On the farm or in town, Nebraska values are the same

Although I grew up on a hog farm, I can’t claim to be a true farm girl. 

Not exactly the kind of outfit you'd wear to load hogs ...

 I didn’t enter livestock in the county fair as a 4-H’er or participate in FFA in high school. My father quickly learned that asking me to walk beans would be met with weeping and gnashing of teeth. 

I couldn’t tell you how to know when the best time for planting or harvesting is and I have only the tiniest understanding of what a farrowing shed is. 

No, I’m not a farm girl. Agriculture, at least directly, is not my calling in life. 

But even so, I am saddened by the thought that my children won’t have the same experiences on the farm I did.

This hit home to me over Easter weekend when my family visited Gayle and Kathy Giese’s farm for a hay rack ride to see Fern Moeller’s two day old baby goats. 

It was the first time Evangeline had explored a farm and I could tell she loved it. After an afternoon in the sun, jeans bearing the evidence of playing hard, she was so not ready for a nap. Being on the farm had energized her in a way that would have made her Grandpa Ray so proud.

And as happy as I was to see her enjoying herself, I felt a bit remorseful that visiting a farm, for her, will be a treat and not a daily experience.

Windblown and loving it! (Photo courtesy of Krista Giese, photographer extraordinaire)

When I was growing up, anytime we visited aunts or uncles who lived in town, Mom had to remind my sisters and me to use our “quiet” voices. 

“We have to be respectful of their neighbors,” she’d say. 

It was an unprecedented thought for a girl who was used to being at least 80 acres away from the nearest neighbor. 

My first driving experience was on a tractor, and when I finally graduated to a car, I learned how to navigate it on a gravel road

Our playhouses were myriad, with tea sets (old margarine tubs) and furniture (discarded milk crates) scattered among the many barns on our place. 

I’ll admit, the distance from town started to chafe when I got to high school and I began to spend more time in the booming metropolis of Waco (population 250) than I did at home. 

As an adult, I enjoy living in town. In the winter, it’s awfully convenient to have someone else clear snow off the roads and I am a big fan being within walking distance of the grocery store. 

My kids will have a good childhood, regardless of whether the road leading to our house is paved or not. Living in town or in the country, I can teach them the things I cherish from my Nebraska childhood — self-sufficiency, creativity, hard work (whining about walking beans aside, I did learn how to do a good day’s work), valuing family (because when you’re miles away from any other kids, you really have to get along with your sisters) and respecting nature. 

Plus, there’s still hope they’ll have a chance to help out on the farm in the summers: Uncle Andrew is going to major in ag studies at UNL. 

In the meantime, we’ll enjoy the afternoons spent with friends, soaking in the sun and watching baby goats.

On the Lighter Side

Published April 11, 2012