I Didn’t Just Marry a Farmer
When Joe and I were dating, I used to wonder what in the world he did all day on Saturdays.
Most young couples spent Saturdays going somewhere or doing something together. Joe, however, would tell me he was burning and digging up stumps from the pine trees that had been cut across from his parents’ house.
I honestly thought he was kidding.
Turns out, clearing around 40 acres takes a little while, especially when you are a young man doing much of the work yourself. There would be no Saturday afternoon date for us. If we were going anywhere, it would have to wait until after dark.
That should have been my first clue.
When Joe and I got together, the family farming operation consisted of pine trees, poultry houses growing chickens for Gold Kist, and a hay operation that was still in its early years. The land Joe was clearing was not just about getting rid of old stumps. They were clearing more ground to grow the hayfields.
Joe worked alongside his dad, and there was always something that needed to be done. His responsibilities in the poultry operation included the everyday maintenance of the houses, cleaning them out between flocks, and getting everything ready to receive the next flock of chickens. During hay season, it was a big event. Summer time was limited time with Joe.
Farm work did not stop because it was Saturday or because his girlfriend wanted to go somewhere.
I remember another Saturday when Joe had spent the morning spreading chicken litter. Later, a family member asked what he had been doing and turned up their nose at his answer. Joe just smiled. It was never in his nature to brag or correct someone, but I can only imagine what he was thinking: “I made several hundred dollars this morning. What did you do?”
He never said it out loud, but he knew the value of the work he had done. I do not believe that person had accomplished much of anything that morning, and Joe knew that too. He did not need to defend himself. The work spoke for itself.
When I fell in love with Joe, I knew he was a farmer. I just did not understand that I was also beginning a relationship with the weather, poultry houses, hayfields, equipment, and a long list of jobs that do not care what day of the week it is.
Farm life does not run on a regular schedule.
The chickens still need to be checked on. New flocks arrive when they are scheduled to arrive. Hay has to be cut when the weather allows it. When the forecast changes, your plans change with it. Something always needs repairing, checking, cleaning, spraying, moving, or mowing.
Sometimes that means waiting until after dark for a date.
Sometimes it means watching the weather instead of watching television.
Sometimes it means standing in a field discussing armyworms and wondering how such little boogers can threaten an entire cutting of hay.
Over the years, I learned that a farmer’s mind is rarely completely away from the farm. Even when Joe is sitting with us, part of him may be thinking about what needs to be done next. He is watching the sky, calculating time, or mentally making tomorrow’s list.
Farming is not simply a job that ends when a man comes home. It is a responsibility he carries with him.
I have watched Joe work through long days, uncertain seasons, storms, setbacks, and all the ordinary problems that never make it into the pretty pictures of farm life. I have seen how much faith it takes to invest time, money, and labor into something that can still be affected by weather, insects, prices, or circumstances completely outside your control.
Somewhere along the way, agriculture became part of my story too.
I began wanting people to understand what farm families experience and why agriculture matters. That desire eventually led me into Farm Bureau, agricultural advocacy, and helping children learn where their food comes from. What began as waiting for Joe to finish working so we could go on a date became a life that I now proudly help represent.
I did not just marry a farmer.
I married the early mornings and the late nights. I married poultry-house schedules, changing weather forecasts, and plans written lightly in pencil because the farm might change them. I married hard seasons, answered prayers, and the kind of determination that keeps a family moving forward when quitting would be easier.
And yes, I married a man who really would spend an entire Saturday burning and digging stumps.
All these years later, I know he was not kidding. I also understand what those Saturdays represented. Joe and his dad were not only clearing land. They were making room for the hay operation to grow and building the next part of their family farm.
Those Saturdays were also showing me exactly who Joe was: hardworking, determined, and willing to stay with a job until it was finished.
The dates may have had to wait until after dark, but the life we were building was already beginning in those fields.
Looking back, I did not fully understand what it meant to marry a farmer.
But I would still choose him, the farm, and this life all over again.
Farm Wife for Life, LaDonna
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