Posted by Kathleen Pooler/@kathypooler
“The ultimate goal of farming is not the growing of crops, but the cultivation and perfection of human beings.”
― Masanobu Fukuoka, The One-Straw Revolution
A few weeks ago, two of my favorite memoir friends, Shirley Showalter and Carol Bodensteiner posted a blog swap where they exchanged their delightful stories of growing up country. Stop by Shirley’s and Carol’s blogs for a treat.
I delved into their stories and connected with my own. I didn’t grow up country, though I often daydreamed about living on a farm as a child. I’d envision running through the open fields and chasing chickens in the yard. I also enjoyed visiting my friend Dawn’s farm where I could pet the horses and watch the cows being milked.
And Grandpa DiCerbo came from a pig farm in Italy and although he never had his own farm in America, he grew the biggest, freshest tomatoes in his backyard. Often times those tomatoes helped pay the rent.
I love country music, square dancing, fresh vegetables from the garden and wild flowers.
No, I didn’t grow up country but I married a farmer-at-heart who left corporate America, and upon retirement began working the land his father and grandfather before him had raised dairy cattle on.
Here’s an excerpt from an essay I wrote:
Summer Fields
My husband Wayne grows organic vegetables, herbs, berries and flowers on the 135-acre farm where his grandfather raised dairy cows. He has, for the most part, single-handedly cleared the land he worked on as a young boy. His four-acre garden is a work of art, teeming with the freshness of green produce, bursting with the vibrance of red and orange tomatoes and yellow squash, and sprinkled with the sweat of his labor.
He nurtures all his produce from seeds, initially planting them in seed trays in our home in January. In March, he begins housing the seedlings in the greenhouse, manually regulating temperatures to promote survival with a space heater, bottles of hot water and insulation panels.
As soon as the springtime rains abate, he begins tilling the fields to promote permanent homes for all the tender new plants in the greenhouse. Using a crop rotation system, he systematically plants seeds in the greenhouse so the cycle of planting and harvesting continues throughout the fall.
Standing in a strawberry patch at 6 a.m. on a summer morning surely must be one of life’s greatest pleasures. Searching for the biggest, freshest berries to pick, I marvel at the miracle of new birth and growth. Some berries are deformed; some are over-ripe; and some are half-eaten. It seems as though the plumpest, juiciest ones are underneath them all, as if protected from the elements by caring kin. They are the prized ones. But, they are all beautiful in their varied stages of development.
They symbolize the cycle of life; the beauty of new birth; and the dignity of death.
These summer fields and all they bear are the fruits of my husband’s loving labor. From the moment he carefully plants the seeds in the trays in mid-January until he proudly displays his abundant array of fresh produce through the spring and summer, he has nurtured and promoted this predictable cycle of life. In living out this dream of connecting to his own roots, he has reached out to nurture the community he serves, and , in turn, has nurtured his own cycle of life.
My hat is off to my husband Wayne and to all farmers who are stewards of the land and give back to their communities.
I may not have grown up country but I’ve grown into country and I love it!
How about you? Did you grow up country? If not, do you wish you had?
I’d love to hear from you. Please leave your comments below~
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I like the line: I may not have grown up country, but I’ve grown into country and I love it!
As you know from my blog, I did grow up country but now live in the city. The country has never left me: It’s imprint is on my heart forever.
Thank you for showing us there is more than one way to be a country girl!
Oh Marian, it’s so nice to go gather with kindred spirits and share our stories! I love your statement, country’s”imprint is on my heart forever.” I think any time we are deeply connected to Mother Earth , we are blessed. Thank you, as always, for stopping by and sharing your thoughts.
Marian picked out my favorite line also, so I’ll underscore her comment. Love how all kinds of country girls are finding each other in the online writing community!
As you know from reading Blush, I was happy to leave the farm at age 18, 🙂 but now I support local farmers and gardeners by going to the farmer’s market. Someone suggested to me that these places might be a good place to sell books about growing up country. I never investigated. I wonder if our creative friend Carol has tried this idea.
Farmers markets could be a great place to connect, particularly heading into the gift-giving season. I haven’t tried this, mainly because the cost of a booth at our farmers market outweighs the benefit. If you try it, Shirley, I’d love to hear the response.
Carol, check out my response to Shirley regarding book sales at farmer’s market.
Thank you, Shirley. I love our country girl connections, too!:-) I consulted my local farmer’s market representative (my hubby!) and he offered his thoughts: You might be able to “hitch a ride” on the Cooperative Extension booth that most markets have to distribute free public education literature. There might be an issue with the local indie bookstores (we have several within a block of the market.) Otherwise, it’s worth a try to contact your local farmers market association to ask about the admission procedure,booth fees,etc. Let us know if you have any success and when I get to that point, I may try the same.
One of my favorite things, Kathy, is your comment that when you delved into our stories, you connected with your own. That has been the greatest pleasure for me to hear from readers. They remember their own lives and share those memories with others. Those memories validate our lives. That’s a lovely essay about your husband’s gardening efforts and how you enjoy them!
Thank you , Carol and Amen to your comments. We are all enriched when we share our stories and others connect with their own, as I did. Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts.
Wonderful tribute to growers everywhere, Kathy! I, too, didn’t “grow up country,” but I did grow up in the middle of country (that counts, sort of, don’t you think?)
Both my grandfathers were farmers who raised their kids with “down home” values. My parents did, too. And seeing crops grow all around me for years reminds me that we are entrusted with seeds (talents and abilities) that we need to nurture to full maturity.
Good for Wayne, taking the reins of the family farm and nourishing an inheritance for your kids!
Yes, Debbie, I absolutely do believe living in the Midwest does qualify you to claim some country roots!I love this:”And seeing crops grow all around me for years reminds me that we are entrusted with seeds (talents and abilities) that we need to nurture to full maturity.” Wayne often talks about preserving the land for his kids and grandkids. We have accumulated many happy memories for our grandsons. Thanks so much for stopping by and adding your thought-provoking insights to the conversation.
Oh Kathy, you’ve done it again: written something that triggers a memory I’d long forgotten. I grew up in a city, but had opportunities to get into the country often. I began, at about 7 or so, to use the same wish whether it was birthday candles or errant eyelashes (did anyone else make a wish on an errant eyelash?) Anyway, that wish, which I used for YEARS, well into adulthood, “I wish I had a very good chance to live on a farm.” It was my grandmother who tweaked it to “a very good chance,” I think wanting to save me from disappointment. Today I grow enough blueberries to get me through half the winter, many of my own veggies, and (up until a few months ago) ducks. I am living my wish. And I thank you for bringing me such a pleasant memory.
Janet, How wonderful you are currently living your childhood dream. I’m so happy this story triggered your own country living story. Delightful! Thank you for sharing. Yum, blueberries and fresh veggies. 🙂
This beautiful, heartfelt post makes me want to be a farmer. I envy Wayne for giving up corporate life to follow his dream and return back to the land. I, too, feel like a farm girl at heart, yet I could never be tied to one place because I am too footloose. Your descriptions, though, make it sound like the picture perfect lifestyle.
LOL, Pat. I tell Wayne the farm is his sandbox and his tractors, plows etc are his toys. He’s like a child at Christmas enjoying his playground! It’s a great antidote for corporate stress. You can and do bring that country-girl heart into your “footloose” life as you travel across the ocean sharing your stories of the Wisconsin woods and the Swiss Alps. Thanks so much for stopping by and sharing your thoughts.
Great post, Kathy. I loved that you mentioned Fukuoka’s One Straw Revolution! Amazing book.
My grandfather chuckled at me when I mentioned I wanted to be a farmer in my late teens. “We didn’t have much fun,” was his response. Life was hard for them. My mother was raised on the farm, then they moved into a small town near Ann Arbor, Michigan. She and my father raised us in a suburban environment, but we kept our farm roots and relatives close, thank goodness! My mother’s people are still on the farm. I went back to the land in my twenties, now we are semi-rural, but we are about 30 minutes away from the city with access to cultural events, so it’s the best of both worlds.
Farmer’s markets and craft fairs are fantastic. Neighborhood gardens and urban farming are making a come-back. The markets might not make ya rich, but the people and the atmosphere (to me) are the epitome of down home goodness. I love the intergenerational, family feeling of the farmers market. Mmmmm….now I’m hungry! Chutney, salsa, fresh veggies, jams, nut butters….yes! Oh, and there’s that perfect gift for a special someone…and home-made too. 🙂 I really enjoyed this one!
Sue, I remember how your farm roots came through in your stories. I’m happy you connected and shared thoughts about your own country living. I agree. Farmer’s markets are fantastic and the epitome of “down-home goodness.” Thanks for stopping by!
Beautifully written, Kathy. I am seeing the farm, and also remembering the time I bumped into the 2 of you at your booth at the garlic festival. Thanks for the pictures, particulary the one of the 2 of you. It has been too long! I had almost forgotten what you look like.
Love, Christina
Hi Christina,Thanks! I had forgotten about that garlic festival. I’ve been thinking of you and hoping school is going well. I’m sure you are swamped right about now. As soon as you get a break, I hope we can reconnect. Good luck with the rest of the semester. Thanks for stopping by. Love, Kathy
I grew up in the suburbs but love visiting my in-laws in rural Tennessee where they keep 2 big vegetable plots and hay their other acres. Farming is hard, hot work, so I’m glad I just visit and am very temporary help! There’s nothing like picking fresh vegetables, pulling potatoes out of the earth, and plucking wild berries, though, and I like helping my mom-in-law with canning. I love Carol’s memoir – she did make me feel like a farm girl!
Linda, you are right. Farming is hard, hot work but the reward of picking our meals from the garden makes it all worthwhile.It sounds like you have some country girl in you! Thanks for stopping by and commenting.
Kathy, I like the quote by Masanobu Fukuoka from his The One-Straw Revolution. The portion of your Summer Fields essay that you share here is great and I love the photo of you and your husband.
I grew up on three farms in Iowa. My mother died from ovarian cancer when she was 67 in 1985. My three younger sisters (no brothers) and I were born in the 1940s. My father remarried – a woman who was younger than my youngest sister and had a middle school age son. My father’s and Glenda’s son was born on my husband’s and my oldest daughter’s 16th birthday.
Glenda had a large produce garden as a CSA (Community-Supported Agriculture) site and planted wildflowers. She also had a preschool which she called Country Garden Preschool. All had been dreams of my mother. Glenda now teaches at the high school from which she, my sisters, stepbrother, half brother and I graduated. My father died in 2002.
I appreciate your kind comments, Barbara, as well as your interesting story. It sounds like you have some strong country roots. I’m sure there are many stories behind all those changes you’ve described! Thanks for stopping by.
I loved reading about Wayne’s farming and gardening efforts and the two of you reaping the work of his hands and body. I didn’t grow up country. I’m a city girl. But I never stopped dreaming of having grandparents who lived on a farm where I could go and stay in the summer or where we could drive on a Sunday afternoon. No, there were no grandparents, much less any who lived on a farm. Our grandparents died before we were born, except for one and she didn’t have a farm.
When I married a second time, I found myself a farm boy, one who grew up working from sun up to sundown. He tells me the most wonderful stories (which I should be writing down for our kids and grandkids!) of his dad’s efforts to make the farming life a bit easier and how each new piece of equipment was welcomed until it broke down. They raised asparagus, mint, rutabagas, and grapes. Being a staunch Presbyterian and believing “the drink” was a sin, Bob’s dad wouldn’t sell his grapes to anyone but Welch’s for fear of where they’d end up. Everytime we look at a Welch’s grape jelly jar or a container of Welch’s grape juice we burst out laughing over that story.
So, the city girl lost her heart to the country farm boy!
Well,Sherrey, it looks like we’ve shared the same childhood dreams of having access to a farm and then we’ve both married farm boys! I have to admit, I was astonished when I first saw how hard Wayne worked on the farm but he seems to thrive on it. I enjoyed your story, especially the part about Welch’s grape jelly! Thanks for stopping by and sharing.
What a terrific essay about your husband’s farming, both in content and writing style. It hooked my heart, and I think the spirit of the land is hooking a lot of people these days. I’m city born and bred, but I’ve always considered the open road as my home. At least I did until I moved here to rural Arkansas. I never knew the sky could be so deep and dark and full of light, or that food could taste so good.This area has been devastated by industrial farming, but the thrum of the earth is coming through our feet as more and more small scale family farms start springing up. It changes people, makes them nicer and more neighborly. I can’t take a decent walk in the rain without somebody insisting on giving me a ride.
Now I start every single day with a hike or a walk along a lonesome highway where big farms used to be. I dream of what it used to be like, what it could be again. I want to be part of it. You’re so right when you say we grow into country. It’s in our DNA. While researching my family’s journey from England to America, I was gobsmacked to find that six of my uncles settled right here, in Crawford County, Arkansas in the 1800s, and there are cities with my family name!. I guess I got called home without knowing what hit me 🙂 I sure am glad I didn’t resist the call when it came.
But I’ll tell you what, girl. Your tomatoes might be tasty, but they’ve got nothing on the sweet nectar of what grows here in Arkansas. Have mercy!
Hey Cyd, great to hear from you! Thanks for your comments. I can see from your Facebook pictures that you are close to the land and enjoy it’s beauty. I’m glad to hear small farms are popping up around you. I’ll tell you what, Arkansas’ sweet nectar and New York’s fresh tomatoes should get together. LOL! 🙂
Kathy, what a refreshing post. Hats off to Wayne for his perseverance. I grew up on a farm–wheat, livestock, and vegetables–and I helped clear land . . . it’s no easy task. But the rewards are unmatched. Thanks for sharing such an interesting facet of your life, and such lovely photos.
My favorite line: “They symbolize the cycle of life; the beauty of new birth; and the dignity of death.”
Terre, I never knew you grew up on a farm! You can certainly relate to the hard work and rewards involved. Thanks so much for stopping by and sharing your thoughts. I appreciate your comments.