2003 Soap Box Archives

Farming 03/24/03

One of the hardest working and least appreciated segments of our society
are our farmers.

I speak from experience, limited experience admittedly, as I choose the
fiddle instead of the plow, but nevertheless I’ve had a taste of it.

Farming is the chanciest, most aggravating way to make a living, but
still the most rewarding and wonderful way of life.

Farmers are at the mercy of the weather, international markets
and the whims of a body of politicians in Washington who know about as
much about farming as a hog knows about an airplane.

I remember getting up at two o'clock in the morning to get the work done
on my uncle’s tobacco farm in North Carolina. It was just something
that had to be done and if anybody realizes the urgency of getting
something done on time it’s a farmer.

My grandfather raised nine children on a small farm without electricity
or running water.

They raised a lot of their own food, canning vegetables and salting down
pork. They had corn ground into meal and a cow supplied milk and
butter.

There was a code of responsibility on a farm. Everybody had to pull
their own weight and if you messed up, which I did quite often, it was
evident to one and all.

Our farmers are stout hearted individuals. The uncertainty of the
profession would completely unnerve lesser men.

There are years of not enough rain, too much rain, drought and
cloudburst and it seems that every bug type critter known to man think
that they have a right to part of the crop.

Farming is a sunup till sundown proposition, day in, day out, year in
and year out.

Farmers have no paid vacations, no unions, no company retirement plans
and no golden parachutes.

One of the saddest things happening in farming today is the
disappearance of the family farm. That’s the life I remember and
cherish.
I remember a time when we worked hard five and a half days a week, but
at twelve o'clock on Saturday we headed for town, along with ninety
percent of the other farm families in Bladen County, North Carolina.

Saturday was a day for movies and chocolate sodas, for grocery shopping
and socializing. Just about the biggest event in a country boy’s life.

The streets of Elizabethtown, North Carolina would be jammed with cars
and pickup trucks and the sidewalks were jammed with people.

The barber shop was always full and you had to wait your turn to get a
haircut, which I only did when parentally threatened.

We went to Sunday school on Sunday, and Sunday dinner, which is the mid
day meal in North Carolina, was fried chicken, the best you ever put in
your mouth.

Some of the best meals I ever remember having were at my Aunt Lois’
table, good, hearty fare and plenty of it with homemade biscuits and
fresh country butter.

In those days I never knew anybody who didn’t believe in God. Who
didn’t respect the flag.

The boys and girls raised on those family farms had morals, a sense of
responsibility and a dedicated work ethic.

Some went on to college and became doctors, lawyers and engineers.
Some fought our wars and manned our assembly lines.

But a few went back to the farm, back to a life of hard work and
uncertainty. But back to a life of being your own boss, setting your
own pace and seeing more sunrises in a year than most people see in a
lifetime.

Back to raising respectful, God fearing children. Back to the land.
I salute you, all of you who till the land. It is an honorable
profession, a truly honorable profession.

Pray for our troops.

What do you think?

God Bless America

Charlie Daniels

 

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