Updated: New comments at the end...
Today's post is going to be one of those where I look back to my experiences growing up and how that has influenced me.
I grew up on a small farm in eastern South Dakota. I don't have any stories of traumatic experiences or a rough childhood that has influenced my later years. Quite the opposite really. I have loving parents who love each other. My grandparents (Dad's side) lived on the same farm which essentially doubled the people raising my sister and I and gave us another set of incredible role models.
Like most rural kids, it was natural to start helping with chores and working on the farm at a young age. My parents operated a dairy farm, so many of my earliest "chore" memories were of mixing up powdered milk to feed bottle and bucket calves. I recall having to walk the pasture to round up the cows for milking (pre ATVs) and generally just being around Mom and Dad as they were going about the chores each day. As we got bigger, we helped out more.
I was 12 and just to the point where I could actually do the milking myself when my parents decided to get out of the dairy business. Why? They tell me it just wasn't worth it any more. They had the option of continuing to be tied to the dairy cattle day in and day out or let it go so they could be more involved with my sister and I in school activities and family outings like camping\fishing and whatnot. I am thankful they went the direction they did.
The operation now is mainly beef cattle and row crops (corn & soybeans). I recall growing oats, barley, wheat, millet, buckwheat, sunflowers, sorghum (field and grain) and even popcorn at various times. The cattle part of the operation is much bigger now then when I was on the farm. I don't think that Mom and Dad ever imagined how much it would grow. In addition to cattle, we raised pigs for a time. I was really little but I even remember turkey's we had on the farm for a while. I suppose they stand out because if you think about it, turkeys really are among the most intimidating (evil?) of poultry, especially from a young child's perspective.
Job's I enjoyed: Cutting hay, working/herding cattle, farrowing pigs, harvesting (combining and driving truck), calving, spring fieldwork, welding\repair work
Jobs I disliked: grinding feed, baling hay, working pigs, fencing, cleaning grain bins
Jobs I despised: Cultivating, hauling bales, cleaning hog barns, hauling manure
Considering the many years of growing up on the farm there really are a ton of stories to tell. I'll offer a few that stand out.
Jessica and I often got the "little person" jobs. That is jobs that required a small body. For example, in springtime when it was necessary to prep the drill (small grain planter), Dad would have us crawl into the planter with a screwdriver and the shop vac to clean out the old grain. Picture the bonding between a brother and sister (3 years younger) shared from the inside of a piece of farm machinery. I recall on a few occasions when we were still milking that we'd be lowered into the empty bulk tank to scrub it down when required. The smell of bleach makes me think of that to this day. As I got older and capable, there was the occasional machine repair or welding job that needed to be done by crawling up inside whatever it was, That's where my tall, skinny self came in handy. It's also where I learned that the human body is a fairly decent conductor when welding from the grain pan\straw walker area of an International combine.
Things seem to be much better for Dad now in regards to the dependability of the equipment we have on the farm. But I recall an awful lot of breakdowns with what we had back when I was there. I recall one year where I had to combine much of the corn with an International 715 combine without a clutch. Basically what that means is I couldn't really stop the combine. When it came time to unload, I had to rollup by the truck, time it just right and turn off the combine. I could then take it out of gear and unload. I'm not entirely sure this was ever fixed. I think the combine is sitting there in the same condition with the line of other "retired" equipment.
Springtime was always entertaining on wetter years. I recall having a talent for getting tractors stuck when doing the spring fieldwork. I recall one specific incident where I wasn't paying attention and I turned into a slough with standing water and totally buried the tractor. Luckily Dad happened to be working the same field and had the opportunity to see this go down (literally). As we drove to Carpenter to get extra chains, I distinctly remember that he was quite confident that we'd not be able to get it out until the slough actually dried up. I recall it being difficult, but we did manage to get it out that day.
For some inexplicable reason I enjoyed doing square bales (straw, not alfalfa) in the fall. Specifically haling and stacking them. Maybe because it was they were like really big Legos. It was also an opportunity to work for some other area farmers and earn a little cash.
I could go on and on and I probably will some other time. There is another significant experience I want to mention as it has had a big impact on me. The summer after my senior year, I needed cash. After all I was going to be off to college soon and I needed a car. So, even though I am sure he needed the help, Dad let me go to work for Tellinghuisen Construction (from Willow Lake). I am of the opinion that everyone should spend some point in their life doing some type of construction. Wayne was an intimidating boss, especially for a shy farm kid who never had a boss before. I learned so much from Wayne and that group of guys that summer. I have carried that forward and it has served me well. It's also where I learned how good a cold beer was after a long hot day in the sun.
Here we are, another long post. Hopefully there has been some interesting things and people have made it this far. Farming takes a special type of person. Many that read this are from rural areas and know what it's all about and have similar stories to mine. It's changed so much since I've grown up and left the farm. I think about my kids and realize they will have a whole different perspective and set of experiences growing up.
At some point, Mom had to start working off the farm. It's hard to sustain a family on a small farm income. Like most family farms, there were a lot of tough years when it was either too wet or too dry. Interest rates were too high and prices too low. I can go on and on with stories, but I can't tell you of a single time where I was lacking anything I needed. I know now just how tough some of those years really were, but my sister and I never knew.
They probably don't realize it, but I am constantly inspired by how hard my parents have worked to built the operation that they have. I am my fathers son. We are stubborn and set in the way we do things. It's been that way all the way back when I thought I knew everything. (as opposed to now when I actually do) I look back now and realize the frustrations Dad must have had trying to manage the work with a stubborn teenager. I remember an awful lot of fights and arguments and what I can only call now is a significant amount of patience. Patience is not a word often associated with a male member of Grann descent, Yet... there it was when it was needed.
Here we are now. I am able to appreciate what growing up with dirty hands has done for me. I know the what a hard days work is. I know what it means to make your living using your body as well as your mind and the value of both. I know what wealth truly is. A farm teaches you early about the cycle of life and death. You get to know the pride of creating something with your hands and the stress of things being totally out of control.
As bad as I wanted to get out of there at the time; as sure as I was that the farming life wasn't for me; all I want now for my family and I is to go back home. Had I not gotten sick, Andy and I would have probably returned to the farm by now. I want for my kids what my parents provided for me. I feel that there is no better place to raise kids then a on family farm the way I was raised. Even though we've mentioned it to my parents, I don't think they ever took us seriously.
Maybe it's my damaged DNA talking, but I miss my dirty hands.
UPDATE: In response to this post, my sister (Jessica) had to chime in. This is, of course because of her ongoing need to refocus attention on her, but that is a whole different post. It actually probably warrants its own blog. Regardless, here were her comments:
Jessica: Here’s a picture for you (the drill picture above). I have fantastic boots and a shirt that is in no way too small for me. I can see why you were so jealous of me growing up.
Jon, do you remember cleaning the old chicken coop out. That was the WORST job I remember ever having to do and there were lots of terrible ones (cleaning pig gutters???). Or how about cleaning the granary in the white fence lot when the mouse ran up your pant leg. Cleaning those old wooden granaries was horrible, but the moment that mouse climbed your pant leg was priceless. It made my day. You were, after all, a terrific pain in my butt growing up.
As a result of the pain\discomfort, I've been going through a variety of pain med options. Oxy-IR (Oxycodone) doesn't seem to work anymore. Norco (Oxy & Tylenol) never seemed to work. As it is now, a pain killer called dilaudid is the only thing that has been working. Problem is it is rather short lived (45 min). I can only take the dilaudid every 4 hours. And I have been taking it pretty regularly. 
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