At 8pm in the pumpkin rows, I told Carston summer break was made for farm kids. He had a better argument — and his mom took his side. Two weeks later, he made my case for me. by Chad
It’s 8pm, shadows getting long, it’s the beginning of June. Warm enough to break a sweat, and enough on my plate to add a layer of intensity. Jeana, Carston and I are laying out the final rows of pumpkins. All I can think is — I’m tired and I’ve got a lot to do. Not the “best” state of mind, admittedly. But it got me thinking — how will we get “all” the things done?
Then I busted out — “Hey, Carston, you know summer break was built for farm kids? Maybe you ought to work some 12-14 hour days this summer?” His reaction wasn’t what I was expecting. “Dad — I’m not so sure about that. I could just go get a job in town and get paid more to work less.” Then Jeana chimed in — “Chad. I’m not so sure about that either.” I suddenly realize… I’ve been outvoted.
All while we finish our final few rows.
This took me back to a childhood memory. I grew up part of the time in Milton, WA (remember, I lived in 31 houses by 18). Some of my good childhood friends lived near the school, and I’d spend lots of time there. As we got older, I remember one of my friends going off for the summer to work on his uncle’s farm in Montana. He’d come back with stories of 12+ hour days, 6 days a week, a pocket full of cash. When I asked him what he did, he’d describe moving hand lines, weeding, driving tractor — and the occasional slalom ski on the local river. All of it was foreign to me, but it painted part of my picture, fueling a desire to someday own my own “hand lines.” (Irrigation pipes, moved around by hand.)
12-hour days, 72-hour weeks — wow. My eyes got big and I was a bit jealous. A farm and cash.
Carston wasn’t wrong. There may be places that pay more. But that’s not why he or the other boys are here. It wasn’t just the cash my friend earned in Montana — it was sensing his pride in being part of something magical.
Here’s the part I don’t always say out loud: I’ve got a full-time job. So when we’re laying pumpkins at 8pm, it’s because the day already had a day in it. That’s why the shadows were long. That’s why I was tired before Carston ever opened his mouth.
Well, about two weeks later, he comes into the house and asks his mom. “Mom, guess how many hours I worked today?” Jeana doesn’t play along. “No — guess, Mom.” She says, “6.” Carston proudly replies, “10.5.” He’s got an agreement to work the summer — but nobody asked him to go that long. He tracks his hours. And a 10.5-hour day? That was all him.
I can’t fully explain what a moment like that feels like. I always believed this would be a good way for us to live. I could picture it. But picturing it and standing in the dust watching it actually happen are two different things. When it lands, there’s a strength you can feel — like the reality finally caught up to the idea.
I’ve written before about what these boys get out of farm work – it’s not the money.
This farm gives us all purpose.\
Cheers!
