Working in the agricultural sector doesn’t make you stronger. De fet, it doesn’t do anything to you. Working in the agricultural sector reveals who you are.
There are people who are strong because they exercise every day, but the people who work in our sector are the strongest people I know. There is no comparison between athletes and bodybuilders and a man or woman from the countryside. De fet, it often seems like they are mutually exclusive.
Resting and getting a full night’s sleep is a luxury, especially for livestock farmers, and even more so for dairy farmers. We get to know muscles we didn’t know existed, because at some point in the day, we had to move something very heavy, help a cow give birth, or get her out of somewhere she got stuck. The back pain is constant, but we don’t stop to think about what we have to do. We just do it. We can take a pill later, knowing that it won’t take away the pain, but with the hope that it will help a little, because the needs of our livestock come first. They will have a comfortable and dry bed, enough food and clean water, and your cows will eat before you do. No matter the weather, you never skip your work. The physical pain you feel is equal to the accumulated tiredness and sleep, but there are still many things to do. We don’t measure time in hours, we measure it in how many cows are left to tend to and how many acres are left tonight.
In addition to being strong, ranchers and farmers are innovative. They have a sense of invention that few can imagine, because we have been through the worst crises. We know what scarcity really is without having experienced wars like in other countries, and here we are still. Who else would find so many uses for the wire from a bale of hay? From simple repairs to a fence, to holding up heavier things, and there will always be someone who uses it instead of a belt. A wire is a simple example, but just take a walk around the ranch workshops to see any number of tools that are never thrown away because “they might come in handy one day.”
You put everything aside when one of your cows gets sick, no matter if you have 10 o 10,000. You do everything you can to help her, minimize her pain and discomfort. You feel like a superhero, and you always think you’re going to save her. I wish it was always like that. I wish they never got sick.
But one day one of your cows will die. You know it’s inevitable, it happens, they are living beings, and you can’t always solve it. Even so, you will feel defeated, sad, angry, distressed, and you will feel pain, that emotional pain that doesn’t go away with a back pain pill, but you do feel it in your shoulders and more when you feel the pressure of knowing that you have to dry your tears, get over it and move on, because there are more cows and calves to take care of, machinery to fix, fences to repair and crops to harvest. “Where did I put that little piece of wire I had the other day?”
You will be exhausted, but you will never feel more alive. You stay present no matter what is next because you must. There is no other option. You will pray for miracles, and you will have hope until the last minute. Optimistic or foolish, because sometimes it gets confusing; it doesn’t matter, here we are.
You will fall face down in the manure pile, but that happens, you are a farmer. You will get up, feeling foolish (this time it does apply) and swearing a lot, but you will keep working. A bath and a change of clothes can wait, although you think you hope you don’t have to leave the farm for something urgent, because people will turn to look at you and complain about the smell. “It doesn’t matter, this is urgent.” malgrat això, that is nothing compared to what the bank statement reflects. You would prefer to smell like that every day if you were better off, but everything goes up except what you farm. Anyway, tomorrow will be another day, although you look up at the sky and think that you still have, potser, Sobre 20 more minutes of light to keep working; “It’s time, let’s finish this today, pass me the wrench. No, not that one; not that one either; ugh! the other one!”
Strong, inventive, and optimistic. No matter how bad things get, we keep going, year after year, harvest after harvest. “That didn’t go as planned” would be one of the phrases we repeat the most, because we work at the base of the economy, where uncertainty dwells, because it contemplates economic, financial, fiscal, treball, and of course, climate uncertainty. We work with living capital, the soil and our animals don’t care if public and private servants went on vacation, they don’t know about crises or how the exchange rate or futures are looking; they need care and that’s what we’re here for. Control doesn’t exist, it’s an illusion; and thinking that we have it, at some point, is completely false, but we are optimistic, and we think that everything will improve, soon. aviat. Always soon.
Fieldwork, in its simplicity, is not difficult; tiring, yes, demanding, increasingly so; but we are the ones who can see how beautiful the sunrises and sunsets are. Simple. No one else is as in touch with life as we are. No one else grows up like we do, as we watch a calf being born, we know we’ll have the privilege of watching them grow. We take care of life. That is our job, and we learn to be better people and we become stronger, because we take care of the life of our cows, of what we sow in the field and what grows below the ground, and on top of that, we take care of the life of the people who consume what we produce. The responsibility is enormous and that’s why there are so few of us who work to produce food.
Farming reveals who we are, and I see a group of admirable people who deserve much more. I’m proud to be a member of the Global Farmer Network and believe in our mission to amplify the farmer’s voice. We all deserve good things to happen to us, but the people that feeds us all, deserve more.