Happy Belated Retirement, Dad!

“It’s official….I’m retired” is how the email from my dad began a few short months ago.  Tears stung my eyes for reasons I still can’t verbalize fully.  And, that night, when I told Joe about the email, he was ecstatic for my dad, and I....I struggled a bit.

To my husband, a man raised in the city, a son of a doctor, well, I suppose it’s harder to understand why the tears still flow freely when I think about my dad’s retirement.

As a farmer’s daughter, there are things you hold dearly for your entire life: the sight of tall corn, the smell of fresh-cut grass, the sun going down behind a barn…..and your dad walking in the house after a long day’s work.  Growing up, my dad would walk through those doors and signs of his day were abundant: calloused hands, a greasy shirt, a farmer’s tan, muddy boots, corn falling out of his pockets – and always – a smile on his face.  

Farming isn’t a 9-5 job, there are no golf outings, there are no health benefits (in fact, just the opposite), there are no paid vacation days or paid overtime, there is no set salary, there are no co-worker celebrations, there are no awards given to the highest producer or best employee, there’s no air conditioning, there’s no promotions.  Not only are the benefits weak, but the labor is exhausting.  It’s hard work – you are chasing livestock, fixing tractors on your back, repairing fence on your knees, walking miles of beans, running to shut off the water, lifting heavy machinery, the list goes on and on.

Despite it all, my dad loved to farm.  He would always preach to us kids, “If you love what you do, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”  He never considered farming “work,” he never dreaded going “into the office,” he never complained about a “boss” or “senior hierarchy,” and he never talked about changing “jobs.”  He loved farming, and farming loved him. 

My dad’s only colleague: my grandpa.  Hand in hand, bean by bean, herd by herd, they farmed together.  Leaned on each other in tough, economic times; rejoiced together in the good times; weathered through the unexpected drop in prices; shrugged their shoulders at the unpredictable weather; and prayed together through it all.  We all lost a lot when grandpa passed away, but after spending nearly every day of his life with his dad, my dad’s daily life changed the most.

I knew farming alone wouldn’t be easy for my dad….I knew the journey ahead of him may be a little lonely.  I saw the spark in his boot fade a little, the joy in the upcoming harvest grow dim and the challenges before him to be less satisfying…..I saw how farming slowly become a job.  For the first time in my dad’s life, he was going to work when he walked out that front door. 

Maybe it wasn’t all my grandpa's passing either. When cancer knocks at your front door, you don’t wait for God to open the window for you – you open it yourself. Maybe cancer made the clock tick louder, made sitting more enjoyable, made grandkids grow up faster, made harvest less urgent, and the market less important.

Whatever the reason, there was no doubt that it was time….time to make one of the most difficult decisions in our family’s life.  We all knew it, we all anticipated it, and so, when the email came along, my feelings even took me by surprise. After all, I had been one of the loudest supporters along the way – “Quit! Enjoy the good life! You earned it! Take it easy for once in your life! Retire for goodness sake!”

Don’t get me wrong,  I’ve found great joy in my dad’s retirement.  I’ve seen a more relaxed dad come planting time, a dad willing and ready to babysit when called upon, a dad who can take a vacation, a dad who perhaps can breathe a little easier, a dad who enjoys the sunsets longer.

But, that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to have those feelings in my stomach….A little sad for my kids who won’t grow up on a farm.  A little nostalgic for the days of yesterday.  A little scared of change.  A little aching for my grandpa.  A little jealousy when I see another tractor, another farmer on “our” land.  A little anxious when someone asks me what my parents do for a living.  A little emotional when harvest rolls around. Those feelings just mean that farming was good to us as a family, and I’m sad that the chapter is ending.

But, that chapter is just beginning for someone else.  Someone else can give tractor rides to his kids, meet the kids’ school bus at the end of the lane, punish his kids with child labor, stress over finances, sweat through the hot July weather, gamble with the market, and give his family a tiny slice of the good life.  And, if he’s lucky – he’ll never have to work a day in his life.

I was unable to write something for my dad after he retired because it was too hard.  So, Happy Retirement, Dad.  I am forever thankful.