Tending a Dream that Sprouted from Growing Up on the Farm

Growing up on the farm had a strong impact shaping the values I hold most dear today. Values of togetherness, belonging, and quality time were formed while the family came together to work on the farm. In some ways it has significantly altered the course of my life.

This dream feels like a delicate flower. One we are cradling in our hands and protecting from the wind. Its beautiful but hasn’t quite bloomed. 

I wonder when this dream first sprouted. A part of me thinks it came from growing up in the country on our family farm. My dad is a farmer and also owned and operated a Christian book store in the closest city to our small town. 

Growing up on the farm, everyone had a part to play.

The bulk of the load was carried by my Grandpa, Dad, and Uncle, yet Grandma and Mom, along with siblings, aunties, and cousins all chipped in through the seasons. As farm kids, part of building a strong work ethic from an early age was having fun; work was fun! The long days of farm life, with crackling bon fires, playing kick-the-can by the fire’s light, and hide-and-go-seek in the dark shadows, will always have a special place in my memory.

Growing up on the farm, I took for granted the fact that my dad was only a few miles away working in the fields or the shop. I could basically go visit him at anytime.

I enjoyed tagging along and remember fondly an afternoon working together on the daily chores when I was about 12 years old. We were getting ready to start seeding. We had the old 4×4 truck and the tractor in Uncle D’s yard. Dad figured I could handle driving the truck behind him while he drove the tractor and a piece of equipment to the field along the back dirt roads. I was ecstatic and shaking like a leaf. It was my first time behind the wheel.

He gave me a simple run down; textbook essentials. It was an automatic transmission so as basic as can be. I followed behind him, way behind him, and kept getting farther behind as I was traveling at a whopping 10 km/hr. I finally pulled into the field and dad came over to congratulate me. 

“Good job! Hold out your hands”, he said with a smile.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and held them out the window.

We laughed as they trembled in the air. 

I matured a little in a single day, I felt useful and capable. I really enjoyed spending the day with my dad, the whole time learning from him, getting dirty and being exhausted by the end of the day. Full satisfied experiencing the value of hard work.

Harvest time in our rural area was the busiest season of all. It was my favourite season from a young age. Its hot sunny days and cool evenings, supper out in the fields, and sense of excitement. So much extra effort was required as we swiftly and efficiently brought in the bounty with one eye on the sky. For good reason, prairie weather can be cruel and unpredictable. Its heart breaking to see snow covering the swaths of your livelihood.

I didn’t even have a specific job during harvest, but I always felt a part of the movement. It was second nature the way the family came together.

Habits and routines that had been formed over years even generations in agriculture’s classroom.

Rural life in full swing.

I remember riding in Grandma and Grandpa’s gold Catilac car, slowly crawling through the field with fresh food for ‘lunch’ loaded in the trunk. I don’t know why we took the car that day. You could hear the stubble scraping on the undercarriage as we followed a trail left by the grain trucks. We would stop at the last swath of grain and wait for the crew to pull up. It was often a quick affair where we ate standing up. The men eager to keep working for it takes a lot of faith to expect Mother Nature to cooperate. Tomato sandwiches and a little bit of hot tea never tasted so good. And there is no such thing as supper without dessert.

After supper, I’d often hop into the combine to ride with Dad.

I would listen to the hum of the machine, stare at the mesmerizing spin of the header bringing in the wheat, and look through the back window as grain slowly filled up the hopper. I’d count ladybugs as they climbed on the hopper glass in the midst of all the golden seeds. As night fell and Dad turned on the lights, I’d watch mice scurry from beneath the swaths as the combine rumbled along. We really slowed down when a skunk lumbered away. Dad and I chatted and caught up on the day or said nothing at all. It was enough to just be together. Finally, it was quitting time, we’d put in a hard day’s work. 

It’s not that I ever did anything of great necessity during harvest time. It was merely being together that made me feel like I was apart of something big. Is there a better place, just being together as a family? Not even really talking about anything important, just being, working. Being in close proximity; a part of the lives of others. Experiencing life lessons together. Growing up on the farm left an impression on my heart. An impression that has sprouted and flourished into a core value: appreciating the simple things, togetherness, connection, community, belonging.  

Now I’m an adult myself. A wife. A mom to five little men. And togetherness, connection, it seems so much more important. It feels urgent! Urgent because I’ve blinked and my oldest son is 12.

Time is a wispy fog that I try to hold onto, but it slips through my grasping hands.

I feel desperate to cherish and savour these moments and years that keep flying by. There are many ways that one can slow down and live intentionally. For us, we are pursuing literal hours, time together. 

This delicate dream of having my husband, Tim, spend the majority of his time with our family, grew in the fertile soil of my childhood growing up on the farm.

It grew as I drove that old pick up with white knuckles and my heart pounding.

It grew as a teenager working the cash till and sweeping the floors at our family business in town.

It grew when our son cried at night saying he wished he could see daddy more.

Or when our toddler came into the room in the morning and asked, where’s dadda? He’s at work, I replied. But I love him! He responded innocently, as if thats all the reason needed. And it is.

It grew when as husband and wife we felt like we were passing ships in the night. Both too exhausted to retell all the details of the day.

It grew when Tim said that he doesn’t understand why he’s giving the majority of his time and the best parts of his days to other people’s children. Even though teaching is a noble, honourable career, it devours a lot of time. 

One can absolutely take a different way and have excellent connection and quality relationships with their children. I pray you go wholeheartedly in that direction. 

So here we are, holding this delicate seedling in our hands. 

It feels very windy and cold outside.

It seems unreasonable to believe it can flourish and grow here in the real world.

But the thing is, if we don’t try we will regret it. We don’t want to come to the end of our lives or the end of a season and regret not trying, not pursing, not believing. 

We have made some really intentional steps over the last few years. Steps that are hopefully symbolic of building a greenhouse for our little sprouting dream.

• We have pulled out the weeds and paid off all our debt including our mortgage so that our monthly cost of living is decreased.

• We have tilled the soil by cutting back expenses, being content to live minimally and comfortably because consumerism consumes more than money.

• We have added fertilizer by learning skills like growing our own food, home butchery, and maintenance competency to become more self-sufficient, therefore we don’t pay others to provide every necessity.

Now we wait for the sun, with the power of prayer, as we water, and tend, and grow.

How do you nurture your special relationships? 

Do you have ideals that have sprouted from your childhood? 

What are you watering and tending today?