I get lots of fan emails, which is fun. Usually people tell me what a particular book of mine meant to them, or how our lives intersect or run parallel in some way. I love getting these emails, even those that make me stop and think a minute.
I received one of those the other day. The woman enjoyed my books, and was pleased to find my website and see what I looked like. Her comment, however, seems to indicate she was both pleased and stunned. Pleased because, as she wrote, "you look like the women I know." Stunned, perhaps, because after reading Hit by a Farm, she assumed I was a "tall, muscular woman."
Melissa laughed 'til she choked at that one. I've always had muscles; they're just very shy, and prefer to hide under a little flesh. :-)
But, hey, it's true, I am tall.
When we started the farm, Melissa had a bad back, so I did most of the heavy lifting. I used the post pounder to slam metal fence posts into the ground. I did the hammering (when Melissa picks up a hammer with her right hand, her left hand gets very nervous.) I carried the bags of grain from the pickup to the barn.
Over the next few years, farm work actually strengthened Melissa's back, and we eventually shared the heavy work.
But what does a female farmer look like? We look like the women you know. We are tall and short and rail thin and medium build and nicely curved. We farm with our husbands, wives, partners, or on our own. We clean up really well when we go into town, but if you were to drop by unexpectedly, you might find we haven't showered for a day or two (or three!), and we're wearing old, ratty clothing.
I've seen women farmers with Michelle Obama biceps. I've seen women with no visible biceps do plenty of heavy lifting.
The fastest growing category of farmers in the 2007 Census of Agriculture was women. And the more that people see women farmers as just like the 'women I know,' perhaps the more women farmers there will be.
That said, there's nothing wrong with a little muscle on a woman farmer. Here's me, just the other day:
Okay, not really.
What happened to August?
Seriously. Where did it go? It's already half over.
I spent a few days with cousins at their lake cabin, then did a book signing at a lovely little bookstore in Dorset, MN during the Taste of Dorset festival. But because I was inside the bookstore, I hardly got to taste anything! Poor me.
Then I jumped right into teaching a weeklong writing camp for kids. The morning class was 3-5th graders. The afternoon class was 6-10th graders. At the end of the first day I stumbled home, sure I'd never make it through the week. Somehow I scraped myself off the living room sofa and moved the sheep and the big steers to new pasture. Then I managed to do 3 hours of prep for the next day. Cleaning the kitchen? Making supper? Nope.
Every day was like that. How do farmers with two fulltime jobs manage? Holy smokes. I suppose if I taught kids writing every day, it'd become easier, so that might make a difference. But this week? Not so much. And every night, did I clean the kitchen or make supper? Nothing left for those tasks.
At the end of every afternoon I felt as if aliens had attached tubes to my brain and sucked everything out. Poor me again.
Good news is I survived. Even better news, the kids survived as well, even though by mid-week there were a few rowdies I was considering hanging by their thumbs from the ceiling fan. Luckily I've been chased by geese and knocked over by sheep and nudged by really large steers, so keeping kids in line doesn't frighten me.
At camp we did some fun stuff, some hard stuff, and I packed their brains as full as I could. Hopefully some of it'll stick. But when it comes to writing, much of what you learn leaks out, and you have to learn it again. Just too much to know.
Here's proof my kids were still smiling at the end of the week:
Here's proof the sheep were still alive at the end of the week:
As for me? I must go clean the kitchen... if I can find it.
