Sometimes I just want to be a farmer

   I grew up in Nashville Illinois which is a small town of 3000 souls. Most of the people in the town have some connection to farming either by farming or someone in their family farms.   My mother's side was almost entirely farmers.   My grandpa, Henry Vogel, was a 1st generation American (his father came over in the late 1800's) and he did quite well.  Over his years he purchased over 600 acres of land and even became the local town's (Hoffman IL) bank president.   My Uncle Carl took over the main farm and took up residence in the very same home that great-grandpa Vogel had built.   He raised his 5 kids there on the farm and currently it is being run by my cousin Donny who will probably be the last of the Vogel's to own the property.

   I am amazed at what these men have been able to do over the years.  Every building on the property has been built out of the oak trees that line the farm.  Donny has continued this practice as well by building not only a new repair shed but even his own 2 story house on top of the hill.  Of course he has had it a little easier with modern cutting machinery compared to the axes and saws used to build the original house and barn.  A lot of blood and sweat has watered the land of this farm over the years. 

   One of my most fondest memories is that 4-5 days I spent there as a 5 year-old when my parents needed to go to Cleveland to find a home (my Dad was a school teacher and was taking a new job there).   I sat on every tractor and combine on the farm and pretended to drive them.  I swung from make-shift tire-swings hanging from a large pecan tree in the yard and pretended to be Superman rescuing kittens that ran everywhere. I also remember watching my uncle driving a bulldozer to take down some fences that used to hold cows (they were in the dairy business for a period of time until it was not economical anymore).

   Later as I grew up I worked on some of these farms for money. One of the best ways to make money was to help bale hay.  I had contacts with a few farms in the area and I soon developed a reputation for being dependable (they called...I came).  I enjoyed this work immensely even though I had allergies and asthma.   I wore my dust mask and carried my inhaler where ever I went and made do.   I learned to use bailing hooks instead of my hands.  I learned how to stack bales in a staggered fashion like bricks.  I learned how to walk on a moving hay wagon while bales popped out of the baler for me to stack 5 or 6 high.  These farmers became my extended family as well (and in one case they were my extended family as their mother and my mother were 2nd cousins) and I ate lunch and dinner with them as if I was one of their own.

    Today I work in the high-tech industry as a computer engineer.   I hear people whine and complain about the most trivial problems thinking to myself  "you don't know what hard work is!"   I have more respect for farmers than any other profession on earth and at times wish I could have followed my grandpa's steps as well.   I often become depressed as I see the fruit of my labor used to allow people to:

• spy on people (where's our right to privacy?)
• steal money from their bank accounts 
• sell pornography and drugs
• send harassing messages
• destroy peoples reputations
• communicate with other criminals/terrorists in secrecy
• waste hundred of hours looking at stupid videos 
• waste thousands of hours playing violent or stupid games
• producing large quantities of audio files that barely can be called "music"
• spend more time tapping on their phones in barely legible sentences rather than talk to their parent or spouse who is sitting right in front of them

Whereas my grandpa's, uncle's and cousin's labors provided nourishment to millions of people around the world while being lambasted by the media as being stupid or boring rather than thanked.

Thank you farmers for all of your hard work!