| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 24, 2013 | Chapters: |
...16 17 -18- 19... 
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The advantages and disadvantages of a place in the country
A chapter in the book Chasing the Elusive Dream
Green Acres
by BethShelby
.jfif)
There is an old adage which goes something like, "You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy." That saying applied to my husband. Despite the fact his mother insisted her children not grow up to be farmers, the lure of open spaces and woodlands is so firmly a part of who they are it can't be easily eradicated. City living is too confining.
Both Evan and I had rural roots. The Shelby family had been landowners ever since they immigrated from Wales in the 1700's. Having grown up in the country, hunting, fishing and farming were ways of life for Evan until he graduated from high school and had one year of college behind him. Then due to his mother's encouragement, he began moving around the country working at various short-term jobs, such as surveying, until the army drafted him. Back from Korea after a two-year stretch, he was between jobs when we met.
Although my father worked in a small town, our home was on the outskirts. He did limited farming on the side, so I was exposed to some of the benefits of country living. I've never regretted those years of riding my bike down dusty roads, climbing embankments and chasing fireflies, but I'd firmly made up my mind farm life wasn't for me. I was convinced my future lay in a setting where life was a bit more exciting. By the time Evan and I decided to get married, he was working as a draftsman in Jackson. The thought of broadening my horizon seemed very appealing.
Evan was a good draftsman, but he had an ongoing problem with his tyrannical supervisor. He couldn't afford to quit, because we needed the income, but he made up his mind to keep his options open for something more rewarding. His country roots kicked in, and he developed an itch to become a landowner.
"You can't go wrong with land," he told me. "They're not making any more of it. Pretty soon it will be so expensive you'll have to be a millionaire to get your hands on any. Why don't we see if we can buy some while it's still affordable?"
"O.K., as long as we don't have to live on it," I said. "It would be nice to have a place in the country where we could go on weekends."
Eventually, we found a reasonably priced piece of land about a forty-minute drive from the city. It consisted of a hundred and forty-two acres, and it was owner financed at a low interest rate. There was no house, but it had open pastures, some cultivatable fields, and woodland with creek running through it.
The land turned out to be a good investment. The government allotted us cotton acreage and paid us not to grow cotton. I know it's sounds crazy. I'm still wondering about the wisdom of that, since we had no intention of growing cotton in the first place, but we weren't inclined to argue with Uncle Sam as long as there was money involved. Soon after we bought it, an oil company leased the mineral rights which brought in a nice little check. The woods were teeming with trees, which timber companies were anxious to harvest. Neighbors leased part of the land for farming and grazing. So for a while, collecting checks came in handy for paying off the remaining mortgage.
Eventually, the novelty of just owning the land wore off, and Evan decided to become a weekend cattleman. Gradually, he began accumulating a herd of beef cattle. Our most expensive addition to our little ranching enterprise was a registered Hereford bull we nicknamed 'Sam'. During the summer, grass was plentiful, but in winter, we had to buy hay and food for the cattle. The farming equipment my husband acquired included a beat up old tractor, discs and a bush hog.
Not wanting to be separated from my husband all weekend, the kids and I often came along for the ride. The children were easily bored. I invented games which we played or sang children songs while in the car, but once we arrived, there wasn't much for them to do other than watch their dad build fences and herd cattle. There is just so much blackberry picking, exploring, and wildflower gathering before kids start get antsy and become annoying. Some of the many questions my son came up with struck a raw nerve with Evan.
"Daddy, what's that long thing hanging under Sam's stomach? Daddy, why is Sam trying to climb up on that cow?"
Since neither of us was keen on starting sex education with a four-year-old, we decided there might be more suitable activities for preschoolers back home. When I started staying behind with the children, I began to wonder if my vows to never become a farmer's wife had somehow gone awry.
Carol was seven and the twins were five, when Evan decided we needed to purchase an additional vehicle for his use on the farm.
"Beth, I think I should buy a truck. I'm going to need some way to haul the cattle when it's time to take them to market."
The farm was eating into our budget, and we'd not had a decent vacation in several years. "Hmm... You need a truck and I need a vacation. Maybe we can work out a compromise here."
"Maybe," he agreed. If he didn't say 'no' right away, he was likely reasoning that it might prevent me from insisting we couldn't afford a truck.
Right away he started reading the want ads."I've found one in the paper," he told me. "I'm going to call about it. It has a camper body. If we get it, we might want to try it out on the road. We've never been out West. What do you think about that?"
"No argument here. It sounds like a plan to me."
Sometimes, it's a good thing we can't see into the future. We might miss out on some of life's little adventures if our decisions are made knowing what pitfalls lie ahead.
The Story continues with... Nightmares Going West.
There is an old adage which goes something like, "You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy." That saying applied to my husband. Despite the fact his mother insisted her children not grow up to be farmers, the lure of open spaces and woodlands is so firmly a part of who they are it can't be easily eradicated. City living is too confining.
Both Evan and I had rural roots. The Shelby family had been landowners ever since they immigrated from Wales in the 1700's. Having grown up in the country, hunting, fishing and farming were ways of life for Evan until he graduated from high school and had one year of college behind him. Then due to his mother's encouragement, he began moving around the country working at various short-term jobs, such as surveying, until the army drafted him. Back from Korea after a two-year stretch, he was between jobs when we met.
Although my father worked in a small town, our home was on the outskirts. He did limited farming on the side, so I was exposed to some of the benefits of country living. I've never regretted those years of riding my bike down dusty roads, climbing embankments and chasing fireflies, but I'd firmly made up my mind farm life wasn't for me. I was convinced my future lay in a setting where life was a bit more exciting. By the time Evan and I decided to get married, he was working as a draftsman in Jackson. The thought of broadening my horizon seemed very appealing.
Evan was a good draftsman, but he had an ongoing problem with his tyrannical supervisor. He couldn't afford to quit, because we needed the income, but he made up his mind to keep his options open for something more rewarding. His country roots kicked in, and he developed an itch to become a landowner.
"You can't go wrong with land," he told me. "They're not making any more of it. Pretty soon it will be so expensive you'll have to be a millionaire to get your hands on any. Why don't we see if we can buy some while it's still affordable?"
"O.K., as long as we don't have to live on it," I said. "It would be nice to have a place in the country where we could go on weekends."
Eventually, we found a reasonably priced piece of land about a forty-minute drive from the city. It consisted of a hundred and forty-two acres, and it was owner financed at a low interest rate. There was no house, but it had open pastures, some cultivatable fields, and woodland with creek running through it.
The land turned out to be a good investment. The government allotted us cotton acreage and paid us not to grow cotton. I know it's sounds crazy. I'm still wondering about the wisdom of that, since we had no intention of growing cotton in the first place, but we weren't inclined to argue with Uncle Sam as long as there was money involved. Soon after we bought it, an oil company leased the mineral rights which brought in a nice little check. The woods were teeming with trees, which timber companies were anxious to harvest. Neighbors leased part of the land for farming and grazing. So for a while, collecting checks came in handy for paying off the remaining mortgage.
Eventually, the novelty of just owning the land wore off, and Evan decided to become a weekend cattleman. Gradually, he began accumulating a herd of beef cattle. Our most expensive addition to our little ranching enterprise was a registered Hereford bull we nicknamed 'Sam'. During the summer, grass was plentiful, but in winter, we had to buy hay and food for the cattle. The farming equipment my husband acquired included a beat up old tractor, discs and a bush hog.
Not wanting to be separated from my husband all weekend, the kids and I often came along for the ride. The children were easily bored. I invented games which we played or sang children songs while in the car, but once we arrived, there wasn't much for them to do other than watch their dad build fences and herd cattle. There is just so much blackberry picking, exploring, and wildflower gathering before kids start get antsy and become annoying. Some of the many questions my son came up with struck a raw nerve with Evan.
"Daddy, what's that long thing hanging under Sam's stomach? Daddy, why is Sam trying to climb up on that cow?"
Since neither of us was keen on starting sex education with a four-year-old, we decided there might be more suitable activities for preschoolers back home. When I started staying behind with the children, I began to wonder if my vows to never become a farmer's wife had somehow gone awry.
Carol was seven and the twins were five, when Evan decided we needed to purchase an additional vehicle for his use on the farm.
"Beth, I think I should buy a truck. I'm going to need some way to haul the cattle when it's time to take them to market."
The farm was eating into our budget, and we'd not had a decent vacation in several years. "Hmm... You need a truck and I need a vacation. Maybe we can work out a compromise here."
"Maybe," he agreed. If he didn't say 'no' right away, he was likely reasoning that it might prevent me from insisting we couldn't afford a truck.
Right away he started reading the want ads."I've found one in the paper," he told me. "I'm going to call about it. It has a camper body. If we get it, we might want to try it out on the road. We've never been out West. What do you think about that?"
"No argument here. It sounds like a plan to me."
Sometimes, it's a good thing we can't see into the future. We might miss out on some of life's little adventures if our decisions are made knowing what pitfalls lie ahead.
The Story continues with... Nightmares Going West.
Both Evan and I had rural roots. The Shelby family had been landowners ever since they immigrated from Wales in the 1700's. Having grown up in the country, hunting, fishing and farming were ways of life for Evan until he graduated from high school and had one year of college behind him. Then due to his mother's encouragement, he began moving around the country working at various short-term jobs, such as surveying, until the army drafted him. Back from Korea after a two-year stretch, he was between jobs when we met.
Although my father worked in a small town, our home was on the outskirts. He did limited farming on the side, so I was exposed to some of the benefits of country living. I've never regretted those years of riding my bike down dusty roads, climbing embankments and chasing fireflies, but I'd firmly made up my mind farm life wasn't for me. I was convinced my future lay in a setting where life was a bit more exciting. By the time Evan and I decided to get married, he was working as a draftsman in Jackson. The thought of broadening my horizon seemed very appealing.
Evan was a good draftsman, but he had an ongoing problem with his tyrannical supervisor. He couldn't afford to quit, because we needed the income, but he made up his mind to keep his options open for something more rewarding. His country roots kicked in, and he developed an itch to become a landowner.
"You can't go wrong with land," he told me. "They're not making any more of it. Pretty soon it will be so expensive you'll have to be a millionaire to get your hands on any. Why don't we see if we can buy some while it's still affordable?"
"O.K., as long as we don't have to live on it," I said. "It would be nice to have a place in the country where we could go on weekends."
Eventually, we found a reasonably priced piece of land about a forty-minute drive from the city. It consisted of a hundred and forty-two acres, and it was owner financed at a low interest rate. There was no house, but it had open pastures, some cultivatable fields, and woodland with creek running through it.
The land turned out to be a good investment. The government allotted us cotton acreage and paid us not to grow cotton. I know it's sounds crazy. I'm still wondering about the wisdom of that, since we had no intention of growing cotton in the first place, but we weren't inclined to argue with Uncle Sam as long as there was money involved. Soon after we bought it, an oil company leased the mineral rights which brought in a nice little check. The woods were teeming with trees, which timber companies were anxious to harvest. Neighbors leased part of the land for farming and grazing. So for a while, collecting checks came in handy for paying off the remaining mortgage.
Eventually, the novelty of just owning the land wore off, and Evan decided to become a weekend cattleman. Gradually, he began accumulating a herd of beef cattle. Our most expensive addition to our little ranching enterprise was a registered Hereford bull we nicknamed 'Sam'. During the summer, grass was plentiful, but in winter, we had to buy hay and food for the cattle. The farming equipment my husband acquired included a beat up old tractor, discs and a bush hog.
Not wanting to be separated from my husband all weekend, the kids and I often came along for the ride. The children were easily bored. I invented games which we played or sang children songs while in the car, but once we arrived, there wasn't much for them to do other than watch their dad build fences and herd cattle. There is just so much blackberry picking, exploring, and wildflower gathering before kids start get antsy and become annoying. Some of the many questions my son came up with struck a raw nerve with Evan.
"Daddy, what's that long thing hanging under Sam's stomach? Daddy, why is Sam trying to climb up on that cow?"
Since neither of us was keen on starting sex education with a four-year-old, we decided there might be more suitable activities for preschoolers back home. When I started staying behind with the children, I began to wonder if my vows to never become a farmer's wife had somehow gone awry.
Carol was seven and the twins were five, when Evan decided we needed to purchase an additional vehicle for his use on the farm.
"Beth, I think I should buy a truck. I'm going to need some way to haul the cattle when it's time to take them to market."
The farm was eating into our budget, and we'd not had a decent vacation in several years. "Hmm... You need a truck and I need a vacation. Maybe we can work out a compromise here."
"Maybe," he agreed. If he didn't say 'no' right away, he was likely reasoning that it might prevent me from insisting we couldn't afford a truck.
Right away he started reading the want ads."I've found one in the paper," he told me. "I'm going to call about it. It has a camper body. If we get it, we might want to try it out on the road. We've never been out West. What do you think about that?"
"No argument here. It sounds like a plan to me."
Sometimes, it's a good thing we can't see into the future. We might miss out on some of life's little adventures if our decisions are made knowing what pitfalls lie ahead.
The Story continues with... Nightmares Going West.
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