Zingre is a Grade 10 student who lives on the family farm near Cecil Lake, B.C.
Some say that by growing up on a farm, I have missed out on the pleasures of life. Some say that I have been unable to experience great things because I am from the country. Some say they will be more educated, have better jobs and live a better life than I because they grew up in the suburbs.
Some say that I will never amount to anything because I am a farmer’s daughter.
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Maybe they’re right. Maybe I won’t become the prime minister of Canada and I won’t wake up every morning after an uninterrupted sleep, open the blinds and see the brick wall of a house next to me.
Maybe I won’t go to work every day in a Lexus, wearing a business suit and high heels. Maybe the only high heels I own are a pair of black shoes that go with every dress I own. Maybe I’ll become a farmer’s wife with a front porch swing and a sunrise across a wheat field with children playing in a wide open yard.
Maybe I’ll miss out on life’s most precious moments. But, then again, maybe I have already experienced some of life’s precious moments.
Farming has been instilled in me as important. I have been told time and time again that without farmers, the world would go hungry. I have been told that even though we are just “stupid farmers,” we have a steady job at the end of the day, with a roof over our heads and food on the table.
This generation takes for granted the fact that farmers always have been but may not always be around to feed the world. Farmers are looked down upon, but I can hold my head high and say that yes, I am a farmer’s daughter.
It doesn’t bother me. In fact, it makes me proud. My strength of character and strength of body don’t come from playing Nintendo and sitting on the couch. They come from good, honest hard work on the farm.
It doesn’t matter if I spend my spring break feeding cows on our farm and helping my parents calve out cows at 2 a.m. It comes naturally to me. I don’t need an all-expenses paid vacation to Hawaii or tickets to see a rock concert. To me, that’s a frivolous waste of money.
Many people say, when I tell them that I spent my spring break working with my parents, “oh, that sucks. That must have been terrible for you.”
Actually, no. Unlike so many children, I was able to spend quality time with both of my parents at the same time.
How many kids my age are awed by the birth of a newborn calf, one whose life you saved? How many kids my age have what I have? I consider myself lucky.
I don’t think of missed opportunities. I think of what I have that not many urban kids were able to experience. I remember eating meals in the field and swinging on my dad’s foot. I remember playing with baby calves that would suck on my fingers.
I remember riding a horse for the first time and being absolutely terrified that I would fall off. I remember riding a cow, which I probably shouldn’t have done.
I remember climbing trees with my older brothers and being angry because they could climb higher than I could. I remember family gatherings at my grandparents’ dairy farm and playing on bales in the hayloft with my cousins.
When I told one of my friends that I had to pull a calf from a cow in order to save both of their lives, she was incredulous: “You had to do that? That’s, like, so disgusting!” But I have assisted in the birth of many calves over the years, and never once has it been disgusting.
I don’t mind that, growing up, I only owned one Barbie doll and today don’t know where she is. However, I have treasured a cow doll made for me by my mother.
I don’t mind that I wore clothes that were passed on from older cousins rather than bought new at the store. We were being frugal and sharing, just like the Salvation Army, but without the cost.
I recognize where my independence and thirst for knowledge comes from. Even though I was the youngest of three siblings and the only girl, my dad was willing to take me along in the tractor, cutting hay, plowing fields, seeding and more, and he taught me about the machinery we were driving and the fields we were working.
I learned farm history and machinery maintenance.
In some ways, I am ahead of other teenage girls. Last summer, my knowledge was put to the test as Dad turned me loose to cut fields of fescue clippings.
Sound hard? It was. But, somehow, with what I had learned in the past and what I was learning with this new experience, I got through it. I learned that to satisfy my thirst for knowledge, I need to always be learning something new.
Some people say I have missed the great pleasures of life: white water rafting, hot air balloon rides, amusement parks and high-heeled shoes, but I beg to differ. I went on a roller coaster ride last summer, and I don’t wish to repeat the experience.
I prefer the thrill of hearing the barley kernels overflow behind me as I am combining. I prefer the feeling of pride when a hard day’s work has been put in and I have learned something new.
Some say that, as a farmer, I will never accomplish anything. I believe that I have more chance of accomplishing my dreams than those who grew up with well-to-do parents and went to a private school, because I am a farmer.
I can take pleasure in the simple things without feeling I am lacking anything. I can trust my judgment when it comes time to make crucial decisions. I can succeed, no matter what I do, because I know I can do anything.
True, I may not have had the comforts that some people cannot live without, like high speed internet or cable television, but I can look back on my childhood and know that being a farmer has shaped my life and shown me what I can do in the future.
I guess you could say it’s all a matter of perspective. For a farmer’s daughter living way out in the sticks, it’s enough.
