On January 19th, it will be the third anniversary of my grandpa's passing. He was a hardworking farmer, father, and faithful follower. He was an influential man in my life, specifically regarding my Catholic faith and passion for agriculture.
When I was younger, my grandparents would respectfully babysit my younger sister and I on some Friday nights. While most babysitters (no matter their age or relation) play board games or watch movies, my grandma and grandpa would bring my sister and I along with them to Friday night rosary at church. After rosary,
we would sit around a table and help fellow elderly parishioner volunteers stuff weekend bulletins. While Friday nights seemed like a drag at the time, I am so grateful for the foundation of faithful habit that they encouraged at a young age.
It was on my grandparents' farm that I was first introduced to daily life on a farm. Gramps taught me that with farming comes love, togetherness, laughter, and loss. Our favorite cows, his named "Bianca" and mine named "Becky" happened to die at the same time when they were pushing seven years old. On the farm though, you grow to appreciate life's cycle. In times of death, there is new life awaiting around the corner. I would work all summer long playing tug-o-war with Brown Swiss calves, halter breaking them and pretending the open driveway was a showring. On the hottest of summer days, it always seemed that rocks would need to be picked in the field, or hay would be ready for baling. Wearing my sleeveless shirt, bib overalls, and work boots I was
always fit for the job! Although I just seemed to get in the way of my dad, brother, and older/stronger male cousins, I liked to think my scuffling around the hay wagon was a beneficial contribution. The ride back to the farm from the field was always a highlight because Gramps would let us ride on the wagon...that's right...rebels! It would feel as if we were flying down the highway as we death gripped the side of the rugged wood wagon (when in actuality, we were only going 20ish mph). I would recall that as a #YOLO moment. Thankfully we survived, and as a result, have become the bigger, faster, stronger farm kids that we are today.
When we finished unloading the hay into the hayloft, Grammie would always have snacks and drinks set out on the picnic table for us. And they were no ordinary snacks...they were snacks. Gatorade and Snapple complemented by Combo's and Potato Skin Bacon Cheddar chips; the free snack was most definitely worth risking our lives for. (..kids ;)
Another scary moment on the way back from the field, was when my siblings and I rode in the grain cart. The rush of corn around me was enough to pull me into the center. My life would flash before my eyes as I hung on for dear life to the side of the cart. As we would pull up the driveway, it seemed that Gramps would often forget that us kids were riding on the back because our little heads nearly got chopped off by the overhanging tree every time! The best part, though, was once the grain was unloaded in the shed, we would take off our boots and "swim" in the mounds of corn as we filled our socks and pockets full of gold! It was the simple pleasures and privileges that being a farm kid gained me back then I tell ya.
When I was younger, my grandparents would respectfully babysit my younger sister and I on some Friday nights. While most babysitters (no matter their age or relation) play board games or watch movies, my grandma and grandpa would bring my sister and I along with them to Friday night rosary at church. After rosary,
we would sit around a table and help fellow elderly parishioner volunteers stuff weekend bulletins. While Friday nights seemed like a drag at the time, I am so grateful for the foundation of faithful habit that they encouraged at a young age.
It was on my grandparents' farm that I was first introduced to daily life on a farm. Gramps taught me that with farming comes love, togetherness, laughter, and loss. Our favorite cows, his named "Bianca" and mine named "Becky" happened to die at the same time when they were pushing seven years old. On the farm though, you grow to appreciate life's cycle. In times of death, there is new life awaiting around the corner. I would work all summer long playing tug-o-war with Brown Swiss calves, halter breaking them and pretending the open driveway was a showring. On the hottest of summer days, it always seemed that rocks would need to be picked in the field, or hay would be ready for baling. Wearing my sleeveless shirt, bib overalls, and work boots I was
always fit for the job! Although I just seemed to get in the way of my dad, brother, and older/stronger male cousins, I liked to think my scuffling around the hay wagon was a beneficial contribution. The ride back to the farm from the field was always a highlight because Gramps would let us ride on the wagon...that's right...rebels! It would feel as if we were flying down the highway as we death gripped the side of the rugged wood wagon (when in actuality, we were only going 20ish mph). I would recall that as a #YOLO moment. Thankfully we survived, and as a result, have become the bigger, faster, stronger farm kids that we are today.
When we finished unloading the hay into the hayloft, Grammie would always have snacks and drinks set out on the picnic table for us. And they were no ordinary snacks...they were snacks. Gatorade and Snapple complemented by Combo's and Potato Skin Bacon Cheddar chips; the free snack was most definitely worth risking our lives for. (..kids ;)
Another scary moment on the way back from the field, was when my siblings and I rode in the grain cart. The rush of corn around me was enough to pull me into the center. My life would flash before my eyes as I hung on for dear life to the side of the cart. As we would pull up the driveway, it seemed that Gramps would often forget that us kids were riding on the back because our little heads nearly got chopped off by the overhanging tree every time! The best part, though, was once the grain was unloaded in the shed, we would take off our boots and "swim" in the mounds of corn as we filled our socks and pockets full of gold! It was the simple pleasures and privileges that being a farm kid gained me back then I tell ya.
Cousin Mikayla, Sister Laura, Cousin Kristin, and I after baling one summer day
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In remembrance, I wanted to share the poem that we included on the funeral
pamphlet and luncheon tables: "They Buried a Farmer Today":
___________________________________________________________________
In remembrance, I wanted to share the poem that we included on the funeral
pamphlet and luncheon tables: "They Buried a Farmer Today":
Love and miss you Gramps. Thanks again for everything.
Always,
Becky
Always,
Becky