My Lucky Wife

Last week was Valentine’s Day. I am sure it was a day secretly started by the flower, candy and card cartels to push more of their products. Sure, it is a great time to prove your love and I guess that is a good thing. As you can tell Jennifer must be the luckiest woman in the world to be married to such a romantic like me. However, after sharing notes with many of my peer’s I am sure that I am in the majority especially among fellow farmers and ranchers.

Being the unrepentant romantic that I am I had the perfect Valentine’s Day planned for Jennifer. The alarm clock rang at 5:30 am. One wouldn’t want to sleep too late on this special day and miss anything. The very first thing I did was look deep into Jennifer’s eyes and I said; “Happy Valentine’s Day, we better get up and check the ewes and feed bottle lambs.”

This just proves what a romantic sap I am. After all, what is cuter and more romantic that a little lamb and Jennifer is so lucky, she has seven of them. Seven fuzzy little faces eagerly awaiting her and so excited to see her. How could the day start off any better?

Well it did, we found a new set of twins. Wow, first lambs born on her birthday and now lambs born on Valentine’ Day. No need for gifts, how could you top newborn lambs. Especially when you get to snuggle with them while carrying them into the lambing barn. It was barely 6:00 and already so much packed into the day.

Back in the house I made breakfast just for my Valentine. Sure, it was yogurt with granola and she ate it while getting ready to go to work but it is the thought that counts. More than once she mentioned just how lucky she was to have such a great husband who pampers and takes such good care of her. What makes it even better is that she likes to tease me and make her compliments sound sarcastic but I know what she really means. I am more sensitive than most and pick up on subtle hints like silence when she is so moved that she cannot find the words to express her joy.

During the day, I sent Jennifer little reminders to let her know I was thinking of her. Things like; don’t forget to pick up paper towels or did you see 508’s lamb nurse and I wish you were here to help feed all these cute little bottle lambs. Sure, they were everyday thoughts but I like to make sure she knows she is never out of my mind. Of course, later that afternoon I texted to see when she would be home. It may have been under the pretense that I wanted help with chores but I am sure she knew it was because I missed her so much.

I know many of you are thinking how could this night get any more romantic or any better. Just hang on a second because the best is yet to come. I took her out to a fine dining establishment, one that would add a little spice to the night, Buffalo Wild Wings. We were seated us at a table for two right next to the bar and beside the window with a view of the street. It was an intimate setting with forty or fifty other people enjoying romantic dinners. The best part was that Jennifer used the gift certificate she had. Romantic and cheap, she sure knows the way to my heart. Next was a quick trip to Dillons where I bought her not one, but two boxes of candy. Who knew if you waited until Valentine Day night you could get two for the price of one.

Finally, when we got back home we went on a moonlit walk, just the two of us down to the barn. She started the day off feeding cute little lambs and finished the day feeding the same, cute little lambs. Over and over, she mentioned just how lucky she was to have such a great husband in that same endearing, fake sarcasm. Exhausted by a day full of tokens of my affection and pampering Jennifer fell asleep almost instantly. Just before she drifted off she mentioned that she was glad Valentine’s Day was once a year.

OK, before I get hate mail from my female readers, I should also disclose that I arranged to have a singing valentine delivered with a rose, candy and a card. I do have my moments, they are by far too few. Like nearly every other farm or ranch wife Jennifer deserves so much more for all she does, all she goes without and more importantly all she puts up with. She is a saint and I am one lucky guy.

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Anniversary

This is a monumental week at our house. Yes, basketball practice starts but that is not it. We should have everything buttoned down and in place for the winter and while that makes me happy that is not it either. This week, Wednesday to be exact, Jennifer and I celebrate twenty years of wedded bliss. OK, so it has been twenty years of wedded bliss farmer style.

The very day of our anniversary is probably a shining example of what is like to be married to me. The morning will be a rush to get chores done before she goes off to work and I take off for the Governor’s Water Conference. I will try to check in that night as I rush on to Session meeting at our church leaving Jennifer in charge of chores for the night. We farmers are incredible romantics.

However, it is not much different than what she has come to expect over the past two decades. Quiet nights at home are often interrupted by a crisis of some sort.  A tough day at work, yes, the very same work that most farm wives must go to. It is mandated that we have health insurance. As I was saying a tough day at work when all she can think of doing is falling back into her chair and relaxing. Only to have me meet her at her car and ask her to help me get the cows back in.

Then there are those mornings during lambing season when the alarm goes off extra early so we can go out and check ewes before she spends eight hours at her other fulltime job. Luckily there are weekends. Yeah right, weekends when you are married to a farmer are far from relaxing.  Chores and projects are never ending around the farm and farmer husbands are always needy when it comes to weekends.

At least she gets vacation days at work. Workers are given vacation days as a time to recharge and get away; that is unless you are married to a farmer.  Then your leave time is spent working calves, hauling cows to pasture and building fence. If you do get away there will be many farm related stops thrown in.

The most difficult part of being a farm wife is knowing that the farm comes first. Everything must wait until the end of the year. Whether or not the kitchen gets remodeled or the car gets traded off is at the whimsy of the weather and the markets. We all know that good years are few and far between. It is not fair, but that is the way farming is. Too often she has heard, “well maybe next year will be better and we can do…..”

There are long hours during lambing, calving, planting, haying and harvest. Often I am out the door early and back late. Projects that need to be done are often tagged with “I will do it on the next rainy day.” It is really funny how often we are in a prolonged drought. At least that is what one would think if those projects were really waiting on the next rainy day.

I am not sure if this is what Jennifer signed up for twenty years ago. I do know that she has went back and looked at the fine print of our wedding vows and found out that picking up rocks was not part of the deal. She also often wonders out loud when the richer part is going to get here too. Lord knows the better and worse parts of those vows have cycled through. Farming is all about the highs and lows.

I think she might be able to get me for false advertisement. I am sure I might have oversold the whole farming is a wonderful lifestyle thing during our courtship. I know this because the subject has been brought up from time to time. Like all farm wives I know Jennifer deserves more and better and I am certain there is a special place in heaven reserved just for farm wives.

To be honest I am not sure why she has put up with me or the farm for the past twenty years. I am not sure which is more frustrating (I think I know but I am afraid to ask; only one of us has increased in value). All I know is that I feel incredibly blessed to have spent the twenty years with her and I cannot imagine this crazy life without her.  I am not sure what the next twenty will bring (I am sure they will be better) but I know they won’t be dull.

The Secret of a Happy Marriage

There are times, as a man, that you must admit defeat and just appreciate the fact that you married a woman much better than you deserved. Sunday was one of those days. As my friend Greg once told me, the secret to a happy marriage is the ability to say; I am a man, therefore I am wrong and I am sorry. I think that is the best marriage advice I have ever received.

Sunday we had 4-H meeting and we needed to do chores just a little bit early. Added to that was the fact that a thunderstorm moving in rather quickly. We soon got the chores done except that there was no sign of the ewes. We have never had problems with predators with our sheep but I think that is because we lock them in the lot each night. However, given the condition of our muddy lots, I could not blame them for not wanting to voluntarily give up their freedom.

With the rain moving in and thunder becoming increasingly louder, the decision was made to shut them in after we got home from 4-H. After all they always come in at night and they most likely would be waiting on us at the gate. Like a lot of theories that sounded really good at the time, especially as the first big drops of rain began to fall.

Our 4-H meeting went smoothly and finished about the time we thought it would and that would leave plenty of time to corral the sheep (after all not much time was needed since they would be standing, waiting on us to come home and shut the gate behind them). Little did we know that the chairperson of the banner committee would call for a meeting after the regular club meeting (that chairperson being child number 2). No problem, since the sheep are creatures of habit and would be dutifully waiting on us.

Much to our chagrin there were no sheep standing in the lot when we finally arrived home. Daylight was quickly slipping behind the western horizon, but surely the ewes were not far away. Isaac went to look and I changed clothes and also ventured out. Oh and it had started to rain, so much for waiting for a drier time. As darkness quickly settled in, it became apparent that the ewes were not close by.

Remembering that I had found them across the creek and in the meadow on top of the hill earlier in the week, I turned my search in that direction. Sure enough as I emerged from the dark mass of timber between the hill and the creek I saw a distant blob of white. I called to the ewes and they came thundering to me. However, it became painfully obvious, very quickly that they were not going into the scary dark timber, no matter how badly they wanted to go home or how badly I wanted them too. One person against 50 ewes is not a winning proposition.

Wet, muddy, disgusted and frustrated I waved the white flag and started back to the house admitting defeat. Along the way I ran into Isaac, who was just as wet, maybe muddier and a whole lot more frustrated. It was not good, both of us were visualizing an all you can eat buffet for the local predator population. We slogged our way back into the house with short fuses and bad attitudes and told Jennifer about our plight.

She listened to us and quickly pulled her mud boots on heading to the barn with a determined look on her face. She turned the lights on the barn, got her dog , the best flashlight we had and told me to drive her to the top of the hill. When I asked what she was going to do and what I needed to do, she said I am going to drive the ewes in and you are going to be quiet, watch and shut the gate behind them.

Sure enough, in about fifteen minutes a streak of white rushed past me and through the gate followed by Jennifer and her trusty dog. When I asked what she did that I had not done, she simple said she turned the lights on in the barn to give the ewes something to run too, shined the beam of the flash light onto the path for them and had taken better help to herd them. She then gave me “the look”. That is when I hung my head, thanked her and acknowledged the truth, “I am male, therefore I was wrong and I am sorry.”