Harelkin Bishop is the author of the recently released book Seeds of Hope: A Prairie Story. She lives in Saskatoon.
I am a city person, born and bred.
Having spent the first 40-odd years of my life in the relative convenience and comfort of the city, I had no real knowledge of the farm and farming. I was educated enough to know that eggs came from chickens and milk from a cow, that wheat grew in fields and was made into bread; but only because I had read about it in books when I was young.
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I had never been on a farm until about five years ago, when I was invited out to harvest. That invitation changed my life.
As well, in the last few years, I have had the great good fortune to be adopted into a farming family, and they have taken it upon themselves to educate me in the ways of farming.
They let me spend weekends with them, tagging along everywhere, getting in the way, asking an endless stream of questions and trying almost any job. I am a newbie at farming and I love it.
My city friends are sure I’m going through a mid-life crisis. They do not understand my sudden infatuation with farming.
They shake their heads at me and laugh to one another that at least I am not having indiscriminate sex with strangers, popping prescription meds or binge drinking.
Farming is safe, they say. A safe but unusual display of 40ish second-childhood behaviour, now that my two children are grown and gone.
It’s along the same lines as trading in my tame little Mazda for a hot sports car or dyeing my mousey-brown hair platinum blonde or pink.
My city friends are patiently indulging me in my new pastime, waiting for me to grow up again and return to my former self. They are sure that I’ve gone over the edge or gone to the dark side when, in reality, I’ve only gone to the farm.
I wonder, too, what my farming family and friends think of this city gal gaining a sudden interest in farming. They have each asked me, in their own way, and I have stumbled over my reply, chattering about things like wide open spaces, the immense sky and the connection I feel to the land and the people.
All of this is true. I fill a big void inside my soul each time I drive out of the city, and time seems to stand still for me.
Weekends last forever when I am farming. When I return to the city Sunday night, it feels as if an eternity has passed, and I feel like a stranger. I think this is akin to finding my bliss and living it.
Mostly though, I feel a huge bond, admiration and respect for my farming family.
I admire their tenacious nature to try and try again, no matter the setbacks they encounter. I admire their work ethic during harvest as they strive to get the crops off the field in time. Do they ever sleep?
I admire their capacity to work as a team to get the job done, and I long to be part of that team; to have that commitment and dedication to the job. And no matter what happens – broken down combines or rain – someone will find the humour in every situation.
We laugh a lot, and I can’t help wondering if the pioneers and homesteaders coped by using humour too.
These are the things that keep me coming back to the farm.
So, my city friends will have to wait, shaking their heads, their expressions puzzled, while I continue to find my joy on the farm.
