As the Family Farm Goes...

...so goes the country.

I just finished reading a novel, In a Pickle, by Jerry Apps. It takes place in Wisconsin during 1955-56. Big ag is slowly worming its way into family farms. The ones that will let them, anyway. Not the best book I've read, but he hit on a few truths. One of the characters muses upon the differences in farming when big ag takes over:

Farming would turn from growing food to producing a product. The land would no longer be something special but just another kind of factory. Inputs and outputs. Seed, fertilizer, and water in. Corn, cucumbers, potatoes, wheat, and oats out. The factory way. Measure the inputs. Measure the outputs. Farmer as factory worker, machine operator, and technician rather than steward, custodian, and caretaker.

One of the characters is widowed and must sell off her farm. About 25 years ago, my husband and I attended one such auction. Partly I wanted to be able to legally be on a farm for a time. I was also hoping to find an inexpensive antique for our apartment. But, I was struck by the sadness of it all. A lifetime of memories stuffed in boxes and laying on tables. All for sale. I fell in love with a milking stool, but I just couldn't bring myself to buy it. What right did I have to take this stool that could tell many a story? It felt like the stealing of a memory. Listen to how the author of the book described the widow at the auction:

Iris Clayton stood alone, watching her life on the farm being sold piece by piece, animal by animal. Memories flooded over her, of milking the cows that now were numbered to be sold--cows that she knew by name, Susan and Florence, Sally and Lilly, Amanda and Polly. She knew each one, knew her personality, how she wanted to be milked, what she liked to eat, how much milk she gave. Information that no one else cared about, private information that she held and cherished. How do you sell a memory? she wondered. The tears continued down her face.

Ultimately, the book has a hopeful ending. Although the reader laments the lives ruined by corporate intrusion, the main character is able to make some changes on his farm on his own terms, and he keeps his land and continues to farm.

As I read blogs written by Christians who farm, and I seek to slowly increase our own little suburban vegetable patch, I thank God for His creation and His provision. And may He richly bless the hard work of those who continue to farm and ranch for His glory.

I Vow to Thee, My Country

British composer, Gustav Holst (1874-1934), has been on my mind this past week. He is probably best known for his orchestral composition, The Planets. Holst was one of my dad's favorite composers, due to his two Suites for band. I was privileged to play one of those this past Friday. The writing is just wonderful and it was a nice thing to do to commemorate my dad's birthday week.

I found this hymn, put to a melody from The Planets. It seemed appropriate for my past week of thinking of my dad and Holst. And, too, the words are very appropriate for James. He is the young man from Iowa who was killed in Afghanistan in 2004. His community had a motorcycle ride today to commemorate his life. They followed it with a visit to the cemetery and a chili supper. The event raises money for a scholarship fund in James's name. The words of this hymn seem appropriate for this event, as well.

(This hymn was also a favorite of Princess Diana's. It was sung at both her wedding and her funeral.)

May God continue to comfort James's family in the loss of their son, brother, uncle.


I Vow to Thee, My Country


I vow to thee, my country—all earthly things above—
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;
The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.

And there’s another country, I’ve heard of long ago—
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;
We may not count her armies, we may not see her King;
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.

Comfort

"All that the Father gives Me will come to Me, and the one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out."
John 6:37 NKJV

I read this verse this morning and found it to be a comfort for the entire day. When Dad was in ICU in his last days, I prayed for him to come to God as a child. One of the gifts God has given me is a lack of despair about Dad's soul. I pray that my dad was one of those whom the Father gave to Jesus.

Leader of the Band

Lee Cadle McMillen
April 14, 1928 - May 25, 2004

This song from Dan Fogelberg (1951-2007) is in memory of my dad, who would have been 80 years old today. Dad had many of his finest moments upon a podium.

Leader of the Band

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through
My instrument
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band
I am the living legacy
To the leader of the band.


Dear Dad,
I pray that you are in heaven, leading wonderful musicians, praising our Lord.

Creation

Over spring break, the kids and I worked on a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle, and it took us into the next week to complete it.

As I was putting it away in the box I thought of God's creation. He thought it all up. He made it out of nothing. It's 3-D (or maybe more). He did it in six days.

Our puzzle was a photograph taken by someone else, and made by someone else. It was only 2-D. And it took us longer than a week to complete.

The only thing that was similar was this: It doesn't take us humans very long to mess up either a jigsaw puzzle or God's creation.