The Secret Lives of Farmers

Farm bloggers and talkers have a tendency to focus on the farmer and the farm, the night chores, the day chores, and the in between seasons chores. The focus is on the why of what we do, what we wear or don’t wear, what we drive or don’t drive, how we wave in greeting and speak in tongue. At least it sounds like that to some.

Anyway, farmers have lives off the farm . . . my calendar says so. We’re involved in our community. We volunteer, attend church, serve on boards, and host a party here and there.

Growing up, I knew my parents had life off the farm, too. They danced.

Yep, my father . . . the quintessential farmer dances. And he’s good, because he has a good partner.

My mother has always been a teacher. She taught high school physical education, became a certified aerobics instructor, owned her own fitness club, coached volleyball and track, and taught preschool for several years. And she taught dance – disco, ballroom and country western.

My grandparents were dancers too. That’s where my dad got his rhythm. Grandpa Ray would quit farming early on the weekend so he and Grandma could pack their dancing van with friends and head out to see Johnny Kaye & Orchestra.

But when Grandpa would quit early, Dad would work late, leaving no time for any practice before heading off to lessons.

So, we kids became Mom’s partners. It was how we learned to dance. She’d put a record on . . . literally, and in between applying make-up, curling hair and dressing, she’d count out the fox trot or the waltz, spinning us around as if we knew what came next.

When country western dancing hit the scene, Mom and Dad traded ballroom shoes for cowboy boots and taught lessons everywhere – at dance halls where they used to teach ballroom, at the Saddle Club, in high school gyms, garages . . . everywhere.

These were the days of late nights, early mornings, breakfast at Cathy’s Nook and making memories . . . so many memories.

At one point, our family danced six nights a week. My sister and I would leave volleyball practice and head to that night’s lessons, never knowing if we would just sit in the back or be called to the floor because Dad was still in the field.

Our high school boyfriends dutifully sat through weekend dances even picking up a step or too. We dressed in wranglers, flashy print western shirts and blinged out boots. My surprise 16^th birthday party was at a local country dance club. It was the best birthday ever . . . because we got to dance.

The best part of Mom and Dad’s dancing was the people they met and brought into our lives. Good people who remain part of the family even though our dancing days have come to an end.

Although, sometimes the beat strikes a chord and Dad’s toes start tapping. He grabs a partner . . . any partner . . . and the dancing begins again.

On the porch in Michigan, Dad grabs my farm princess for a few spins. She loves to dance; it runs in her blood just like farming.

Read more 30 Days of Farm Girl Memories

And find other 30 Day bloggers starting with the one who got us into this – Holly Spangler from My Generation.

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