I had about forgotten this, from a speech given by Paul Harvey at the 1978 Future Farmers of America convention in Kansas City,  I was there in 76, missed him.  I still tear up at the sound of it, especially the part of the son wanting to follow in Dads footsteps just as I did and now my son claims to want to. We are a dying breed. I wonder how many in the face of adversity could “grow their own”. I weep for what Progress has done to agriculture as a way of life, it has been destroyed except for small pockets like up here in this little backwater of southern Mercer and Auglaize counties. The average age of farmers in the US is around 70+, many ag company reps are astounded to see so many “young men and boys” at meetings up here. I pray that we hold on. Our small rural parishes I strongly believe have much to do with the phenomenon, as one now gone priest used to do for every religion class, he would make them go through the church and look for relatives names on windows and statues, almost all could find their family name or a grandparents family somewhere. We are family, I don’t believe the AoC really appreciates what we have up here.

enough of my soapbox, enjoy as I have

full text

 

“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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