You know, secretly I’ve had a romantic notion that it would be awesome to be a farmer.  I would get to work outside all the time, I certainly don’t mind getting up super early.  I LOVE animals, and more often than not, I already dress like a farmer.  (I have an abundance of flannel shirts) I don’t wear cowboy hats as much as I would like to, it seems pretentious.  But if I were a farmer, then it would basically be my work uniform.  I would be rocking overalls, boots (not cowboy boots, they are far too pointy for my square feet) and an awesome cowboy hat every day.

I was lucky enough to be able to experience farm life on a very small scale as a child, my Grandpa and Grandma had a farm in Tyndall South Dakota.  We would travel there on a fairly regular basis.  I have so many fond memories.  My cousins and I had an absolutely epic fort that we built out in the trees.  My Grandmother, well into her 90’s would always talk about that fort.

Back in those days, being a kid was dangerous, but the thing is, no one really knew better.  Helmets for bikes?  Why?  Knee pads?  Seatbelts?  Lead paint?  Naw. The list goes on.  My cousins and I would play for days working on this fort.  We would literally be digging around in Grandpa’s junk pile.  The junk pile was a giant hole that had everything:  garbage, rusty machine parts, old splintery boards, discarded furniture, basically anything that was junk and fairly dangerous, and as far as I know potentially toxic.

We would drag out all kinds of shit, shards of rusty metal, moldy mattresses, straighten out nails filled with tetanus to put stuff together, rusty barbed wire.  We were the masters of repurposing before it was a cool HGTV show.  There were two floors in that fort, an old wood burning stove, lookouts.  It was amazing! 

I guess I never did any actual ‘farming’ as a child.  I mean, I would work in the garden with Grandma, ride on the tractor with Grandpa.  I would talk to the cows and maybe pet them if they were close enough.  I would collect eggs.  I tried to wait until the chickens weren’t sitting right on them, that seemed rude.  My older brother was extremely polite saying, “Excuse me Ma’am, I’m just going to reach in and take this egg.  Thank you.”  He’s a priest now, not sure there is any relation between the two or not.

There was a horrifying time when they were butchering chicken.  My Grandmother was a tiny kind, loving woman.  Tough as nails, I remember how rough her hands were, hands that worked hard.  But I had absolutely no idea she was a heartless calculating MURDERER!! 

She would grab a chicken and ring it’s neck.  Yes, spin it until it’s head came off!  Jesus Christ!  The chicken would literally run around with it’s head cut off.  My little brother who was I don’t know, 5 years old, (I’m terrible at guessing little kid’s ages) woke up from a nap and walked to where the murder fest was taking place, and calmly stated, “That chicken has no face.”  He’s a poet now, not sure if there is any relation between the two or not.

 But I digress, maybe it’s due to how the world is today, but becoming a farmer has become quite appealing.  The fresh air, animals, work uniform. 

I think if I am going to be a farmer, I would like to have a horse.  I’m not a horse person, but I would really like to be.  Horses actually frighten me a bit, because they are so big, and they know I’m not a horse person, so I think secretly they would like to fuck with me just because they can.  I’m cool with that, we can establish that I’m a greenhorn, and then move on and then I will develop an awesome telepathic connection with my horse, whom I will name….. I don’t know, I can’t just willy nilly come up with a name for a horse I haven’t met yet, but it will be awesome.

I like cows too, but again, they are super big powerful animals, so I’m careful.  My Grandma taught me that if you are ever being charged by a bull, step to the side out of the way because they charge with their head down.  But, if you are being charged by a cow, your screwed, because they charge with their heads up.  I would think you could climb a tree because cows unlike a bear, won’t follow you up a tree.  My cows won’t charge, they will be super friendly.

My friendly cows won’t be the eating kind, because I can’t kill things.  I would have milk cows, but someone else would have to milk them because I never got the hang of it.

 I would also like to have chickens on our farm, egg laying, not eating chickens.  I’m still traumatized by the great ‘Chicken with no face massacre’.   

That is my romanticized version of me being a farmer.  Then my realistic side, I’ll call her Brenda, steps in.  First of all, we have no idea how to make a living as a farmer.  Then there is the issue of me not being able to kill anything.  Brenda is NOT an early riser.  It’s dicey when it comes to gardening, I mean we can even barely grow a fucking zucchini. 

Then there is the issue of grasshoppers.  Brenda has an absolute honest to god phobia of grasshoppers, to the point that I’ve seen her freak out around them, and even I knew not to tease her.  She was terrified.  This is because, as a small child Brenda was riding in back of her Uncle Joe’s pickup and was cornered by a single grasshopper with murder in its eyes.  Brenda’s words. Not because of a seven-year plague of grasshoppers that she was trapped in when she lived in Bloomington Indiana.  That was cicadas.

I guess we won’t be farmers.  I asked if we could have chickens in the back yard and she reminded me that Roo would more than likely murder all of the chickens, far more violently than my Grandmother.  I asked Brenda if she would start wearing a cowboy hat every once in a while.  She looks really hot in a cowboy hat.  She held up her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, shook her head and went in the other room.  I however may start rocking a cowboy hat every now and again.  I mean, since a young age that was one of my go-tos.  Being a cowboy, or a pirate.

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