The other day I drove by a local farm. I know the farm and the family.
Two of the brothers were out in front of one of the barns working, together.
One on the back of a tractor, the other appeared to be holding something up behind the tractor.
I waved as I streaked by … darn it, I think I was driving too fast. Sorry, I know better.
Seeing them pulled at my heart, and I couldn’t help but wonder …
In that moment, were they cussing at each other or singing each other’s praises? Probably a little of both.
Were they willingly helpful or being purposefully contrary? Maybe some of both … depends on the day.
I thought some more about it, reflecting on the two brothers, wondering about their relationship, how it must feel to work with each other EVERY day.
How many people are fortunate (or unfortunate?) enough to have the opportunity to work alongside their brother or sister, for their whole lives? Have they made the most of it, or have they chosen to make it drudgery?
There is a closeness that can’t be denied or overlooked. It really is very special.
I started pondering the thought of my own kids and the choices that they will have someday about working in their family farm business. Will they choose to work together? Will they enjoy working together? How well do they work together now?
Farm kids have worked together in good times and bad.
From an early age, they came together every day to dissect and solve problems.
Through marriage and divorce, babies and graduations, every day, their commitment to the farm (each other) never stops.
They have worked together during family spats and before the onset of pimples.
They remember the old way of doing things, and they have ushered in the new ways for change.
Together, they have worked the morning after a night that did not end, during heat waves and bitter cold. Through the start of a life, and the end.
They know each other’s contour, how each one’s muscles brace, how one’s mouth tenses right before a hay bale is tossed from the wagon.
As siblings, they recognize each other’s pain, expose each other’s shortcomings, and stand together, united in the driveway, listening to a neighbor.
They dig and needle each other until the prickles poke through … yet are first to offer the other a hand to get up from underneath a tractor.
They have worked through each other’s break ups, and they have been around long enough to sense a mood by the way the barn door is opened every morning.
Working side by side, they have mowed hay, had conversation upon conversation about the drainage problem up the road, and planned the next tiling project. They have passed wrenches to each other, exchanged harsh words, and rolled a time or two over something ridiculous in the barnyard.
They have dug deep through low milk prices … together.
They have stripped down to their skivvies and dove into the farm pond together on a hot July afternoon. They have shared the same cup in the milk house, offering a long cool drink after chores.
They have sprayed each other’s boots off before heading to the house for dinner.
They know the smell of each other’s sweat, can predict each other’s next move … and have caught each other’s falls.
Through temper tantrums and tears, they will start each other’s stories and end each other’s sentences.
They have mended the fence line and walked every inch of their land, together.
Sometimes they work in silence, sometimes they talk. Sometimes they yell at each other and cuss when pulling a tractor out of the mud.
There is an unspoken understanding of who drives and who walks, who carries the bag of grain, and who opens the gate; who starts the rinse cycle and who rakes the stalls.
It’s grueling. It’s comfortable. It’s painstakingly emotional.
They bring out the best in each other, and certainly the worst.
It’s challenging, it’s easy, and can make each of them cry all in the same moment.
It’s laughing … and having someone to remember when with.
For a lifetime, it’s working together, every day.
And for better, or for worse … it’s very special.
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