It’s a Sunday family dinner at the Ramsey household – all the siblings and grandchildren are there, and fortunately for the crew, “a day of rest” is being oberved. Makayla rubs the base of her neck, trying to work out a knot that feels lodged under her spine. My brother (her husband, Nate) is sympathetic but laughs and says to Bill, our father, “Dad, Makayla needs to apply for workman’s comp from the farm. You think she is eligible?” Dad says, “Maybe not workman’s comp – not yet. How about an ergonomic seat for the tractor?”
Makayla is a first-grade teacher who spends all out-of-school hours in a tractor seat. When she married Nate, she joked that she’d spent years looking for a good farm boy. She got one, and into the bargain was a lifetime of unpaid farm labor. It’s an age-old story and almost a cliché. Regardless of her motivations, we are glad she joined the family – we needed someone else willing to drive the tractor.
It's that time of the year on the farm when it is “all hands on deck.” This year feels particularly rushed. Winter was interminable, and it wasn’t a gradual incline to good weather. Freezing nighttime temps and rain broke all at once into warmth and sunshine. Even that description isn’t accurate – there was a week of wind between the two metrics. While unpleasant, it was welcome as it dried the fields enough to get in them. However, Dad now complains that the soil is too dry for good seed germination. If a farmer isn’t complaining about the weather, is he making a sound?
I rarely take a turn doing any tractor work and am immeasurably thankful for Makayla taking my place. She may have volunteered, or it may have been her relative proximity to the main farm boy that slated her for the position. My contribution to the family operation involves the cattle, which I will admit is somewhat selfish. Ten years ago, after a particularly bad calving season where upward of 50% of the calf crop died of scours, Dad sold all the mama cows. Nobody missed them. That is, until a year ago when my husband and I moved home. We came with our three kids and 25 pairs in tow. The farm now has a herd again; if my dad doesn’t have to think about them, our cows can graze his corn stubble and work around the edges of the farm.
Last Saturday, while Dad, Nate and Makayla bumped around the tractor seats, my husband, Craig, my older brother Kirk and myself worked cattle. We even branded eight calves with my dad’s infamous “ram-z” brand. He is back in the cattle business, and I’m not sure he even knows it.
There have been a few tears shed and some regret about selling the farm we built and returning to the family operation. And yet, it’s pretty great to do what I love best with the people I love best. Just don’t ask me to drive the tractor.
