If this blog prompted me like Facebook does: “What’s on your mind?” You’d get an immediate, “snow and farmers”.

You see, farmers have always gotten the short end of the stick and are constantly up against it. There are no holidays or vacation time or sick leave. Most of the farmers I know work a “real” job then come home and farm till after dark. And they’re up before daybreak, doing what they can.

They have my respect, they have my admiration, and a few have my love.

It’s amazing how often they’re passed over in prayer. We pray for our leaders, our military, our family and friends. When the weather is bad and our electric is out, there is always an outpouring of gratitude and blessings for our linemen, as there should be. An accident? You’ll see people thanking God for the quick response from emergency personnel and the doctors. A fire? Oh you bet firemen are put on a pedestal. And that’s fine, they all deserve accolades. (Dispatch is also frequently overlooked).

It makes me a little crazy. Anyone who has ever put out a garden knows the hard labor involved, from preparing the soil, to keeping it weeded and watered, then spraying for bugs and praying the coons stay out of it. One cutworm can knock back a dozen pepper plants a night, and as much as I love turtles, they have a tendency to bite the ripest, juiciest tomatoes first. It’s always something. And what good is a garden if you can’t can the fruits of your labor? Or at least freeze some stuff? That’s a JOB. Furthermore, has anyone in this day and age ever actually been able to grow and put back enough to not have to buy any supplemental vegetables till the next crop? I’d be surprised to hear if you have.

That’s just the beginning. Think of the meat, all the hamburgers, bacon, sausage, turkey, ham, steaks, roasts, and chicken you eat in a month’s time! Don’t forget about eggs. And what do those animals eat? Grain! You gotta grow it or buy it. And what about the dairy products? Those farmers are after it. Twice a day milking, twelve hours apart, so we can enjoy our milk, whipped cream, coffee creamer, cheese, and sour cream. Fruit farmers are out there on frosty nights lighting smudge pots to keep the citrus from getting bit back. They’re pruning in the fall, and spraying in the summer. I don’t know what potato farmers do, but I doubt that’s easy, either. And lemme tell you, life without French fries wouldn’t be worth living, in my book.

What about your pants? Cotton. Cotton farmers. Your shoes and belt? Likely leather. The blanket you’re lying under might be a wool blend, or if you’re fortunate like me, a friend may have crocheted you a very beautiful alpaca blanket. It goes on and on. There’s a demonstration that Mike Sharp gives the grade schoolers that showcases all the products you would never dream that cattle provide. Things like fire retardant and tires and petroleum jelly. It’s unbelievable.

But we’re not talking about how the cow wows us. We’re talking about how the farmer does. He maintains equipment, he takes soil samples and buys fertilizer and lime and spreads it, he plants clover, he sprays for spiny amaranth, he cuts trees off fences, he mows pastures, he busts water, he mixes feed, he repairs roofs. He cuts, tedders, rakes, bales, and hauls hay. He cycles heifers, he has his bulls vet checked, he pulls babies, he vaccinates and vaccinates again. He cusses, he sweats, he blows his nose and shakes his head. He fights mud, he fights government, he fights development of subdivisions. He prays for rain. He prays for honesty. He prays for patience. He worries he ain’t enough and he knows there’ll never be enough hours in the day. Rain or shine, in sickness and in health.

But he still finds time to appreciate a sunset.

He listens and he hears the hawk, wheeling overhead, chased by crows. He watches the deer frolic, and he might even lean against a post to watch a turkey hen guide her babies safely into the ditch. Then he goes back to his ever lengthening to-do list.

They were out there today, in 8” of snow, 20 degrees and falling, feeding hay and checking for new babies, and counting what they’ve got. It didn’t matter that roads were a solid sheet of ice and authorities wanted us all to stay home. Animals have to eat. They don’t know the hazards and difficulties of merely navigating the treacherous roads. I hope they all made it. I hope the wind damage will be minimal, and I hope the spring thaw won’t leave man or beast stuck in the mud. I hope they find the part they need from the first place they call and I hope they catch hydraulic fluid on sale. I hope they don’t give up.

You need a lawyer once or twice in your life—if you’re lucky. You’ll need a doctor more than that, a few times a year. You need a farmer every day of your life, three times a day.

God bless the farmers. As I like prayers to end: God bless the hands that prepared it and the farmers who grew it. Amen.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

*** disclaimer: I am fully aware women farm, too. But it’s easier for me to simply write he, and also, that is the much more common demographic for farmers in my part of the country. No disrespect to women!