Nostalgia for the Farm
Ok, so this is going to sound stupid to a lot of you, but I really love being in a combine.
A combine is a farm machine used for harvesting crops, if you didn’t know (surprisingly few people do). Growing up on a farm, I’ve driven a combine for several years in the fall, and it has always been some of the best times ever. I had time to myself to think about things, listen to CBC Radio, and generally relax while I watch the progress being made by the machine as it takes in crop and spits out chaff. It’s rewarding to see a years worth of work being collected and stored, and knowing that the farm’s financial viability is ensured for the next year.
Although I am not so excited about any other part of the growing process, farming is not the most boring, terrible thing in the world like I thought it was when I was in grade 12 and could only think of getting out of my parent’s house and into university. Farming is actually really rewarding and if done right, can make people a lot of money. I mean, for me, the combining is the best, but I could guess that for my brother, who plans to farm someday, everything brings him as much enjoyment as combining does for me. And I would wager that my Dad thinks the same thing too.
That is not to say that I am planning on going back to the farm (sorry Mom and Dad), but that I understand why people would want to spend their lives doing something that, while stressful, can actually be fun. That is, if the weather wants to cooperate. It’s shocking how much my farm upbringing has instilled in me the desire to watch the Bethune Radar.
I guess my point is, I miss the farm. I really do. Not enough that I want to make a life there, but enough that I am really glad Thanksgiving is this weekend so I have an opportunity to go home. I can’t wait.
First thought when this came up in my RSS:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0aqjdJnJEY
Happy Thanksgiving to you. My father farmed for a few years back in the 1950's and 60's. I got the chance to help "drive" the tractor once when I was about 7 years old. My best memories are of rock pickin' time. dad would attach a huge slab to the back of the grain truck and he would pull that slab through the fields while us kids would run around throwing rocks onto the back of the truck. The salb was fro the big heavy rocks that we would have to roll onto it. we would then ride on the slab and try to throw each other off and see if the one who got thrown off could run fast enough to get back on. Good Job Ed!