I was born to be a farmer, it was in my blood from birth. I probably got that from my father. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of my life. It was the greatest vocation you could ever aspire to. Farmers were the best people. Most of them stayed farming until they tipped over. It was the thing a man did. You died with your boots on. Leaving the farm wasn’t going to happen for most farmers. So, I never imagined I might ever move south to somewhere warmer.
In 1964 my dad took the family on a trip south over Christmas vacation. He made the decision after he had survived a helicopter crash, with a desire to spend more time with the family. We traveled through Tennessee. I was mesmerized by the state. It wasn’t bitter cold in December like Minnesota. And there was interesting history there. And it was beautiful. Tennessee had rivers, lakes and pine trees. You would think you were in northern Minnesota, without the winter. Those trips as a young child put the bug in me to vacation in the south. Just about every winter after that included the family heading south.
Years of raising livestock through a Minnesota winter takes it out of a guy. Many times, I have been stuck in a snowdrift with a tractor hauling manure into the field, froze my fingers crawling up a silo to fix an unloader, thawed out countless outdoor water fountains for cattle, fought with barn cleaner chains buried in ice and been so cold I couldn’t feel my extremities while cutting and splitting firewood to keep the house warm. These memories are permanently imbedded in my mind.
I think of these things over the last eight years that I have spent the winters down south. I wrote this the first week of February while relaxing on my porch where we live on Kentucky Lake. Kentucky Lake is the Tennessee River where it is about a mile wide. The Tennessee River starts in the east of the state and meanders all the way to the west where it eventually makes its way into the Mighty Mississippi.
Back to the first week in February in Tennessee. It is sunny and well into the 70 degree range. A perfect day by any standard. But even better in contrast to a February day in Minnesota. I went for a walk with the dog along the road by the river. Then we sat on the front porch together and relaxed, the dog snoring while I dozed off. Then I picked up my neighbor, Harry, and we drove to the Paris Landing Lodge Restaurant. This is a great place to eat and is only a few miles from our house. We sat by the window over-looking the lake enjoying a burger and talking for over three hours. He grew up on a farm in Indiana and operated heavy equipment all his life. We have a lot in common and enjoy doing things together, even though he is more than ten years older than me. Funny how the age difference doesn’t mean anything when one gets old.
When I am not on the farm, I do not have the constant call of things to do. No fences to tear down or build, no barns or buildings to maintain, nothing to feed or clean, no mowing, tilling, planting or fixing. Somedays down here I sweep out the shop and organize the tool bench, just because there is nothing else pressing to do. Many an afternoon I have fallen asleep in the porch chair on the front deck with my dog laying their head on my lap. I never saw this coming. But it is hard to beat having lots of spare time and not much to do with it.
