5 Reasons I’m Proud to be a Farmer’s Daughter

Proud to be a Farmer’s Daughter

When Loretta Lynn sings her classic song, “Coal Miner’s Daughter,” I can say unequivocally that “I’m proud to be a Farmer’s daughter.”  In today’s post, I’m sharing 5 reasons why this is so:

1.  Farmers recognize the value of hard work.

Daddy always worked two jobs for as long as I can remember and sometimes three.  He worked an off-the-farm, 40-hour-a-week job at Dempster Brothers for 29 years.  During that time he maintained a farm, raised registered beef cattle, vegetables, and the best watermelon your taste buds could delight in. 

Mom also had a full-time job and helped, along with the kids, tending the garden and canning and freezing all the delicious produce the land produced.  Green beans were a favorite and, of course, apples once the orchard began producing.

From an early age, my five siblings and I were taught to work — with no added incentive — to persuade us. The rewards were tangible: a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs, and warm heat in the winter.

That was good enough for me.

And just “showing up” to work didn’t count; working hard and never slacking was an expectation in our family. Each one of us pulled our own weight: no bribes or counts of “1-2-3” were used in our home.

As to the need for discipline, mere eye contact with Daddy’s discerning glance was sufficient warning for me.

Since farm work was inextricably linked to making a living and making sure everyone had enough to eat, Daddy’s strong work ethic has resonated with me throughout my life.

I enjoy working — always have — both on and off the job. I was also raised to believe it is our calling as Christians to “work as unto the Lord,” without griping or complaining.

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not men.”

— (Colossians 3:23, NIV)

2.  Farmers appreciate the value of struggle.

When life is too easy for us, we may not be at our personal best. Struggle and adversity can build character.

Most farmers know what it is to struggle. Daddy was no exception. He had to quit school in eighth grade to help out on his family’s farm. His only sibling was a younger sister who was allowed to remain in school and graduate.

Daddy never expressed any resentment; it was just the way life was.

In his 40s, he acquired his GED.  He didn’t need to, but I’m proud he did.

3.  Farmers take care of what is entrusted to them.

Daddy was one of the smartest people I ever knew; he possessed this innate engineering mind that allowed him to fix anything that was broken.  Bear in mind this was before the “internet.”  He made numerous farm implements out of steel and performed his own welding.  If he needed a tool or piece of equipment and couldn’t afford to buy it, he would typically make it.  Most of the time, Daddy found a way to make his “homemade” tool more efficient that what could be bought.

He was emphatic about his tools and equipment performing at peak capacity.  He also meticulously maintained equipment.  No excuses were allowed when time came for checking fluid levels, filters, oil, tire pressure, etc.

4.  Farmers treat their land and animals with respect.

I remember one day when someone chose our lower field to intentionally dump several bags of their garbage. Unfortunately for them, within one of the garbage bags was some personal identification information. I don’t know what Daddy told them when he called, but I do remember all of us watching from our living room window, as this man returned, with his kids, to pick up the garbage and haul it off our land.

Another time, an attempt was made to steal a small calf from our farm.  The would-be “wrestler” had managed to cut the fence and with calf in tow, was making his way towards his home just down the road. However, my father caught up to him before he made it home. Daddy had heard the calf’s bawling and came to check on it. 

After a long talk, the calf was returned, the fence was repaired, the man was provided food, and no one went to jail.

5. Farmers treat others the way they expect to be treated.

My father had a difficult childhood. He was raised very poor in a small, rural county in Tennessee.  He would tell stories of being made fun of for wearing the one tattered pair of bib overalls he owned day-after-day to school.  My siblings and I were told these stories as a warning: we knew if we ever made fun of someone and Daddy was told, wrath was sure to come. (In those days, if teachers reported to your parents your misbehavior, the parents believed them. You were apt to get the same punishment, or worse, when you got home).

There were bullies then — probably not much different than today — except my father was a born “fighter.”  He was tall and lean, and stronger than most boys who didn’t have to spend their evenings and Saturdays driving mules with plows up steep hillsides, often till after dark.  His strength became an advantage, and he won the respect of many who thought initially he didn’t fit in their world.

Listening to Daddy’s stories growing up, I understood that for him, fighting was a means of survival during tough times.  Those days, some painful for him to recall, built his character and gave him an empathy for people who were perceived as the “underdog” or the downtrodden.

The best illustration I can give of how my father treated others during his life is to describe the visitation service at his funeral.

Visits with the family were intended to last only a couple of hours, but instead, lines of people stood outside the funeral home for several hours just to get through the greeting line.

Many people I had never met told me about my father plowing their gardens and not charging them; his bringing bags of apples and homemade apple juice to families with children who couldn’t afford to pay for them; and visits with older people in nursing homes he met when visiting there with his own father.

Perhaps the most poignant, though, was from two young, struggling cashiers at a local gas station.

“Your daddy always treated us so well…like we were somebody,” they sobbed, as tears ran down their faces.

He made them feel important, respected, and cared for — regardless of their station in life.

That is the most important reason I am proud to be my father, the Farmer’s, daughter.