I have always wanted to be a farmer
Ever took a handful of dirt in your fist and let it slip down your fingers while deep breaths of the crisp morning air are waking your body up? Ever had freshly laid eggs sunny side up on your porch, while watching the sun rise in the sky? If you have, you’ll know why I’ve always wanted to be a farmer.
When I was a boy, I got to spend summer vacations with my grandparents, running around their farm, bouncing on bales of hay, chasing chickens and trying to ride grandpa’s pigs when no one was looking. My grandpa was bringing me along to help with farm work. He made me wooden toy tools and I got to carry them around, looking all serious, while he tended the crops. In the evenings we would all sit down for a big dinner grandma made. Days were flying by and in that time I discovered what genuine happiness felt like.
When summers would come to an end, I’d get back to my parents flat and continue with town life. Farm summers stopped when I got into high school, but my fascination with farm life was far from over.
After college I got a desk job. Doing the same stuff every day was wearing me down. At moments when workload was low, I’d catch myself looking at the farm fields desktop theme on my computer. My grandparents passed away in the meantime and the farm was now empty and still in good shape. One Friday afternoon something snapped in my mind after my boss threw a fresh bunch of paperwork on my desk and winked at me suggesting I got the prize of another overtime. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I wanted to be what I’ve always wanted to be – a farmer.
But how? What would it look like? If I were to be a farmer, what would be my goals? Where would I start?
An idea was growing in my mind, driven by a sincere wish to spend my time doing what I love, not what other people told me I should. I’d get out of the stress of urban life and surround myself with peace and quiet. Instead of chewing on burgers and fries on the go, pushing through lack of sleep, I would get to watch my food grow beside me and prepare it as I like it, organic and fresh.
City lives are stress factories, and stress is a silent killer, I thought to myself. Farms require physical work and keep you active. They are like a daylong workout session, only more fun. That’s why farmers are more fit and far healthier than the city folk.
My first goal would be to get some live stock. Fill the hen house with chickens. Fresh eggs every day, and the priceless sensation of watching chickens run around and play. I’d get some baby pigs, maybe even a few cows to see what opportunities does the milk market offer. Fields on my grandpa’s farm stretch as far as the eye can see. A good farmer would fill them up with crops, sit back after a day of hard work and watch them grow.
Instead of alarm, I’d be waking up with the sounds of birds singing and roosters crowing. I’d get to throw some grain to my chickens and feed all the animals before I sit down for healthy breakfast. My grandpa’s tools are still in place, and I’d put them to use growing corn, wheat and vegetables. In the evening, I’d milk my cows and sit on the porch. Heck, if I’d get lonely, I could even talk to the cows. It can’t be too hard to moo back at them.
All of that is only a part of it. Farms give gifts that are impossible to get in the city. Big blue butterflies flying around you, the intense sent of wet dirt after rain, wild flowers blooming, a swarm of fireflies sprinkling your evening with star-like dots of light. And, most of all, the feeling of spending your good years in perfect freedom.
The decision was made. My goal set. I took the bunch of papers from my desk, brought them over to my bosses’ office. Threw them down, winked at him and said: “Not this time, cowboy! I’m going home!”