"Washington D.C. I Know You Think It’s You But..."

Recently I saw this magazine cover posted on face book and it set me to thinking and reflecting. Perhaps the thoughts are not all that profound but just maybe it is worth it for us to remember back to the man who homesteaded the land upon which that house was built.

There were hundreds of thousands just like him, immigrants who came to this land of opportunity or perhaps it was a first generation child.  These were men who worked the land, were close to creation, and who were men of honor and integrity.   They settled and farmed the Dakotas, Wyoming, Kansas, Nebraska, on and on the list goes. 

They were from Ireland, England, Norway, Finland, Germany, Russia, and many other places.  Their names differed, their languages differed, their locations differed, their farms differed but underneath those worn out bib coveralls they were the same. 

They were part of an international brotherhood of the land, seed time and harvest, poverty and plenty.  Few ventured far but any one of them could step into another man’s boots and with little explanation work his land.

This man of the earth was most often quiet, not unfriendly, just quiet.  After all who is there to talk to riding fence, plowing, or harvesting?   When in town for supplies, talk would often turn to farming for that is what he knew best.  Then there was the concern over the weather, the price of wheat, and who was going to help the new widow the next quarter section over get in her harvest before she moved to the city.

These were those who were born, grew up, married, raised their families, saw their children grow up, and then ended their life's journey, never far from the land.  Indeed it is the likes of that man that provided the foundations for what we have today.  Sorry Washington D. C. I know you think it’s you but it is not!!  In fact you could disappear tomorrow and these are those hearty souls who would still be on the farm.  Why?  Because that is what farmers do!  In spite of what you think, it is not just farmers for there still are real people who believe in personal responsibility, their only help is down at the end of their arm, and that they are responsible for their own well being!!!

When one sees such a home, for it was a home, one should remember the man that built that house for his family, perhaps then writing to them to come from the old country.  This was the home in which he raised his family, it was on the land he worked, his children were born in that house, and lest we forget, illness and death also stopped by that home.  The difficulties of such a life were many. 

This is the man and his family who faced drought, range fires, plagues, and poor yields.  Oh and the take-over big conglomerate farms. Yes those difficulties at times outweighed the times of plenty but still he farmed on. He asked for no help except to help his neighbor for he knew that one day he would need help.  After all the only welfare that he had was that he and his fellow farmers had each other. 

Look again at the picture of the home.  That look should remind us that this weather beaten man got up before sun-up to do chores and often would work until there was no light with which to see. He took pleasure in a strait furrow that only he would see, a new-born calf, the lunch bell and time with his family, repairing his home, teaching his boys how to milk a cow, and other simple pleasures.  At the end of the day as he climbed wearily into bed it was with a sense of fulfilled accomplishment for he had done an honest days work.

He most likely was a church man so Sunday he stopped farming and went to church because it was the Lord’s day and one had to keep square accounts with the Lord.  It did not end there. This was a man who kept square accounts with other farmers, the local shop keepers, the banker, and others because they were all in this together.  When one failed, if they all did not fail, they all felt it.

He responded when there was a barn raising, the church bell rang out danger, and if someone was in need.  Yep, he will be over at the widows putting up her harvest.  Sure there was plowing to do but people needed him and he needed people.  He had his priorities right, God, family, and others.

We may feel separated from such people.  They certainly don't appear as they were in the writing of the revisionist historians.  However, we are not that far, for within one or maybe two generations there are those who homesteaded, who built homes such as this one with their bare hands, who farmed and ranched, and so much more.

It should humble us that we share life with such people as this. As well it should remind us that we do well to soldier on in the uncertainties of life which for him and his family were many!

So maybe the next time you are in a big hurry going who knows where for who knows what reason, speeding down the freeway and through life, maybe you could take one of those farm roads.  Maybe you could drive through the rolling hills, get a little dust on your shiny car, be surprised when that farmers grandson waves at you--a stranger, and maybe find one of these treasures, these monuments to a man of character.

Just maybe you could slow a bit and remember him, he is the one in faded bib coveralls and beat up hat, over there in the corner of the field bent over his now abandoned tiller. He is the one thinking, I sure hope it holds for just one more season cause I haven't quite got enough saved for a new one.  He is the one wishing and praying, Lore, sure hope I get a good yield this year this is not going to last much longer.

Oh, I know, he is not really there for he is gone but that home he built for his family and lived in, indeed it is still there, weather beaten, dilapidated, with doors stuck open, windows cracked and missing, and the porch at an odd angle.  No it will never be featured on the Washington Mall but none the less it is a monument.

So maybe you could take a minute before you go back to the freeway to go who knows where for whatever reason and think that maybe this is what life is supposed to be all about.  That empty place in your heart, maybe its in the busy pace of life that you've missed something.  Maybe you are missing what drove him--his faith, his values, his character, his integrity, etc.

So here is the question.  Do you, like that man who built that house and farmed that land go to bed at night thinking it was a good day?  At the end of the day as you climbed wearily into your comfortable adjustable bed is it with a sense of fulfilled accomplishment for having done an honest days work?  A sense of peace for having lived out faith, family, friends, and the higher values of life.   Monuments remind us of these things you know.