Friends of ours invited us out to their house for dinner a few months ago. Though we had known them for years this was the first invitation to visit them at their place. The wife warned us that it would be quite a drive and we would find their “neighborhood” quite rural. We drove out on the appointed day and discovered it was just what we were told. This family lives on a working farm complete with goats, pigs, horses, cats, and lots and lots of hayfield. This wouldn’t be so unusual except for one thing; the farm was a hobby for them.
The husband works as a town code inspector and as with most government jobs, it pays well enough for them to live comfortably. But they work this farm in their spare time because it’s something they love. I’m not sure how that’s possible when you’re pitching hay, mucking the stalls, birthing the goats, and on and on. But love it they do and it shows,
We went out to the barn to help do the evening chores. It took just over an hour to feed and milk all the goats, feed and water the horses, and feed the pigs. The family does this twice a day; sun, rain, sleet or snow. And by the way, it was about 18° F that night. It was too cold for us city folks, that’s for sure. But after chores we went in for a home cooked meal made from ingredients mostly culled from their garden. It was good food, good fellowship, just plain old healthy living.
After dinner we moved out to the living room for some coffee and conversation. I couldn’t help but look around and wonder how my friends could live in such an old farm house in the middle of nowhere. Then it dawned on me in the simplicity of our conversation. They value different things in life than we do. Not that their values are any better or worse than ours, just different. They enjoy the peace and quite of the country, we like the hustle and bustle of the city. They have no aversions to the sights, sounds, and smells of animals; we have our hands full with a dog and a cat. We would never be at home on the farm whereas they feel like strangers in the city.
For the woman of the house, her love is the goats. She breeds them every year, selling some for meat while keeping others for milk and further breeding. When kid season comes around she is tied up for days on end delivering one baby goat after another. She stopped by our house one day during the middle of kid season; it was easy to see she was exhausted. But she smiled from ear to ear as she talked about all the kids that had been born so far. It was strange to me.
In the end, I guess if farming is a hobby they enjoy, more power to them. I suppose that doing what they love makes up for some of the difficulties they go through. It’s not for me, but it is for our friends. So I say, God bless them.
No related posts.
{ 0 comments… add one now }