It is pretty impressive to realize that you can do anything.
Well, within limits of course. But on a normal, day-to-day basis, I can do just about anything. I've come to realize that this feeling of competence is thanks to something unique. Sadly, it is something that fewer and fewer Americans can relate to. The older I get, the more I love having been raised on an American farm.
There are certain aspects of the farm that I used to resent. If your house has a junk drawer, perhaps you can relate. A junk drawer is exactly that - a disorganized conglomeration of miscellaneous bits and pieces, all thrown together into one space. Not exactly junk, but simple things that do not have an immediate purpose, and are too good to simply throw away. The logic is, that perhaps there will be a use for some of these things, someday.
On a farm, particularly a fourth-generation farm like mine, we don't have junk drawers - we have junk buildings.
This is not to say that the farm has descended into a chaotic jumble of trash, there are just simply things that are too good to let go. And, there is a sense of order - one corner of one shed is dedicated to miscellaneous plumbing supplies. Another space houses electrical fittings, wire, etc. Still other areas are loosely organized into sections of lumber, steel, or PVC pipe, not to mention the countless cabinets holding spare parts for equipment and machinery. Literally, there is an entire shelf dedicated to nothing but chain links and splices.
As I sit here typing this article, I can close my eyes and picture exactly where everything is on the farm to build a lockable prison cell, or some other equally random object.
Of course, all the material in the world is useless without the knowledge of how to use it. For me, the value of the farm and the collective knowledge obtained therein, culminated into one of the most productive periods of my life, leading up to the Fourth of July.
Months ago I decided to host a barbecue for Independence Day. Guests would include family, extended family, and even friends from Australia. Obviously, the house and property needed a facelift before the big event. This is when four generations of accumulation paid off. For every random, odd job that needed to be done, I had the expertise, material, and tools at my disposal. For example:
Last winter I remodeled the guest bathroom. When it came time to update the wiring, I had to purchase very little - most of what I needed was leftover from previous jobs on the farm, including a brand-new roll of electrical wire, spare boxes and connectors. Not only that, when it did come time to purchase odds and ends, I knew how to use and differentiate intelligent, manly-sounding phrases like "common," "hot," "ground," "single-gang," and "square-D." Before the job was even completed, I could walk into Monroe's PDC and realistically pretend to know what I was talking about.
Outside, I cringed as soon as the snow melted - the eaves along one side of the house were going to have to be repainted. I groaned at the prospect of the job, which seems to have to be done every other year. I should be considered an artist for the number of times I've scraped and painted.
What's this? With a shriek of delight, I discovered hidden treasure one day while searching for something else in one of our sheds. A few years back, we installed steel trim on all of the farm buildings. As those jobs tend to go, we had over-ordered supplies with the intention of returning the surplus. Inexplicably, four 20-foot sections had not been returned, and had been sitting on a shelf collecting dust. Using painted screws and hardware, I professionally installed the steel trim myself, and am happy to report that I will no longer have to climb an extension ladder and battle wasps with a paintbrush - at least not on that side of the house.
In one final example, I decided to attack the landscaping - normally an intimidating prospect. I started by digging out a shrub that had more than overstayed its welcome. In fact, it was well on its way of extending residence to the front lawn. Ten minutes with a shovel burning elbow grease had yielded no tangible results, so I went for the next most powerful thing at my disposal. Needless to say, the mini rainforest stood no chance against a utility tractor with an end loader normally used to move round bales of hay.
In fact, it was with that landscaping job that I enjoyed the full fruits of the farm. I transplanted lilies that my grandmother had grown, hostas from my mom's garden, and laid down chopped soybean stalks normally used as fodder as decorative mulch. I had access to old feed sacks, which make perfect landscaping cloth. Then, as the ultimate compliment, my aunts offered praise for the job when they visited on July 4.
Yes, to the untrained eyes there are certain aspects of the farm that may seem rough around the edges. There are corners of certain sheds I would rather not exploit to the public, but it is an invigorating feeling to know that no matter the job, no matter what I need to accomplish, there is bound to be something that meets my needs.
Perhaps it just has to be dusted off.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Well, within limits of course. But on a normal, day-to-day basis, I can do just about anything. I've come to realize that this feeling of competence is thanks to something unique. Sadly, it is something that fewer and fewer Americans can relate to. The older I get, the more I love having been raised on an American farm.
There are certain aspects of the farm that I used to resent. If your house has a junk drawer, perhaps you can relate. A junk drawer is exactly that - a disorganized conglomeration of miscellaneous bits and pieces, all thrown together into one space. Not exactly junk, but simple things that do not have an immediate purpose, and are too good to simply throw away. The logic is, that perhaps there will be a use for some of these things, someday.
On a farm, particularly a fourth-generation farm like mine, we don't have junk drawers - we have junk buildings.
This is not to say that the farm has descended into a chaotic jumble of trash, there are just simply things that are too good to let go. And, there is a sense of order - one corner of one shed is dedicated to miscellaneous plumbing supplies. Another space houses electrical fittings, wire, etc. Still other areas are loosely organized into sections of lumber, steel, or PVC pipe, not to mention the countless cabinets holding spare parts for equipment and machinery. Literally, there is an entire shelf dedicated to nothing but chain links and splices.
As I sit here typing this article, I can close my eyes and picture exactly where everything is on the farm to build a lockable prison cell, or some other equally random object.
Of course, all the material in the world is useless without the knowledge of how to use it. For me, the value of the farm and the collective knowledge obtained therein, culminated into one of the most productive periods of my life, leading up to the Fourth of July.
Months ago I decided to host a barbecue for Independence Day. Guests would include family, extended family, and even friends from Australia. Obviously, the house and property needed a facelift before the big event. This is when four generations of accumulation paid off. For every random, odd job that needed to be done, I had the expertise, material, and tools at my disposal. For example:
Last winter I remodeled the guest bathroom. When it came time to update the wiring, I had to purchase very little - most of what I needed was leftover from previous jobs on the farm, including a brand-new roll of electrical wire, spare boxes and connectors. Not only that, when it did come time to purchase odds and ends, I knew how to use and differentiate intelligent, manly-sounding phrases like "common," "hot," "ground," "single-gang," and "square-D." Before the job was even completed, I could walk into Monroe's PDC and realistically pretend to know what I was talking about.
Outside, I cringed as soon as the snow melted - the eaves along one side of the house were going to have to be repainted. I groaned at the prospect of the job, which seems to have to be done every other year. I should be considered an artist for the number of times I've scraped and painted.
What's this? With a shriek of delight, I discovered hidden treasure one day while searching for something else in one of our sheds. A few years back, we installed steel trim on all of the farm buildings. As those jobs tend to go, we had over-ordered supplies with the intention of returning the surplus. Inexplicably, four 20-foot sections had not been returned, and had been sitting on a shelf collecting dust. Using painted screws and hardware, I professionally installed the steel trim myself, and am happy to report that I will no longer have to climb an extension ladder and battle wasps with a paintbrush - at least not on that side of the house.
In one final example, I decided to attack the landscaping - normally an intimidating prospect. I started by digging out a shrub that had more than overstayed its welcome. In fact, it was well on its way of extending residence to the front lawn. Ten minutes with a shovel burning elbow grease had yielded no tangible results, so I went for the next most powerful thing at my disposal. Needless to say, the mini rainforest stood no chance against a utility tractor with an end loader normally used to move round bales of hay.
In fact, it was with that landscaping job that I enjoyed the full fruits of the farm. I transplanted lilies that my grandmother had grown, hostas from my mom's garden, and laid down chopped soybean stalks normally used as fodder as decorative mulch. I had access to old feed sacks, which make perfect landscaping cloth. Then, as the ultimate compliment, my aunts offered praise for the job when they visited on July 4.
Yes, to the untrained eyes there are certain aspects of the farm that may seem rough around the edges. There are corners of certain sheds I would rather not exploit to the public, but it is an invigorating feeling to know that no matter the job, no matter what I need to accomplish, there is bound to be something that meets my needs.
Perhaps it just has to be dusted off.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
