Born to be a farmer

An ode to those that work in acres, not in hours.

I read this somewhere.

FARMING : It is a job, full of long hours, in all temperatures and lots of hardwork. But it is so much more than that. It is scars, callouses, broken bones, stitches and bruises. It is sunshine and storm, dirt under your nails, and straw in your boots. It is early mornings, late nights, and long days. It is the joy of good harvest, the beauty of a sunset, the peace in the barns. It is a calf in the kitchen, a dog in your truck, and freedom in your soul. It is faith, determination and accomplishment. It is fears, tears, laughter and love. It is a way of life, a sense of pride, a family affair. It is home. And there is no place I would rather be.

It must have been an old, discarded book. But so aptly written.

I recall very few conversations with my father. Most of it in the farms in between work, while the oxen took their time in the sun chewing bales of hay. One such fine day, he told me farming is the noblest of all professions. He went on to give me reasons why. Farmers feed everyone, even the birds and animals and live in harmony with nature, he said. We obey the laws of nature and are closest to God. We live by the sweat of the brows and with each harvest grow more compassionate and thankful. Hard work is our religion and dignity, our greatest pride . Farmers belong to a clan who would plow deep and straight and not cut corners, seed and feed and finish the days hard work with a five mile walk to the temple. It must have been rather too deep a thought for me back then - an ambitious young lad with dreams of making my parents proud one day. However I scribbled this conversation in a corner of my mind to look back someday and prove my father wrong. I wanted him to know  that we live in a different generation now and that I have dreams of exploring the world which was not very likely if I took after him. I mean sunshine and nature is all good but I want to be successful and happy. Little did I know that not every success leads to happiness.

Sometimes, yet, those talks and advice served me as disappointment which made my claim all the more stronger. I’ll deliver my parents from this hard life of farming, I vowed.

Years hence as I  look down those valleys of memories from the self assumed lofty heights of achievement, I am convinced that nothing could have been sweeter. For how long I can vouch for the same is something I would not like to  answer now and leave it to the test of time- one I have found inescapable and convincing overtime. While still during my high school teen I had decided that I would farm and teach once I am done following the worldly  way of chasing jobs and attaining glory and I find that pretty amusing and credit myself for staying truthful and sensible enough. I am not sure but would like to know very much how satisfied those achievers are today.
I have to admit I am starting to sound more like my old man.

And because we don’t snap beans with grandma anymore and our old man don’t take us hunting anymore than teach us fishing, we have lost part of ourselves.  Hell , we don’t know if it exists anymore. Sitting on the porch, listening to the birds , feeling the wind blow through your soul and letting it all in , enjoying little things in life - I know we have all reserved such luxuries for our vacation and with it we have decided to lock away  a part of ourselves which makes us human. 

Spirituality has vanished , we have willingly decided to forget to be kind because honestly we no longer seem to have time for it. Believe it or not, with each passing day we cease to be less human. We have been to the moon and back yet walking across the streets to our neighbours has become rare and  features under our list of social etiquettes. Our sophistication has taught us to differentiate people on whatever categories we have invented. The superficial modes of communication have trampled real conversations and we don’t write letters anymore.We seem to have traded what little humanity was left to participate in the endless mad rat race. Our tentacles have spread far and wide; who cares how deep the roots go. Days shed colours so fast and so well; we fare so well to forget if we shall ever survive a real storm. Somewhere along the way its our lifestyle that has changed our course and it very much seems to be for the worst. I only hope we don’t go so far as insanity goes.

I remember planting trees every year on my birthday, carrying loads of manure  on my back and watch it grow each day -  I pray that the coming generation still affords that luxury. I consider myself very fortunate to have lived my childhood before technology took over and that I still enjoy walking in the woods whistling away appreciating the randomness. I am awfully thankful to the times I worked in the farm knee-deep in water and those hot summer on the ranch, which unbelievably limited thoughts of  material possessions and the most luxurious lifestyle I look forward to is owning an attic library room  whose window overlooks green valleys and I wish a river passes by and if it is not much to ask for I would love some fireflies for the night.

Lets end with a country song that provoked me to share my thoughts


           I went sky divin’
           I went Rocky Mountain climbin’
           I went 2.7 seconds
           On a bull name Fumanchu
           And I loved deeper
           And I spoke sweeter
           And I gave forgiveness
           I ve been denying
           And he said someday
           I hope you get the chance
           To live like you were dyin'