Don’t Make My Mistake: Thank A Farmer

Today was National Farmer’s Day.

I only saw one post on social media about it. None of the horse pages I follow mentioned it. Not even the feed stores I follow posted anything about it. They mentioned a fundraiser for FFA, Future FARMERS of America, but nothing about thanking a farmer. No wonder someone made a day to encourage some  recognition. Even on the day, farmers can’t get a thank you from those who should know better.

I’m not laying blame, just merely observing. Obviously I can’t judge the speck in someone else’s eye when I’m posting at ten o’clock at night the day of.

But I did think of some farmers today. There was Earl who wore overalls and a white shirt so thin you could see through it. He sold me my 4-H lambs while I was in middle school. There was also my friend’s dad who raised cattle, and hayed properties every summer while still showing houses as a realtor. But I never really appreciated those two farmers. I was too young. I didn’t have a concept of the work they did.

There is a farmer though who I knew right away was special. Initially he won a place in my heart because he kept his promise that he wouldn’t make me back up my trailer to his hay stack. I didn’t know how. He just chuckled and said I wouldn’t have to back the trailer up. When I first bought my horse Gangster, that man even let my buy a ton of hay but leave half of it stored with him to pick up a few months later. He didn’t give me a receipt or take down my name. He just said “sure” when I asked him if he could store half of it. This blows my mind five years later because real estate on a farm is precious, and he let me take up room in his barn for no additional cost.

Stacked Hay Bales

He was already old when I met him. Somewhere on the back half of his eighties I believe. He was always outside when I pulled onto the property. He’d see me and stop what he was doing to step into a tractor and load bales. I had to be patient though because gentlemen in their late eighties don’t move with the swiftness of youth. A little extra time was a small price to pay for the knowledge that my money was going directly in his pocket. My money kept his business going and put food in his lean belly.

I always wanted to make him an apple pie.

I never did.

That farmer passed away last January.

It’s funny how you can have such affection for someone you barley know at all. But I did. I cried when I found out Lloyd with the horse hay died.

You don’t have to do anything for National Farmer’s Day. But I beg you to tell a farmer how much you appreciate the hard work they do and the long hours they put in to feed you and your animals. Better yet, show them. Make them a pie. I lost my chance.

cow at watering trough