RETIRED ON THE FARM

We still occasionally hear from Congo, but since we have been retired for over 15 years many of those with whom we worked are no longer living. The letter from Charlie and the e-mail from Ubechen were gracious expressions of thanks for the small gifts we sent to those with whom we had worked more than 20 years ago. They shared news, some very sad, and some encouraging.

I recently shared a little about retirement in Zaire by telling you Ebeli’s story. He retired but received no benefits from the SNSS, the Society National de Security Social. After serving several years at RVA in Kenya, we retired in order to start a new venture to place workers in North Africa with a tour business. Being an active member of a non-profit organization and starting an LLC to make a profit, just doesn’t fit the IRS regulations, so we retired from AIM. The US Social Security Administration pays benefits and the IRS freely taxes those, plus any profits realized by the LLC, so, all is legal.

The IRS has examined non-profit organizations and revised their regulations a number of times. Back in the 1960s when we first went to Africa, missionaries were to take a scheduled furlough after every four or five years of foreign service. Now the sending organizations are required to show much more control over their members and the return to the home country is now called, “a home assignment”. Faith Missions is a less used term now, but back then seeking a job to help earn what was needed to return to Africa was totally acceptable.

My job during our first furlough didn’t earn much, but it was what God supplied. Here is what happened.

We were in Africa about 7,000 miles away at the time, so knew nothing about it. I didn’t know that I would get Eric’s job and have my first experience as a farmer. Can a farmer function on just one foot?

First, I need to tell you a little about woodchucks. Some people call them groundhogs, and the problem is that groundhogs live in the ground.

The woodchucks find that farmers are very helpful in providing a home and good food. They drive back and forth over the land with their big tractors. The tractors are noisy and smelly but after they dig up the ground it becomes softer, with very long furrows from the woods to the fence line, but it makes it more difficult for the woodchucks. The old trails the woodchucks used are gone. There is no grass or clover to eat there anymore.

The tractor comes again and the noise and smell is about the same but in the end the tractor leaves and all is quiet. The land is now smooth and very soft. The old holes the woodchucks had lived in are all leveled out and gone.

In a few days the tractor is back making the same noise and smelling just the same. The ground is still smooth and there is another strange smell as well, the smell of oat and alfalfa seed left in the ground as the tractor goes by. The woodchucks are no longer afraid of the tractor. They come out to explore the ground and the new smells.

The weeks go by and the soft flat field is a perfect place to live. The oats have grown and some very sweet leaves are found on the alfalfa plants growing in the shade of the oats. It is so very easy to dig new holes in the soft ground that the woodchucks soon have new holes and new homes. Their local relatives come to join them, digging in and pushing up hills of dirt and rock as observation posts to watch for enemies and invaders. They also provide an emergency exit to their home.

The tractor comes back again with a new sound added to the familiar sound and smell of the tractor. The high whirring sound becomes familiar too as the tractor goes round and round the field. When all is quiet the woodchucks push up out of the ground and find the oats gone, and their observation mounds have been leveled by the flail chopper.

The farmer has harvested the oats as green chop, but is not happy with having dulled his flail chopper blades on the woodchuck’s lookout mounds, and not happy with the large woodchuck holes. One can break an axle or tip over a heavily loaded hay wagon if a front wheel drops in one of those holes. He plans to later harvest hay from the field.

Eric knew the woodchucks were no longer afraid of the 730 Case tractor, as he had seen them many times when driving in the fields. Though he had shot many woodchucks, some were too vigilant and, with a loud chirping alarm, fled whenever they saw him.

One day, Eric was out to spread manure on that field after the second cutting of hay had been harvested. He took his 357 magnum pistol with him, just in case he got a chance to shoot a woodchuck. His pistol was loaded with soft nose, hollow point, 158 grain bullets. He shot none that day, but he did shoot his foot.

After backing the spreader into its parking place at the end of the barn, as he was dismounting from the tractor, he slipped and fell, landing hard on the manure splattered ground. There was an explosion beneath him, the pistol discharged, and the bullet went through his leather work boots, then his ankle, and lodged in the sole of his right foot.

That is how I got his job, my first experience at farming. I received $125 a week. The farmer who shot his foot was Ellen’s older brother, Eric.

The employer was Ellen’s dad. The hours were all day, every day, except Sundays. Then, we got up at four instead of five, so we could finish milking in time to clean up for Sunday School and church. I walked to work. We lived in a house we bought with cash. It was 45 feet long and 12 feet wide. My wage included utilities. Our home was a house trailer annex, in the back yard of the farmhouse.

The Holsteins dictated the schedule, not a time-clock. The season and the weather set our priorities for each day. Ellen’s younger brother, Paul, summarized farming as “moving piles” and her Dad said, “Around here it is produce, – or else”.

It was a family farm in Upstate New York that only worked if the family was fully involved and what was produced paid for all that was needed. The eldest son had just shot himself in the foot. The eldest daughter was shortly to return from Zaire with her husband who had no experience in farming. The next son was away in college. Paul was in his last years of high school, an excellent farmer, but planning soon to be married and enlist in the navy to start life on his own. The second daughter, also in high school, was looking forward to leaving the farm. The last son was much younger, still in middle school, and slowly learning to work and be useful. The family was leaving the farm.

When Ellen’s parents first moved to New York the plan was to develop a herd of Angus beef cattle. The chicken farm in Massachusetts, with only 10,000 birds, was too small an operation to produce enough for the family. Selling off plots of land to pay for his children’s schooling only reduced the size of the farm. The New York regulations and taxes were then seen to be much less of a burden, so they carefully selected the place, where we now live, to start again with beef cattle.

Using his largest stake body farm truck, Ellen’s father, Lawrence, brought his existing herd of Angus up to his new farm, a truckload at a time. With hand tools the three story henhouse was dismantled and the lumber hauled up to New York. The entire family was involved as the farm in Massachusetts was prepared for the real estate market. It was finally sold and what was realized was immediately invested in the New York venture.

The land was fenced, the Angus reproduced, hay was harvested, stored, and fed through the winter. The herd was built up and thrived in their new home. The calves grew and finally the beef that had been grown on the farm was taken to the market. But, the debts mounted more quickly, and the farm hadn’t produced enough. Something had to change. Ellen’s mom began working in housekeeping at Bassett Hospital to earn what was needed to feed the family.

Most of the other family farms in the area raised Holsteins and sold milk, picked up by tanker trucks and taken to the city. Eric loved farm work, even plowing fields late into the night when the weather was perfect and the land just right. He promised to work with his dad seven years to convert to a dairy farm. The changeover was underway when he shot himself in the foot.

Eric was in the hospital with the bullet still in his foot. The wound was highly contaminated since the bullet had passed through manure covered boots. The smell of the infection warned of the serious nature of the wound. It was hard to understand why the bullet was still in his foot, but it must have taken considerable effort to clean the area.

Ellen and I were expecting our third child when we returned from Zaire on our first furlough. Setting up the old house trailer for us to live in was somehow accomplished at the same time as farm chores and hay harvesting, while Ellen and her mom visited Eric. The bullet had been removed, but once the infected flesh was cut away the badly damaged ankle had a gaping cavity that would take weeks to heal. Since Ellen was trained as a nurse, Eric was allowed to return home where she daily cleansed the cavity and repacked it with sterile pads. New flesh gradually grew in to replace what had been torn by the bullet, or cut away by the surgeons. Of course Eric couldn’t drive a tractor so I began learning on a small one.

The hay Ellen’s dad had cut was dry enough to be raked so I was given the Allis Chalmers CA tractor. I pulled the rake around and around to roll up six windrows, and then began going back and forth the length of the field. That second cutting of hay was much better hay than the first cutting, but not as thick, so the windrows had to be doubled up for the baler. The ancient tractor had a hand clutch, and worn brakes, so I was cautioned to shift into a low gear and to use engine braking when returning down the hill. Unfortunately, the rear wheels lost traction and began spinning in opposite directions. Engine breaking was gone and I was accelerating rapidly as I careened downward. The steering worked. The tractor didn’t roll over, and was still on its wheels, when the ground leveled out and I stopped. Whew!

Paul had said that farming was “moving piles” and of course the baled hay became a pile in the wagon, was next was stacked into the barn, to eventually be placed in front of the cows. The piles of manure accumulated in the gutter behind the cows. Since the plan was to extend the barn, the gutter cleaner was only a dream so the gutters were shoveled out by hand. With the Case 730, Ellen’s dad would back the manure spreader down the long center walkway between the gutters for us to fill every other day. I’m glad I wasn’t asked to drive that tractor and extremely heavy wagon, since I had a lot to learn. I didn’t mind, however, shoveling in the tons of manure to fill the spreader. Ellen’s dad remarked once that there was a cloud of steam surrounding me as we worked together filling the spreader on a very cold day. It was just part of the everyday farm chores and I was part of the family farm. I had married his daughter.

Eric’s foot healed slowly, and eventually he was able to walk with crutches. The doctors had a special boot made, to provide the necessary ankle support, so he could get around without crutches. He was stubborn, and refused to believe the doctor, when he was told that he would never be able to walk properly again.

After he left the farm he moved to Arizona. He had thrown away the boot with the special hinged support to help him walk. He took to leading tours down into the Grand Canyon and out the other side. He planned to walk a section of the Pacific Crest Trail.

I eventually bought part of the family farm, including the house in which Eric and his family lived while he was working with his dad.

I have come to enjoy caring for the animals we have accumulated, some teaching us very basic lessons about our relationship with God.