Like most, I am a sucker for those “relationship” quizzes that I see while surfing the net. I always come away with the same thought: become a farming couple for the ultimate test in the strength of your union. Steve and I spend pretty much 24/7 together. We are owners, operators, partners and sole employees of this farm. Here is my own little test:
Is there attraction?:
Today I am wearing stained, torn, black and light blue Old Navy leggings, with a ripped competing blue-colored flannel shirt that is 2 sizes too big. On my head I have my never-been-washed camo baseball cap and my boots of choice are stained with chicken blood and covered in farm animal shit. I know I look awful, but Steve still slapped my ass when I walked past. And I did the polite thing and bit my tongue when he put on, yet again, the worst “dad” jeans ever. I’ll just focus on the waist up today.
Do you fight fair?:
Neither one of us can go off to the staff lounge to find someone to side with us. We will stand out in the field for a half an hour negotiating an issue. Most of the time if it is math related, I’m sure to lose, but if it is aesthetics in nature, winner winner. Some times I do not fight fair by using my cooking skills as a bartering chip.
Are you supportive of one another?:
We do not have anyone else to say “good job”. I kid you not, every time we drive between our now connected properties between a creek, Steve asks enthusiastically, “who built you this magnificent bridge?” and I respond with equal enthusiasm, “you’re the man Steve! This is awesome!” And every time we have to move the cows and grab the plastic posts that define the cow pasture, Steve marvels at how ingenious I was to figure out how to store them more efficiently. Yeah, I was the smart one that day.
Do we have trust?:
This one is my favorite and is evident whenever we go anywhere with one of our trailers. It is difficult to back up the pick-up truck with a trailer attached. Whether we are dropping off livestock to be butchered at the processor, picking up a load of compost at Bricko Farms, or loading up fence gates at Tractor Supply, it never fails that the men working there see Steve’s “wingman” in the passenger seat and wander over to guide him in. Steve takes one look at them rushing over and says, “You mind getting out to direct me? I don’t trust these yahoos.” So all you big, burly dudes in your Carhartt’s and flannel who think that I am merely window-dressing out there with you; you are dead wrong. As you are nodding your heads, twirling you fingers, and giving short whistle bursts, all while slowly walking backwards, Steve’s eyes are fixed on the 5’ 4” blonde chick who he knows will get the job done better than all y’all.
37 years ago this week, after only dating two weeks, we were engaged. I think we just might make it ;-)