Spring Farms

Life on a farm is hard work. It’s up at sunrise to feed and care for livestock, fields, crops and/or orchards. It goes all day because animals don’t clock off at a certain time. It’s physical labor and financial ups and downs.

And yet with the danger and threats pervasive in the world today, I see the sanctuary of a farm. To walk through the fields and hear rustling of the corn stalks as the wind passes through it. Or watch storm clouds brew up in the sky, in the distance. To see into the soulful eyes of cows, get butted by a goat or chased by a goose; is life on a farm. I think it would be a comforting place during these times, because you know each day your up a sunrise and the animal yet for you in the morning. You know the sun will rise up over the fields.

Waterfowl will stop for rest on its migration. Deer may run through the fields around sunset. You feel part of nature, and there is a quiet beauty to life on a farm.

So, I’m thinking of this speech about a farmer and farm life now. I’m sharing a few photos of farms.

    So God Made A Farmer
    by Paul Harvey
farmer, photographer Ed Clark

farmer, photographer Ed Clark

And on the 8th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, “I need a caretaker.” So God made a farmer.

God said, “I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, milk cows, work all day in the fields, milk cows again, eat supper and then go to town and stay past midnight at a meeting of the school board.” So God made a farmer.

“I need somebody with arms strong enough to rustle a calf and yet gentle enough to deliver his own grandchild. Somebody to call hogs, tame cantankerous machinery, come home hungry, have to wait lunch until his wife’s done feeding visiting ladies and tell the ladies to be sure and come back real soon — and mean it.” So God made a farmer.

God said, “I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn colt. And watch it die. Then dry his eyes and say, ‘Maybe next year.’ I need somebody who can shape an ax handle from a persimmon sprout, shoe a horse with a hunk of car tire, who can make harness out of haywire, feed sacks and shoe scraps. And who, planting time and harvest season, will finish his forty-hour week by Tuesday noon, then, pain’n from ‘tractor back,’ put in another seventy-two hours.” So God made a farmer.

God had to have somebody willing to ride the ruts at double speed to get the hay in ahead of the rain clouds and yet stop in mid-field and race to help when he sees the first smoke from a neighbor’s place. So God made a farmer.

God said, “I need somebody strong enough to clear trees and heave bails, yet gentle enough to tame lambs and wean pigs and tend the pink-combed pullets, who will stop his mower for an hour to splint the broken leg of a meadow lark. It had to be somebody who’d plow deep and straight and not cut corners. Somebody to seed, weed, feed, breed and rake and disc and plow and plant and tie the fleece and strain the milk and replenish the self-feeder and finish a hard week’s work with a five-mile drive to church.

“Somebody who’d bale a family together with the soft strong bonds of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply, with smiling eyes, when his son says he wants to spend his life ‘doing what dad does.'” So God made a farmer.


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