Moving to that new life

Moving in general is no fun at all. It involves boxes, packing tape and a marker. Unfortunately when other people help the marker and labeling is forgotten and then you’re awash in a sea of loaded boxes with no idea what they contain, specifically. Obviously it’s my stuff but what particular stuff is what my curious mind always wonders. Still, I can’t really complain too much. I’m ONLY about half moved to the new life in Canuckland. 

Why? Well, I got busy with planting season and then harvest season showed up; followed by the holiday season. That and I spent most of 2016 sick as a dog. Now, I can finally breathe and think about moving the rest. It’s hard work, you know, the thinking. Some days I have to take a nap so I can finish thinking about the thinking of moving, that particular segment anyways. Then there’s all the fun little Pintrest projects that are loads more ‘fun’ than thinking of packing, what to pack, how to pack and how much of all that will fit in my truck (?).

The thinking involved for moving is akin to the thinking involved with planting. What crop? Soy beans. Okay, now the fun begins. What variety? What traits do I really want in my beans this year. Maybe I think it will be a nice, season with perfectly timed rains. And no spider mites or white mold. Debating the merits of each variety is like deciding what to pack, where it will go (in the new life) and how to get it there. 

Then nostalgia hits. Wow, those memories pop up here and there, laughter echoes in the silence of unpacked boxes and I sit there wondering ‘how do you pack up a life, that’s still being lived, into boxes and file it away?’ My old life does not seamlessly merge with the new, once you consider the change in address, I  mean, country (!), farming practices AND crops (that’s a whole new ball game and I’m now a pee wee in the majors) and friends/family are now a day’s drive away instead of ten minutes. 

How do you make the new life feel comfortable, secure and like it’s actually your own life? Well, I’ll get back to you on that someday, probably not the foreseeable future, more like a good handful of years or two. I’ve the comfortable and secure parts down but the feeling like it’s my own, real life is still up in the air.

The Anguish of Moving

How hard it is to leave one part of life behind and to really embrace the new chapter and the future? 

When I have the answer of how to close the door on the past and block open the door to the future, I will let you know. But until then, I am racking up frequent flyer miles on the rollercoaster of turmoil on my mental, emotional and physical states. 

The drive home, to either SoDak or Canuckland, is filled with regret, dread, guilt, happiness, loyalty, sadness and a few more that refuse to be identified. 

To be honest, I haven’t given up my dream of taking over the family farm even though the current outlook says that will never happen. Issues with estate planning and plans for transition between the generations so far have my farming future locked up in ‘it will never happen’ land.

I feel guilty that I’m gone, moved away and starting a new life with my amazing hubby; leaving my dad to deal with the trials of farming in general but also to wrestle with the trials of ‘farming’ with someone who thinks they’re ‘still farming.’ Unfortunately, the past becomes more of the present for my grandpa and his ‘solid, good business and farming practices’ are grounded in the reality of the past. Frustrating would be an understatement.   

Coming home to my parents’ place is truly coming home with the rolling hills calling to me and the constant wind hugging me in welcome. Stepping inside the house is another matter. I’m now a stranger to the home where, so far, I’ve lived all my life. My old room feels strange but it calls to me to embrace the comforts and security of a recent past. It signifies my life before my hubby. My home in Canuckland signifies my life now with my hubby. Each ‘life’ hits pause when I leave one to go to resume the other. I can’t bear to pack up the happy, memorable remains of my life before getting married. I’m not ready to do it. Some would say my subconscious isn’t ready to fully commit to life in Canuckland. Yes, that would be partly true. The other half I’d say is family loyalty. My dad never had a son to even think of passing the farm on to but there’s me. The guilt that I’m leaving my dad, every time (to return to Canuckland), to do all the work of farming by himself, is overwhelming. I don’t know how to NOT feel guilty. Every time I come back I work hard to do little things here and there so that maybe a few things are just a little easier for him. I work hard enough that by the time I return to Canuckland I’m tired, cranky with dealing the past’s emotions and need sleep like a bear hibernating in winter. My family in Canuckland like to tease that I’m on vacation every time I go home but in reality I’m working, visiting friends and family and running errands to keep this life in shape and ready to hit pause when I leave. 

The pain, the sadness that I feel every time I drive away and watch the farm grow tiny in my rearview mirror drowns me. I love my family and being close to them and seeing them all the time. I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d move so far away and not be able to call my grandma up and ask if she’d like to go for coffee. I indulge in this for about an hour and then I tell myself to ‘buck up, buttercup.’ After all, I am a Marine, I refuse to wallow or let anything get me down for long. Yes, you could point out that’s exactly what I’m doing right now, letting the past get me down. I’d then have to say that when there’s the finality of closure, even then, the past will always be there with a haunting echo much like ‘Taps’ drifting across the cemetery on Memorial day.

Love is a verb

Tomorrow is one of the more, er, celebrated holidays of the year. It’s Valentine’s Day. It could be said that it’s one of the more commercialized holidays exploited in the name of love. Red hearts exploding everywhere, sappy love songs on the radio, advertisements for roses by the dozen and enough chocolate candy on sale to stock a diabetic heaven. 

Hey, when I was single I didn’t mind the holiday; I lived for the extra sappy Hallmark-style made for tv movies, and chocolate, of course. Then I met my now hubby; a good, old farmer boy with a rakish smile and a rascal at heart. 

He set the bar high, let me tell you. He sent gorgeous roses in hues of the sun and a video he made just for me. In that video he climbed the highest mountain (a hill), the highest height (the bin) and sang love songs while groovin’ like the King. Yeah, I knew I was most definitely a goner by the end of that video. He even tramped out a large heart in the yard in the snow for that. 

This year I realized that I don’t want to only take on Valentine’s day (and make him feel compelled to ‘do’ something) but I want to give to him as well. Tough thing is, is he is hard to shop for AND his birthday is right around the corner as well.  Uff da. So I settled on a fancy meal and spoiled him rotten with baked delights. Cupcakes anyone? I’ve been working hard to make him feel appreciated if not a little spoiled this week. Since curling handily (or not) falls on Valentine’s this year, we’ve been celebrating early. (He did surprise with a beautiful, happy bouquet of daisies, mums, carnations mix. As well as flowers for his mom and his grandma. Aww.) Extra hugs, kisses and cuddles on the couch are hard to beat.

Challenge yourself this year and don’t only revel in the love but love on that love.

We Make Our Own Story

We recently had quite the warm spell so much so, that famers near and far were talking (jokingly, I think) about pulling out their planters for a quick pre-season tune-up. And you know when the farmer in your family is getting the itch to get into the fields so are your seed dealers. They start calling, sporadically popping by and then the texting! If they can’t get ahold of you the first two ways, your phone just about blows up as the texts stream in. 

Keep in mind that even with the unseasonable warm spell, there is still a thick, insulating blanket of snow. A neighbor had to bury a pet and used a backhoe to do the job. As it turns out the frost wasn’t as deep as it should have been or as hard. Spring should be a muddy affair and that doesn’t include the forecasted spring flooding.

I’m a farmer, I’ll admit to that. I’ll also admit to feeling a little lost yet as I zig and zag through the farming season in Canuckland and stateside. Farming practices at their core are inherently the same. But for giggles, if you move between two completely different zones it’s a whole new game. On one side I work with technology, creating variable rate planting prescriptions with a bonus layer of variable rate liquid fert in row application. Then the other side doesn’t have the need or the method of using technology at that level (excluding gps and a basic level of harvest mapping). On one hand, you have your basic crops, soy beans and corn. The other, you have a gamut of crops to choose from and to plant (or seed). You gotta love soil variations and the crops they can sustain, it keeps life interesting. 

So I’m knee-deep in trade journals, papers, magazines and anything I can get my hot little hands on to read and boost my knowledge of farming in a different zone. Of course, I can’t forget to keep up on things back home either. You could say it’s a good thing I love to read (and apparently write). What are your favorite trade journals, papers, etc. to read? My husband loves AgTalk, he could get lost there for ages.

Well, having been in Canuckland for a year now (!) spring will be interesting, both here and stateside. Hopefully by then I’ll be able to put my knowledge to use and keep learning while I get my hands dirty. And if there’s no one in the shop, maybe I’ll be able to do a little diesel mechanics as well. I’m thinking of going shopping… at an auction for a nice little diesel project to flip. What do you think? 

We make our own story and I certainly intend to make mine fascinating; you only live once and life is for every age.