Wisgansin
Today I had the opportunity to speak with my friend, Arthur, who is in the midst of his first trip to Madison, Wisconsin, to visit one of our fellow Ithaca College friends. He insists on referring to the state as “Wisgansin” to poke fun of the native accent, but admitted that it’s pretty cool…meaning both chilly and awesome (naturally). This is ultimate praise coming from a New Jerseyan.
We ended up talking about work, jobs and the future because he’s about to take a new position, and I thought you all might enjoy an excerpt:
Arthur: Shucks that you love Minnesota so much.
You and David could go find jobs in Europe or something.
Me: Ehhhh that’s not my thing.
Travel, of course. But I want to live near family.
Especially since my family is pretty darn awesome!
Arthur: Haha, yeah I got as much.
You should all relocate when they retire.
Me: Retire? Farmers never retire.
Obviously you haven’t been in the Midwest long enough.
My grandfather “retired” and moved to town when I was in the single digits of my youth, but he continued help with odd jobs on the farm for many, many years.
I also used to love when two “retired” farmers would come into Scofield’s pharmacy at the same time and talk with urgency about grain prices, the weather, how much beef calves were selling for, and the rising price of equipment even though none of these factors actually had an impact on their everyday lives anymore. It was a matter of principle to stay informed.
My mom hauls my dad’s old Progressive Farmer, Farm and Ranch, and Farm Journal magazines with her to work because the “retired” farmers who live in the nursing home enjoy reading them.
I feel like I’ve made my point here. Saying a farmer “retires” is just like saying someone stops being a parent simply because their child grows up. It’s not gonna happen, people.
