a church group somewhere knitting cow-sized sweaters? Does the Dairy Man fill the water troughs with hot cocoa and marshmallows? Do the ladies huddle around hundreds of space heaters? Not exactly.

We have a few ways to help the cows stave off the chill in winter. First, the Dairy Man closes the curtains. Much like our parlor isn’t frilly and Victorian, the curtains here aren’t lacy and delicate. Rather than silk or cotton, these curtains are made of thick plastic. Each barn has top and bottom curtains that come down on each side. The bottom curtains are almost always down, but the top curtains come down in the colder months. These curtains help protect our cows from blustery winds and keep snow from blowing in and getting the sand beds wet.

Next, the ladies get fluffy. Seriously. Around November each year, I start noticing that the bovine members of our family are sporting some seriously rocking ‘dos.

The Dairy Man also has a few other tricks to keep our dry and milking cows happy. In the winter the feed ration changes slightly to include a higher fat content because the cows burn more energy to stay warm. We also turn on heating units in each drinking trough to keep the water from freezing. And what about the moneymakers on the underside of each cow? When temperatures drop below 15 degrees, DM and his milkers switch to a teat dip (more on that in a future post) that has more conditioners in it to keep the udders from drying out.

When you stop to think, it’s not entirely different from my raging chapstick addiction in the winter. I blame Bonnie Bell, circa 1999.

So that’s how the older and more mature members of our herd weather a Michigan winter. But what about the little guys and gals? The big cows may not get sweaters, but the calves get jackets!

What’s that? Your heart just melted? That’ll happen.

In addition to their stylish jackets, calves are also given more straw for their beds to build forts …er… nests. And visions of sugar drops danced in their heads…

Though this January has been unseasonably warm (I’m entirely in favor of global warming if it means 45 degree heatwaves in the middle of winter), a storm is a’brewing. I’ve lived in Michigan too long not to expect that we will PAY for this nice weather. So when the flakes inevitably fly, the cows and I will bundle up, eat more fat than usual, and dream of green pastures.

Jersey, on the other hand, has found a favorite season and loves to be outside. Curses.

Family

I Talked to Your Dad, Go Pick Out a White Dress

by Modern Farm Wife4 Comments on I Talked to Your Dad, Go Pick Out a White Dress

The Dairy Man and I aren’t the kind of couple that celebrates every little relationship milestone. We don’t exchange gifts or Facebook statuses to commemorate things like “the day we first kissed,” “the day we went on our first date,” “the day we said I love you” (though I can remember the circumstances), or “the day we first ate pizza together.”

Who has time to remember every little thing? When you’ve been friends for five years, dating for four, and married for one and a half(ish), who has time to recognize each wonderful first? Not us. We’ve got blogs to write, cows to milk, you know the drill. That’s not to say we don’t like to reminisce about that first date, that first kiss, that first slice of pizza (just kidding). We love to look back on our history and savor those little moments. But we don’t have enough space in our brains to remember to celebrate our first jog together.

That being said, today is one date I’ll always remember. In 20 years, it won’t rise to the height of our wedding day or the day we have our first child, but it will be a date I won’t forget.

What’s today you ask? Well, it was exactly two years ago that my bashful Dairy Man knelt down on one knee and asked me to marry him. It was undoubtedly one of the most pivotal days of my life. This day marks the moment I fully committed to farm life, to Michigan, to him. It’s also the day I got to start wearing something sparkly and practice writing “Mrs. Folkema.”

It was Tuesday, December 22, 2009. I had just returned to my apartment after my last day of work before the holidays. The Dairy Man had called from his home (an hour away) and said that he was going to drive down to make me dinner. Which, frankly, was suspicious. But I did what all girls who helped pick out their rings do—I played dumb and waited. The Dairy Man showed up with grocery bags, candles, a tablecloth, and a bottle of wine. We chatted awkwardly while he cooked up some shrimp tortellini (what I ordered on our first date) and sat down to dinner.

After dinner, he suggested we head downtown to go ice skating. When we parked, he said, “I’ve got something for you in the back of the truck.” Wouldn’t you know it: two brand new pairs of ice skates! We carried our skates to the steps of the Grand Rapids Art Museum and sat down to lace them up. Strangely, the Dairy Man wanted me to put mine on first. He handed me a skate** and hovered over me while I put it on.

MFW: “Um, don’t you want to put on your skates?”

DM: (Shifting from foot to foot) “Uhhh I will in a second. Ready for the other skate?”

As I pushed my foot into the second skate, I felt something hard in the toe. I pulled out a ring box and wahBAM Dairy Man was down on one knee.

He said amazing things.

I cried.

And then there was some light and joyful snogging.

Unbeknownst to me, a friend had popped out from behind the building when DM’s knee hit the ground and started taking pictures of the whole thing. I treasure these pictures. I still remember the elation, the love, the hope of that moment. I also wish I hadn’t tucked my pants into my argyle socks, but what can you do?

**In regards to the awkward hovering? Later, the Dairy Man mused: “If I had been thinking, I would have handed you the skate with the ring in it FIRST, not second.”

I remember telling a friend a few weeks prior that I really hoped the Dairy Man didn’t propose on Christmas. It was too cliché, it wasn’t us. Rather, I said, “I just really want him to propose on some random Tuesday!” And it was. The Tuesday before Christmas. My man knows me well.

Even though we don’t celebrate today, we remember it. I get warm fuzzies when December 22 rolls around. This day is symbolic in so many ways. That December 22 marked the last year I celebrated Christmas in the city. It marked the last year I celebrated Christmas as a Bareman. It marked the start of a new adventure with a handsome man who milks cows.

Two years later, these recollections still cause my breath to catch in my chest. It’s easy to get swept up in the normalcy of work, marriage, no-longer-pending adulthood. But today I will look at my Dairy Man and remember those two bright-eyed kids, shivering in the cold, agreeing to start a life together.

And really, somewhere in the distant hills that night, I think the cows agreed too.

Merry Christmas!

Family

Real or Plastic?

by Modern Farm Wife3 Comments on Real or Plastic?

In a lot of ways, this is my first “real” grown-up Christmas with the Dairy Man.

Last year we moved into our house a week before Christmas. For the next few weeks we could barely find our toothbrushes, much less decorate for the holidays. Our living room was a pile of piles and things were so chaotic and disorganized we almost forgot what time of the of year it was. Thankfully, a generous aunt and uncle let us borrow a fake tree from their attic and one of my mom’s coworkers donated a box of old ornaments. It wasn’t much, but this tree reminded us of Christmas, of family, of tradition.

I promise there’s a tree in there somewhere! And yes, we did nail sheets over our windows for a while.

Fast forward to this year. We’ve lived the farmhouse for almost 12 months and Christmas is just around the corner. We’ve painted, decorated, and put things away. The disorganized disaster we inhabited last December has become our home. Thus, it was time to get a tree.

The Dairy Man and I wrestled with a vital yuletide question newlyweds must ask themselves: are we real-tree-people or plastic-tree-people? Though we both like the idea of a real tree –the smell, the realistically green branches, the memories created whilst picking one out– we did not feel confident in our ability to …er… keep it alive. With the exception of the Dairy Man and Jersey the dog, I kill all living things I touch. I have neither the time nor the patience to remember to water things. Or, on the flip side, not to drown them. Our shrubs shrivel and our plants are plastic.

The Dairy Man isn’t much better. His horticultural successes are saved for the dairy. The corn thrives, but the hydrangeas suffer.

Clearly, the idea of chopping down a LIVE TREE and bringing it into our house gave us pause. My mind was nearly made up when I learned that you have to water the thing multiple times a day. Craziness. Though we loved the smell of pine and the idea of being real-tree-people, the reality was too cumbersome. Not to mention a fire hazard.

Someday we’ll have children. They’ll write Santa letters, craft ornaments out of popsicle sticks and glitter, and get a real tree. But that day is not today. This Christmas the Dairy Man and I welcomed a beautiful 7.5 foot fake Stanwick Pine into our lives and we’ve never been happier. I’ll admit we splurged a little to get the “real tree” look, but you can’t put a price on not having to crawl under a needle-riddled canopy with a watering can. It was worth every penny. And it’s gorgeous.

A handful of pine-scented candles takes care of the rest. Our house looks and smells like the holidays.

More than anything else, I feel thankful to be settled. After a few years of moving, moving, moving (from college house to parents’ house to apartment to our first house), I am finally home. When the Dairy Man and I sit on our couch and bask in the gentle glow of that realistic fake tree, we realize how far we’ve come.

Here’s to our first grown-up Christmas.

Family

Nothing Gold Can Stay

by Modern Farm Wife1 Comment on Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Yes, indeed. November’s got this farm wife feeling melancholy. This time of year is cold, gray, and somehow urges me to eat chocolate. Things are dreary now, but I’m looking forward to snow (this is the ONLY time in the year you’ll hear me say that!) and the holidays. Bring on Christmas.
Family

Feeling Thank Full

by Modern Farm Wife2 Comments on Feeling Thank Full

Today I am feeling full of thanks. I am thank full.

I know that most of you will be happily consuming various forms of turkey and green beans in a few hours, but I wanted to squeeze in my thanks giving before it all begins.

As I bask in the glow of a short work week, I finally have a moment to reflect on the past year. As I look back, it’s so easy to focus on things that don’t matter. It’s so easy to be pessimistic and wallow in the things that didn’t go the way I wanted them to go. But this is a season of thanks, of gratitude, of awareness. Though these past 12 months have brought huge changes and difficulties, I can’t help but feel so thankful.

I’m thankful for a loving Savior.

I’m thankful for a husband who cheers me up, supports my dreams, and will never leave my side.

I’m thankful for a family that is goofy, crazy, and so very perfect.

I’m thankful for the Dairy Man’s family and how they have accepted me as a daughter and a sister. They are just as crazy as my family. Don’t let the normal picture fool you.

I’m thankful for a warm house that always smells like coffee and is full of love. (And IKEA furniture.)

I’m thankful for coffee, while I’m on the subject. Without it, I would die. I have a problem.

I’m thankful for a mischievous puppy who both infuriates me and melts my heart on a daily basis. He’s growing up MUCH too quickly.

I’m thankful for a solid group of friends in this little country town. Who knew there were so many people like us out in the boonies?

I’m thankful for a good job that is close to home. And thankful for the old job that provided me with so many friends and priceless life experiences.

I’m thankful for our pack of friendly, healthy cows and a great first year at this new dairy.

I’m (pre) thankful for a Michigan victory over OSU this weekend! Someday I will clue you all in to just how obsessed this farm wife is with football. #goblue

I have so many things in my life to be thankful for. We are richly blessed.

Happy Thanksgiving from this Dairy Man + wife to you and yours!

Family

Life is what happens.

by Modern Farm Wife12 Comments on Life is what happens.

Change.

This is a word that has defined my life ever since the dairy man came into it.

Almost nothing that college-aged Jess expected out of life came true. I didn’t move to a big city, I didn’t become a journalist, and I don’t own a single pair of Manolos. I drive a well-loved car that is almost always muddy/manure-y and have an old farmhouse instead of a ultra-mod loft apartment.

But, much to old Jess’ surprise, change is not a bad thing.

The quote that best sums up my life thus far is from John Lennon: “Life is what happens when you make other plans.” I’ve spent so much time making plans and life has happened in spite of them. God laughed at my plans. Somehow the things I was trying so hard to avoid ended up bringing more joy than I could have ever imagined. This life is different than I planned but, in a lot of ways, it’s better.

A recent change of note is the end of my life as a long-distance commuter. I started a new job this week for our county in an office a mere 15 MINUTES from home. After over a year of driving 80+ minutes to work (one way!), this is insanity.

It was crazy difficult to leave the people I worked with for the past three years, but I know this change was the right one. That being said, I’m having a heck of a time wrapping my mind around it. Work ends at 5 and I’m pulling into my driveway at 5:15. What do people do with all of this time? I have big plans for exercise, puppy playdates, and tackling my book list. But a small part of me still feels a twinge of panic.

Even though I moved to the country a little over a year ago, in a lot of ways, I didn’t move. I still had the same job in the same city (emphasis on CITY); I saw the same people; I could eat at the same restaurants. I had to drive a lot further to get to these things, but they were still available to me on a daily basis. In many ways, I was the same old urbanite. I still don’t know my way around our small town because I’m never here.

Now I’m moving. For real. My whole life—home, job, and friends—will be up here. I know the city isn’t that far away (as evidenced by the fact that I used to drive back and forth to it every. single. day), but it’s not going to be as easy to get there. I’m starting a new chapter: “City girl really really moves to the cornfields.” My job change will have a ripple effect into every part of life.

But change is a part of life.

Because let’s be honest here; the Jess of my college years would have laughed hysterically at the prospect of living in the country, tromping through cow poop, and being married to a farmer. But here I am. This is my (happy) life. Somehow all of these changes make my heart swell with contentedness. I have found bliss in the most unexpected place.

And now I have more time to be here. A frightening blessing. I still will not learn how to milk (because, as a wise farm wife once told me, “If you know how to milk, you might have to!”), but I’m looking forward to joining the gym, cooking meals that take longer than 30 minutes, and writing more. While I’m sad to leave my half city life and my wonderful coworkers (one fabulously snarky boss in particular), I’m excited to start this new job. I’m excited to build new relationships. And I’m excited to take a leap that more fully invests me in this life up north with my dairy man.

Bring on the changes.