The role of a farm woman

I use to watch this one farm mom, not obsessively but from the sidelines, stalker-like on social media, because everyone is honest online. I’d see her treating sick cows, snapping family photos in the parlor with a smiling husband AND kids. She was the farm wife I needed to become. She had her shit together and I couldn’t remember if I dressed my preschooler or if I let her dress herself… A few years later I overheard a conversation involving my “farm wife idol” and she was explaining how she doesn’t milk the cows.

Not a big deal  E X C E P T  that I realized this vision of a person I was comparing myself to wasn’t necessarily who she was. I’d assumed so much and beat myself down for not measuring up. I needed to stay in my own lane, I needed to focus on the farm woman I am.

I’m the kind of farm girl that sees a green tractor without a cab, not a JD4020.

I’m the kind of farmer that says we have a cool glass jar the milk goes through before it pumps into the tank, not a glass receiving jar.

I’m the kind of farm mom that makes hamburger helper and uses Alfredo sauce from a jar. And I like it.

I’m the kind of farmer who names her cows and their calves and can tell you their dams and grand-dams, but I’ve got no clue what they score on a body chart. I have more selfies on my phone with cows than kids. And when the laundry is piled high on the couch, I sit outside-I don’t need to surround myself with that kind of negativity.

I like cows more than people, drink wine from the bottle, and you can bet your backside I wished for a pair of new coveralls the night I blew out my birthday candle.

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I’m the kind of farm wife who yells at her farmer when he is being a jerk and yells at her kids when they won’t listen. I don’t keep up on the laundry, I don’t mop or clean windows or bake pies.

I’m the kind of farm wife who will tell her husband to take a day off because he clearly needs it. I will schedule myself more days than I can handle and eventually hit a wall and break down.

I’m the kind of farm girl who drags her feet on Saturday morning chores because it’s quiet in the barn and kid free, as soon as I step inside the house the real work begins.

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I may not be the kind of farm wife he wanted and I may not be the kind of farm woman I expected myself to be. But that’s fine!

The role of a farm wife doesn’t come with a guide; it doesn’t really matter if you can back up a chopper box and wagon or if you run to the parts store, if you deliver calves or deliver dinner to the field. Your role, regardless of what it includes, makes the farm run smoother. Farm women are pretty darn awesome, all in their own way.

Xo, Nicole

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