Rural life. Where else but the Future Farmers of America would you find a fundraiser where the kids are sold as “slaves” for a day?

I went to my first “slave” auction last year. The auctioneer has a great time sort of messing with the kids, in a positive way, of course. He’ll ask the boys if they can sew as their talent for the auction. Some say, “Heck yes!” Messing with him back.

Some of the kids are clearly “bought” by grandparents or parents, and one suspects that they don’t slave at all. However, my husband buys the “slaves,” and I’ll say they definitely work around here!

One young man, who was on the football team, was out here digging post-holes by hand. I asked him which was harder, farming or football, and without any hesitation, he said “farming!” Many of the members of FFA aren’t farmers at all. It seems that FFA is part of the social fabric of the local high school, where Ag classes are offered. When we moved here, and my city son was adapting to the farm, I tried to tell him that being able to drive a tractor would be a real plus, he thought it wouldn’t be so unique. But it is, even in this rural area. However, we have several relatives who are farmers extraordinaire, and you can hear the kids talking about driving the hay wagons, or taking care of hogs or cattle for 4-H or FFA projects, so you get all kinds of kids.

There’s a young woman here today who came prepared with work boots and gloves. Good for her. Once in a while, a kid comes without any gloves. The young woman is, as we speak, out putting up fence. She relayed to me that she told her father she’d be fencing, he said “Does the farmer have any idea you don’t know how to fence?” She said no, but she was game to learn. She came back, reporting excitedly that she got to drive the skid loader. I didn’t have the heart to tell her my 12-year-old granddaughter drives the skid loader.

We’ve had kids come and plant wind-breaks, build the chicken coop, and do various farm chores like the fencing. With rare exceptions, they are willing to work, and cooperative.

I think the slave auction fundraiser goes way back. I’ll have to ask my husband, who was president of the FFA in 1966. What is amazing is that the kids continue to agree to this fundraising. Isn’t rural life wonderful?

My situation here may be a bit different than others who start their new lives in the country. But it is still illustrative of another aspect of country life.

You see, I came here to marry a farmer. We met on line at Catholic Match. That is a story for another day. What I’m talking about today is that I came as part of an instant community. He has something like 95 first cousins, many of whom are still in this area. We live in his ancestral home, a century farm. That means that there have been Eberts in this home for more than 100 years. We go to the same Church where he was baptized.

When my son and I lived in Baltimore, I kept my Wyoming plates on the car as long as possible. I figured I had the only Wyoming plate on the eastern seaboard. Same thing when I moved to New Jersey, I kept the Maryland plate as long as possible. I didn’t mind standing out a bit.

When we moved here, I ditched the New Jersey plate within the first month. Here, I really didn’t want to stand out. Why?

Well, it’s one thing to be a little different in a huge community. It is quite another to be different in a small town. I’m always amazed that people think they can “hide out” in a small town. Really. Not a good idea. Now, this has some very positive aspects, don’t get me wrong (a popular saying around here). For example, people come down the lane to tell us that his brother’s cows are out, and there’s no one home at his brother’s place. So, we go over and get the cows back in and all is well.

When I first got here, once in a while someone would meet me and say something along the lines of “Oh, I heard about you.” I never knew what to say to that, so I never inquired exactly what they had heard. I think I assumed they wouldn’t have mentioned it if it was bad.

Now, if you’re the typical person moving into the country for the first time, the chances are you’re purchasing an existing home, or perhaps building one for yourself. Your situation will be different, but not markedly. Be guaranteed that someone is keeping an eye out.

I attended a meeting one time geared for people who are new to the country. There was a presentation on rural law that was most illuminating, with information on rural leases, etc. I was talking to a woman who was new to country living. She said the first thing she realized was that it wasn’t a “Better Homes and Gardens” type life. Somehow she thought there would be no problems with the well, or her sheep would just naturally like her. She was also surprised at the way the weather changed her plans. But the main thing she advised was to get to know the local people. She did so by hanging out at the diner for breakfast, she said. She was a friendly, outgoing person, so this worked well for her. Around here, you could also go to the local high school basketball games, and introduce yourself. I’ll bet at least one person will say: “That’s you on the old (fill in the blank) place?” If your home is at all visible from a major road, it will be followed by something like, “Saw you’re putting up new fence.” Rural people value those who make improvements.

Now your new neighbors won’t be gossipy and interfering, most likely. They will be interested and concerned. You’ll see the difference the first time your car is stuck in a blizzard and someone stops to help, or when you have cattle out and neighbors are helpful. Even if they are neighbors from the next quarter section over.  

This is an essay I wrote just after coming to the farm:

Sitting on the western-facing porch at the end of a fruitful day, I am seized by the desire to explain what is like to be here. I don't know if I can adequately describe the mixture of intense work and peace. Oh, it is 6 p.m. and I can hear the bells from the St. Joseph Church in Flush, nearly 2 miles away, ringing as they do every day at 6 a.m., 6 p.m. and noon. It is remarkable to me that I can hear the bells from that far away, and we are just off of a major north-south road. Rush hour in the morning consists of about a half hour of a car every 3 minutes or so, instead of now, a car goes by about every 5 to 6 minutes, and later, once an hour.

So, there's a lot of silence. Broken by the sound of ... the boy and the dog, playing; birds singing; frogs beginning to sound out. A hummingbird buzzes by; flies are pretty much everywhere and the occasional biting fly adds some adventure to weeding the garden.

Then, a tractor goes by, with a farmer out industriously farming. Wheat harvest is underway in earnest, and the men are working as soon as it is dry enough to get into the fields and the wheat is dry enough to be harvested. It makes for a long day for the men, and I see the frustration of being at the mercy of the weather, and trying to make the right decision about the timing of tasks.

I've been tasked with little things, mainly that require driving, which Paul cannot do yet. We won't talk about the first time I mis-understood the nature of my task, and left my husband in the quarry; and the next time, when I got turned around heading for a field that I'd never been to before, but I did finally find him. Cell phone coverage is pretty spotty, but I did manage to hear "You can't miss me, I'm standing in the middle of the road." He was right.

Now, I see a woman driving a truck down the road with an earnest look on her face, and I wonder what task she's been sent on.

This leads me to the rather unexpected and public nature of the farmyard. I look out, there's someone driving through. Oh, those are the turkey hunters, I heard in an earlier visit; now, it's someone to look at the beans, or my husband is sharing a piece of farm equipment with a neighbor. They just pull in, hook on and leave. Or the gravel truck, someone drives in, the car disgorges a passenger, who hopes in the gravel truck and drives off. OK. Or, people think nothing of driving by, knocking and saying "I heard I can buy a bale of straw here." Yup. I go out, collect their $3, they load the straw and off they go. This was most confusing to me initially. Am I expected to go out if someone drives up like I would if someone was wandering around my yard in the city? I decided no, particularly early in the a.m. Now, I only go if they knock. I guess a "real" farm girl would know this stuff.

Maybe there is a book in this for me "A Real Farm Girl Would Know This Stuff."

… And I’m still getting the hang of it!