God Made a Farmer, Then He Made My Dad


I’m sure it will come as no surprise that my favorite Super Bowl commercial was the one created by Chrysler for Ram trucks, “So God Made a Farmer”. 

I’ve watched the commercial, narrated by Paul Harvey, on You Tube several times since the Super Bowl airing and still can’t get through it with dry eyes.  It reminds me of my father, who was a farmer and a teacher.  But honestly the teaching was mostly a way to support his farming habit. Dad use to say that if he had a million dollars he’d farm until it was gone.

“So God Made a Farmer” could have been written specifically for my father, and every other hard working farmer out there.  For me it was particularly heartwarming because it reminded me of my father’s hands.  They were the hands of a workman, a woodworker, a craftsman, a mechanic and a farmer.  They were strong with visible dings, nicks, and scars that served as reminders of long days filled with hard work.  Dad’s hands were his most reliable tool. 

As a young girl, I watched my Dad’s hands clean a plow, pull a calf, hammer numerous nails flawlessly and fix too many to count farm implements.  Dad’s hands were strong, but also gentle.  They could tighten the smallest nut on the screw that held the large front wheel of my tricycle together and pick up a newborn kitten and pet it until you could hear its contented purr clear across the room.   

I can still recall the feeling of safety that my father’s hand offered as he steadied me, then gave me a quick little push sending me off for my first spin on my blue Huffy bike after the training wheels were removed.  Dad’s hands taught me to catch and throw.  They
taught me how to drive a car, a wheat truck and a tractor without turning any of them into implements of destruction.  Dad’s hands were always there to help steady me and to offer me help in getting back up whenever I fell. 

Dad passed away in December 2002 and I’ve missed him every day since.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him, especially since I moved back to this farm.  He is in every nail in this house that he built, and every inch of soil and blade of grass that makes up this place.

2/8/2013 1:16:35 AM

Lou Ann, I have those memories about my Dad as well. He was a self taught truck mechanic by trade but his real love was always the farm. My life started on the farm and some type of farm growing continued even when we lived in the city. My last two years before I left for college were spent back on the farm. I always had in mind to become a farmer but the love of technology stole that dream away until retirement. Now just as Dad did, I am back to Urban farming so to speak. Have a great Dad memory day.

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