Letting Go of the Family Farm......

I have been off the wire for quite a few months now--shockingly (to me anyway) my baby is four months this week--so, I shouldn't have any excuses, right?  Yeah, right.  It seems that every day is a race.  Have you ever considered training for a marathon?  I have.  Yes, I have been called crazy before.  I also have been running on and off since I was in 8th grade, so, it is definitely something that has tickled my brain before.  Lately, though, I have felt that everyday of my life was like running a marathon.  Not that you need an example, but here is one:  Thursday I got up at 6:20 am, fought the kids who were hung over from Halloween to get chores done and off to school by 7:45, taking care of baby in the meantime.  My son came in from doing chores to tell me that he thought our horse was dying, so in between getting them off and my next item on the agenda, my husband and I tried to take care of him, to no avail.  I had to be somewhere by 9 am to help someone pack up for a move, my daughter gets out at 9:45, so I sent her to a friends, by the time we were done it was time to feed the baby and pick-up the boys--I had learned two days before that they had parent-teacher conferences that day, after I had already scheduled the baby's appointment for his 4-month check-up and immunizations.  So, by the time I got them home, fed, and checked on the horse (finally making arrangements for my husband to come home and help take care of him, and worrying about not being there for my kids as they said good-bye) back to three parent-teacher conferences, down to Caliente to the clinic, then to get shots, then to run a few more errands, home to pick up my daughter for dance, home to make dinner and get ready for another meeting. Not a second for any cleaning, laundry, dishes, so the house is kind of scary, but at least the day is over.  Thank heavens it is the weekend (we're on a 4-day school week), because we didn't get any time for homework, which usually takes 2-3 hours a day.  We recently learned that two of our sons are dyslexic and so the majority of the effort to help them learn to read fluently comes back on me.
Not every day is quite this busy, but at the same time, I usually get to sit when I am feeding the baby and that doesn't make for easy typing, so my blogging gets neglected pretty badly.  In the midst of the baby coming, school starting, learning about the dyslexia, there was also the issue of the family farm.

My dad and several of the grandkids, doing chores at the farm.

This past few months, my grandparent's sold the family farm that my dad and his twin brother have ran for the last 30 years.  The farm that I spent my childhood on.  And, the weight of something like that weighs heavily on all of us.  It has caused a lot of hard feelings.

My mom and two of my kids feeding a calf.

They sold it to one of my dad's younger brother's who has never been involved with it.  They sold it to him after promising my dad and uncle that they would talk to them, give them the opportunity first. They sold it without even telling them.  And, so our family has been grieving.  It has like losing a family member.

 There is a grieving process--hurt and anger, and trying to not tear the family apart in the process, love those who have hurt and forgive.  And while I no longer live in Utah, next to the farm, my kids still loved to go and help grandpa do chores and be at the farm and it has become a part of them, so three generations of my family, and my uncle's family are grieving the loss.
We spent a lot of time listening and learning in the last couple of years of Farm Bureau meetings and conferences to people who have seen so many familiar stories and have tried so hard to help prevent these break-ups and losses, but my dad never truly believed that it would happen--that his parents would sell him out.
So, they have been looking for pasture for the horses, gathering up the few things they were allowed to take, and trying hard to not become bitter.  And, at least, in a way, the farm is still in the 'family,' though that means  a hobby farm for my wealthy aunt and uncle.  The years, hours, blood, sweat and tears my dad and uncle have put into have almost no account to them.  The memories are all we have to hold, and right now, they hurt to think about because they still represent loss.  And, though there is a lot more I could say, this was the first time I really even felt I could type about it (and had time to), without the hurt and frustration and bitterness that have been plaguing me when I think about it.
So, my advice to any of you who are going to be passing on the farm, or wanting to be involved with the passing on of the farm--don't think that it won't happen to you the way it happened to us--take the time to meet with a mediator, to discuss to  plan, to express feelings.  Did my grandparents have any idea how much this would hurt their sons?  I honestly don't know--I hope not, because I don't want to believe they would have gone forward with it knowing that, but at the same time I can't imagine how they couldn't.  Weekends and summers and early mornings and late nights--chores have to be done, cows fed, horses, hay.  The barn with the swing out of the hayloft.  Water turns, digging ditches in springtime.  Fixing equipment that's always breaking down.  Not an easy thing to take care of for years, but an even harder thing to have one day and gone the next.