I Am a Farm Wife. I...
hang laundry outside on a clothesline.
drop everything and run to town for a part to fix a broken hay baler.
don’t get neurotic about dust in the house…well, maybe a little.
rejoice during a drought when Memorial Day, Independence Day or Labor Day holidays are rained out, while others lament because they can’t go to the lake.
like rusty yard art.
have two categories of blue jeans in my wardrobe: “good” and “farm.”
am my farmer’s midwife assistant during calving season.
am the Lamaze coach during a difficult delivery, mentally willing the cow to push as Bill operates the calf puller.
carry a flashlight and venture cautiously into the abyss of my farmer’s pockets on laundry day.
display Angus Beef Bulletin, Kansas Stockman, The Farmer’s Almanac, and about a dozen different seed catalogs as coffee table books.
do not expect an interview team and cameras from House Beautiful to pull up in front of my home—unless they’re asking directions to someone else’s house.
take lunch, snacks and the latest weather radar report to my farmer working in the hay field.
operate the Hilbert Hay Field Shuttle Service to help my farmer transport his equipment to and from the hay field.
am not grossed out by manure, afterbirth, a prolapsed uterus or dead animals.
am a voyeur of bovine sexual activity.
know the signs of impending birth.
cry when a baby calf dies.
mourn with the grieving mother. Or if she doesn’t mourn, then I am the surrogate.
consider my gumboots to be a critical item of footwear.
can find my way around in Tractor Supply and Orscheln Farm Store, but in Saks or Nieman-Marcus, I am lost.
know that granny gear is not workout clothing for grandmothers.
diligently practice the trilogy of farm survival: reuse, recycle and repurpose.
can extradite a critter on the lam back to the pasture where it belongs.
am proud to own a hay hook.
keep a stash of range cubes in my chore coat pockets to treat the cows when I am checking on them.
can drive a farm truck pulling a loaded hay trailer over field terraces without getting high-centered.
respect protective cows with newborn calves, roosters with spurs of mass destruction and barbed wire fences.
am current on my tetanus shot.
live on a gravel road and do not obsess about rock dings in the paint of a flashy foreign sports car, because I drive a mediocre Made-in-the-USA vehicle. Nor do I obsess about dust on my mediocre Made-in-the-USA vehicle.
can build a fire in the wood furnace without burning down the house.
killed a snake using a dull-bladed hoe. Official cause of death was blunt force trauma.
can help my farmer pull-start his tractor without jerking the chain and giving him whiplash.
love a juicy steak from our own beef and consider steak sauce to be a desecration of good meat.
keep a supply of antidote ingredients to deodorize the dog when (not if) she is maced by a skunk.
A broken fingernail is not a crisis.
do not have a manicured lawn; I have a yard which may or may not get mowed, depending on whether or not there is urgent farm work that takes priority.
admire and respect all farm wives, both those who went before me and my contemporary sisters.
My neighbors are my lifeline.
My favorite time of day is sunrise. Or is it sunset? Or both?
I am a farm wife…my life begins where the pavement ends.
drop everything and run to town for a part to fix a broken hay baler.
don’t get neurotic about dust in the house…well, maybe a little.
rejoice during a drought when Memorial Day, Independence Day or Labor Day holidays are rained out, while others lament because they can’t go to the lake.
like rusty yard art.
have two categories of blue jeans in my wardrobe: “good” and “farm.”
am my farmer’s midwife assistant during calving season.
am the Lamaze coach during a difficult delivery, mentally willing the cow to push as Bill operates the calf puller.
carry a flashlight and venture cautiously into the abyss of my farmer’s pockets on laundry day.
display Angus Beef Bulletin, Kansas Stockman, The Farmer’s Almanac, and about a dozen different seed catalogs as coffee table books.
do not expect an interview team and cameras from House Beautiful to pull up in front of my home—unless they’re asking directions to someone else’s house.
take lunch, snacks and the latest weather radar report to my farmer working in the hay field.
operate the Hilbert Hay Field Shuttle Service to help my farmer transport his equipment to and from the hay field.
am not grossed out by manure, afterbirth, a prolapsed uterus or dead animals.
am a voyeur of bovine sexual activity.
know the signs of impending birth.
cry when a baby calf dies.
mourn with the grieving mother. Or if she doesn’t mourn, then I am the surrogate.
consider my gumboots to be a critical item of footwear.
can find my way around in Tractor Supply and Orscheln Farm Store, but in Saks or Nieman-Marcus, I am lost.
know that granny gear is not workout clothing for grandmothers.
diligently practice the trilogy of farm survival: reuse, recycle and repurpose.
can extradite a critter on the lam back to the pasture where it belongs.
am proud to own a hay hook.
keep a stash of range cubes in my chore coat pockets to treat the cows when I am checking on them.
can drive a farm truck pulling a loaded hay trailer over field terraces without getting high-centered.
respect protective cows with newborn calves, roosters with spurs of mass destruction and barbed wire fences.
am current on my tetanus shot.
live on a gravel road and do not obsess about rock dings in the paint of a flashy foreign sports car, because I drive a mediocre Made-in-the-USA vehicle. Nor do I obsess about dust on my mediocre Made-in-the-USA vehicle.
can build a fire in the wood furnace without burning down the house.
killed a snake using a dull-bladed hoe. Official cause of death was blunt force trauma.
can help my farmer pull-start his tractor without jerking the chain and giving him whiplash.
love a juicy steak from our own beef and consider steak sauce to be a desecration of good meat.
keep a supply of antidote ingredients to deodorize the dog when (not if) she is maced by a skunk.
A broken fingernail is not a crisis.
do not have a manicured lawn; I have a yard which may or may not get mowed, depending on whether or not there is urgent farm work that takes priority.
admire and respect all farm wives, both those who went before me and my contemporary sisters.
My neighbors are my lifeline.
My favorite time of day is sunrise. Or is it sunset? Or both?
I am a farm wife…my life begins where the pavement ends.
© 2013 June Hilbert