I grew up on my family’s farm, which was homesteaded in 1910 by my great-grandfather. Cattle and grain farming was the main source of income for all generations who grew up there, including myself. Although my dad quit grain farming many years ago, I still have memories of getting the cultivator shovels switched out in the spring months and watching the precision and communication between my parents as they worked together combining and taking a load on the go.
With the cattle, it was all hands on deck in the spring and fall. When we were younger, it was somewhat of a stressful day for the animals and the humans. Words we usually never heard from Dad became frequent in his vocabulary, usually directed at the bone-headed old cow that knew what we were doing. As we grew, we all learned our roles in the process and eventually the foul language seemed to simmer down a bit.
I was a beef member of the 4-H club and fell in love with working with the beasts and being on the farm in general. I remember having a discussion years ago with some co-workers while working in Regina, about a smell that we miss that reminds of home. I proudly announced that I missed the smell of cow manure, which made each one of them cringe.
Once I moved back to the area, I found myself out in the barnyard once again. Over the years, the herd has been cut back to only a dozen animals, which can be easily managed by me and Dad. I am not sure why, but I find being in the barnyard to be such a peaceful place. The cows are quiet animals to begin with, along with carefree attitudes and just living life one day at a time, they tend to remove all my stresses and worries.
One year I wanted to surprise Dad with a clean barn for Father’s Day as my kids were gone that weekend. As I was working away, I found myself thinking about all sorts of things like what it means to be a father and what makes a good father. I was going down my rabbit hole without even realizing it. I was philosophizing with my own mind, talking to myself about different ideas and thoughts.
Fast-forward to this summer. I was unable to go camping this year, so I was asked to check on the cows down in the pasture every few days, ensuring they had ample water for the next few days. As the pump did its job, I would open the tailgate of my truck, settle in for the hour and a bit and watch the cows come and go. They would come check out the vehicle, watching me the whole time, just to make sure I wasn’t a threat. I would talk to them, chuckling at the funny faces the bull would make and making funny videos with voiceovers of some of the animals. But I would mostly think.
So now that I have been working with the Press-Herald for the past three months, I felt it was time to give my editorials a name. My predecessors had given their editorials a fun name, like Phippen Philosophy. So, when I was thinking about this, I reflected on where I felt the most at home, where I would do some of my best thinking. Therefore, I would like to welcome all my readers to my editorial, Thoughts from the Barnyard.
