Dysfunctional Farm Kids

Being a farm kid growing up in rural Kansas was never really something we thought much about. It wasn't a novelty with all the other rural kids we road the bus with. Our dad maybe had more pigs than the average rural kid, but it definitely wasn't a topic of discussion. I can only remember one time when it was fascinating to someone at school. That was my eighth grade year when I was learning how to drive the tractor and disc a field. My friend Sarah drew a picture of me doing this in my yearbook. She thought it was so great!

Being a farm kid was not a real novelty until I went to college. One of my friends from Kansas City wanted to go check out my family's farm one weekend. So a bunch of us went. I don't really remember if my friends were impressed with the farm or just enjoyed the company of my family.

I do remember how much of a rarity I was when it came to transferring to a Christian Liberal Arts college on the northside of Chicago. Everyone assumed that I milked cows, slopped the hogs, was up at dawn and knew how to grow things. They couldn't have been more wrong. This is how one of the many conversations might have went:

Friend- You grew up on a farm?
Me - Yeah, in the middle of Kansas.
Friend - What kind of farm was it?
Me - My dad raises hogs and cattle and grows wheat.
Friend - Weed?
Me- No. Whhhhheatttttt. You know, grain, the stuff flour is made from?
Friend - Wow! So you like milked cows and collected eggs and stuff!?
Me- Ummm...no. We didn't have milk cows, just beef cattle and we never had chickens.
Friend - Oh! Well, you must have had a lot of chores though.
Me - Ummmm...no, we sometimes had to feed our dog.
Friend - Did you drive a tractor?
Me - Yes! I did do that in the summers.

Little did we know that the modern age of farming had turned us into Dysfunctional Farm Kids.

The acre upon acre of wheat and corn planted, fertilized and harvested by machine.

The pasture grazing cattle being sold to feed lots and then packaged for us in cellophane.
Chickens laying eggs in chicken prison.
Milk sold in plastic jugs with colorful lids.
Beans, corn and tomatoes came in cans with pretty labels.
Vegetables shipped from across the country and around the world as "farm fresh."

This was the demise of understanding what it meant to be a true farm kid.

We were never face to face with the soil and seed.
We didn't know how to milk a cow if we needed to.
We never experienced the curiosity of finding warm eggs underneath a hen for our breakfast.
We didn't know how to tend a garden or store up a harvest.

So today, my brother and I are staring into our dysfunction and saying, "No more! We must learn how to survive on this land the good Lord gave us!" The desire to farm runs deep in our hearts. It's in our blood! The desire is pushing us forward into a healthier, more fulfilling lifestyle of living from the land.

April