Conversations with my Husband

My husband and I do not talk about farming very much, except for conversations that almost always go like this. "How many acres do you have left?"

Immediate panic fills me. Pop quiz and I don't know the answer, again. I hopefully reply, "Over half." I can tell right away that answer is not adequate.

He continues, "Are you past that long rocky finger on the south side?"

"Um, I'm not sure there are all kinds of rocky fingers. I'm not at the corner yet"

"Well, are you past the dump?"

I search through my visual memory and vaguely remember a bunch of rusted stuff over a hill. I confidently reply, "Yes!"

Then he asks, "Have you gotten to the pile of posts?"

I give a blank stare. "A pile of posts isn't a landmark"

He returns my blank stare. I guess a pile of posts is a landmark.

I pull out my camera and hopefully say, "This is my picture from my last round" My picture shows a slight hint of a road, beautiful clouds, and the middle of the field.



My hubby sighs.

I try to cheer him up with my other beautiful pictures, but it's not working. Clearly I have failed this pop quiz.

This might be why we don't have many farming conversations. At least he loves me anyways, and tonight I can tell him I seen that pile of posts! 

Delivered 10 Calves and a Baby, All in a Days Work!

My daughter Sarah was only three months old, when I made the shocking discovery that I  was pregnant again. This blessing was a total shock. I was breast feeding full time and using birth control! I cried the whole pregnancy. I had a three year old and an infant, and no idea how I could possibly take care of a third child too. Ryan my oldest was delivered cesarean, and Sarah was a difficult vaginal birth. I was dreading the upcoming delivery.

I opted for a planned cesarean and had an appointment scheduled for a Friday, a week before my due date. That Monday before, I woke up at 5 am with a labor pain. I had a lot of false contractions, so I just wrote it down to keep track. I decided to have a relaxing bath since I was uncomfortable and awake anyway. Two more contractions, fifteen minutes apart, made me decide this was the real thing. I started to get everyone ready to go, and my husband phoned his parents who would take our children that day, the hospital, and his boss. We were almost ready to go, and my husband was still on the phone complaining to his boss about how much he hated hospitals and how this was going to take forever. I was hit with another contraction. It was sooner than expected and it was strong! I am doubled over in pain and I yell, "Get off the phone!" I tell my husband, "call back your parents and have them meet us on the highway." That would be quicker than driving down their dirt road. We each grab a child, and I grab a bath towel.

Randy buckles Ryan into his car seat, and I can't do anything more than hold Sarah on my lap. We drive the 7 miles to meet his parents. Randy hands off Ryan to his dad and his mom comes around the car to get Sarah. She takes one look at me as a I am breathing heavily and says, "uh-oh." At that moment, my husband FINALLY figures out this is happening a lot faster than he thought. He takes off, flooring our crappy 78 Chevy Malibu, top speed 80 miles an hour. We still have 50 miles to the hospital. I am doing my best NOT to have a baby, but my water breaks. Thank goodness for the towel! I can tell the baby is really low, and I tell my husband, "go to Ephrata. They have a hospital." They did not have an ob/gyn, but my doctor was still 20 miles away. He chose to go to Moses Lake.

We get another eight miles down the road, and I know I am going to have this baby right then. I say something to that point, and my husband responds, "well have the baby then." At this point, I am laying with my head on his lap and my feet on the door. The next contraction the baby's head crowns. I yell. My husband looks over, says nonchalantly, "Sure enough." He pulls the car over, runs around to my door, and it's locked. I pull the lock, slide to the edge of the seat, and the next contraction delivers the baby into my husbands hands. Randy hands the baby to me, which I wrap in the towel and make sure is breathing ok.

Randy roars off into rush hour traffic, and we arrive at the hospital 15 minutes later. The baby is ok and we name this bundle of joy Jeffrey. My husband is bragging to all the hospital staff, "I deliver calves all winter. Birth is perfectly natural. No big deal." He goes home to get the kids and returns later that evening. As Randy enters the elevator, he hears a nurse say to her friend, "He delivered the baby by himself along the road. Says ten calves and baby is all in a days work."

Much later my husband and are talking and I ask him about the slight hesitation between catching Jeff and handing him to me. He admits sheepishly, "I looked for a fence to throw him over to clean out his lungs, but I didn't see one." Thank goodness there wasn't a fence! Jeff is turning 24 this year, and he has continued to wonder and surprise us every year. Happy birthday Jeff!

​The Hardest Year of My Life

Most times we never see the event coming that will change our lives forever. In one instance, we become different people. Sometimes we don't recognize the significance of a moment until years later. My one moment occurred during an icy winter just over a decade ago. I was carrying water to the outside animals in a large canning pot. I slipped in the ice and fell hard. I landed in a sitting position, still holding the pot because I didn't want to spill the water. My husband asked, "Are you alright?" I shakily replied, "I don't know." I would usually reply, I'm fine, and laugh in embarrassment. I wasn't in immediate pain, but it didn't feel right. 

Driving combine cutting wheat!

It took a while for the pain to set in. I thought I would be fine with some rest and ibuprofen. I probably waited a month before I seen a doctor, and by then I was a mess. I couldn't lift a pot of coffee with my right hand anymore. I couldn't sit, stand, or walk without pain. I could only lay on my left side somewhat comfortably. I was uncomfortable driving, or even riding. I started to use my left hand for almost all tasks. I had stabbing pains throughout my lower back and down my leg. My shoulder hurt and pain shot down my arm. The middle of my back felt like I was being stabbed. I had to ask the doctor for a medical withdrawal note, because I was failing my college classes. I hurt too much to read and understand the material. I hurt too much to sit at a keyboard and type. I was in tears explaining this to the doctor. He prescribed antidepressants and said I was overly stressed. He said my middle back pain was from ulcers resulting from ibuprofen use. He said my hand pain and loss of strength was carpal tunnel and provided me a brace. He said everything else would be fine in time and gave me muscle relaxers and vicodin. I was in so much pain, I didn't question him. I didn't push for Xrays or tests. 

Out weeding, checking equipment

The problem was it never got better. The prescriptions did little in the way of relief and nothing for improvement of quality of life. I couldn't push a shopping cart or pick up groceries to put in the cart. I had to have the help of my kids for almost every household chore. I hurt so bad and felt utterly worthless. I cried and I prayed and I cried some more. The doctor never seemed concerned that I was still asking for pain meds 3 months, 6 months, even a year later. He said I would just have to learn to live with the pain.  I didn't know if I could. It felt like my life was over.  I was only 35, and I had nothing but pain and misery.



Someone finally suggested a chiropractor. I was extremely reluctant, but even more desperate. It worked for me. After the first visit, I finally had some relief from the pain. It took frequent visits to the chiropractor to regain function, but I still struggled with the pain. He ordered Xrays to see what was going on with my spine, and he discovered a compression fracture in the middle of my back.  I am sure that was only part of the medical issues resulting from that fall. That was the proof that made me realize, it wasn't all just in my head. I wasn't just stressed.  

Living the Dream of Big Tractors, Hard Work, and Long Hours!

Recovery was long and hard, and every journey like that develops us as a person.  I learned its ok to ask for help. I don't have to do it all myself. I also learned to advocate for myself. It's not okay to have you pain ignored. More importantly, I learned to appreciate everything. I still hurt, but I have regained my strength and ability.  I work hard and play hard, because in one moment everything can change. Hard work is a blessing when you thought you would never be able to work again. I graduated college. I started working on the farm. Some days I come home tired and hurting, but I am still so grateful. Everything is an achievement to me! I'm not bedridden, and I have so much to look forward to. The motto of my TractorJen page is "living the dream of big tractors, hard work, and long hours," I really mean it. When I was writing this post, I wasn't sure what pictures to include. So much of this story is about pain, but I really want this to be about triumph. Being able to do everything I can now is such a blessing, and I will never forget it. 

The Tsnownami and How I Almost Got Stuck in my Chicken House

This winter has had some snow and wind, resulting in a tsnownami of a snow drift covering my chicken house. It was over ten feet tall and a hundred feet in length. There was an area I could still dig my way in, but the drifts kept getting bigger. One day it was 10 degrees, snowing and blowing. There was over a foot of new snow on top of the hard drift, but I needed to take care of my chickens.


This was taken a day after Randy plowed out my drift. It drifted back in a bit over night, but I could shovel it out.

I knew I couldn't dig all the way through. I was sinking in past my knees with each step, so I ended up crawling to the top of the drift and carved steps down into the chicken house. I cleaned out in front of the door and squeezed myself in. I fed and watered, and collected one egg. The snow was collecting at the base of the door and it was even harder to squeeze my way out. Then I started to climb out, but I kept slipping. The steps were full of new snow and I couldn't get any traction. When I was standing inside the chicken house, the drift was over four feet tall and nearly vertical. I had left the shovel outside.


View from inside the chicken house looking out. Again, this is after plowing.

I finally just threw myself as high as I could onto the drift and started wallowing around until I got to the top. By then I am exhausted, and the drift was so difficult to climb up earlier, so I just decided to roll over and over to the bottom. I am relieved to have made it out of there, but then remembered I had an egg, in my pocket. Which somehow, miraculously, did not end up scrambled. I asked my husband that night to dig out the drift with the tractor, which he thankfully did the next day. I can't wait for this winter to end!

My husband fails at Valentines Day

We've been married 27 years now and I have come to accept that my husband Randy will always fail at Valentines Day. He kind of sucks on birthdays and anniversaries too. He will march right by the aisles full of hearts, bears, roses, and balloons.  He will turn a deaf ear to every diamond store commercial. He won't make any complicated romantic dates. February 14th will arrive, he will look surprised,  turn toward me, and say, "Happy Valentines day! Love you!" That is the extent of his romantic plans. You know what? I'm okay with that. In every other way, he is a good husband and father. He is loyal and dedicated to his family. He just doesn't show his love in the way society thinks is romantic.

Randy and I climbed to the top of Beacon rock this year!

Let's change the idea of what is romantic. To me, romantic is the small things. I love that Randy will take me to see the buttercups blooming, or bring home an interesting rock because he knows I would like it. Romantic is library and lunch dates, like the ones when we were first married. It is road trips together, even if it's just to get parts. It is combine rides and watching the sun go down. It's holding hands and taking walks. Romantic is also the big stuff, like supporting my dreams even when it's hard. When I was working towards my degree, there were a lot of late nights and several times I wanted to quit. Randy always told me, "this is important, don't give up." I think his never ending love and devotion is better than diamonds, chocolates, or giant teddy bears.

I Couldn't Understand the Sacrifice

When we were newly married, we moved out to the farm. It was a big move in many ways. Physically, I left behind family and friends to move out to the middle of nowhere. It was a bigger move emotionally and culturally. All my life I had lived in cities where 40-hour weeks and paid vacations were the norm. The closest I had been to a farm was watching Green Acres on tv.

My new husband had explained to me, "It will be long hours and sacrifice."
I nodded my head like I understood.

Only another farm wife can understand when I say he was gone, a lot. He would leave in the morning before the sun came up and come home after it went down. He would work through lunch, and many times through dinner too. I would keep something warm for him and worry. It seemed like never ending days of him coming home just long enough to eat, shower, and sleep.  I brought out lunches, just so I could see him.  I would jump at a chance to bring him parts, or bring him a bottle of water, because he was never home. I would ask him, "What are you doing?" He would reply, "Just working".

I supported him, but I didn't understand.

He would bundle up and go to work, even when a blizzard raged outside. The roads were barely visible and the weather was so cold. "Why do you risk yourself? Stay home!" I pleaded. He would just reply, "It needs to be done." He would leave with a shovel in his pickup, so he could dig himself out when he got stuck in the deep snow. Somehow, he made it to work and back home, and he would be chilled and tired. Sometimes, sadness would droop his shoulders, and I would find out an animal was sick or a calf died.

I comforted him, but I didn't understand.

He worked weekends and holidays. He missed birthdays, school events, and sometimes it seemed whole summers. I would let the kids stay up late just so they could throw their arms around him and wish him a goodnight.  I know he was exhausted, but he always would talk and play with the kids in the brief moments between work and sleep.

I loved him, but I still couldn't understand.

What I couldn’t understand was the sacrifice. How he could sacrifice years of our marriage, and watching his children grow up? I couldn’t understand how he could sacrifice his own time, his body, and his life with us for ‘just working’. Any vacations we took had to be planned around seeding and harvesting and the needs of the cows. His time with the kids was spent in brief moments and punctuated by his exhaustion. This wasn't a tv sitcom with canned laughter in the background.

I pretended that I understood, but I couldn’t.

Over the years, my children grew up and moved out. My helping out changed to working for the farm. The fields would need weeded, and I didn't think twice about giving up my weekend. If the weeds got out of control, the field would suffer for years. I might work through lunch or come home late, because I just wanted a few more rounds done.

I started to understand.

I would help with the cows in the winter, after they were brought in from pasture. I was there when young heifers struggled to deliver their first calf. I was there when it was born too early and just couldn't make it. I helped to bottle feed calves that were too weak and sick, and sometimes they didn't make it either.

Suddenly, I understood the sacrifice. I understood that in the worst weather, the animals needed us the most. I understood that the worst days for me, were bad days for the farm too. I’ve seen crops that were flattened by storms, and I understood the drive to bring in the crops before the rains. I’ve lived the heartache of replanting every acre and still not sure if there would be a crop.

I finally, truly understood the need to do things right, because this isn't just a job. It's not 40 hours a week. I finally understood that the work you put into a farm is what you get out of it. I understood what it meant to work hard to support your family waiting at home. I understood how hard it was to do another round, knowing it would delay being with everyone I love and care about. I understood the need to finish the field.

Now when my kids call me and ask what I’m doing, I reply, “Just working”.
I think they understand. This is real life. Life isn't easy, but it is worth it.