Erica Louder

Despite all my pretenses to the opposite, I wasn’t a real “farm kid” growing up. My parents brought home the bacon, but it didn’t come from the farm. I never milked a cow, but my brother told me to not have a cow when he got my goat. As a kid, I didn’t feed chickens, but I was prone to counting my eggs before they hatched and rarely had my ducks in a row. And, if you asked my mom, my room was always a pigsty.

We have a yearling heifer that always finds the hole in the fence. As a calf, she would snuggle next to the fence for a sunny nap and wake up on the other side. She would bellow and holler at her mama, who would in turn bellow and holler at us.

I live on a dirt road that comes to a dead end at our house. It’s about a third of a mile off the highway. Directly to the west of where our road and the highway junction meet is a sugar beet dump operated by the regional sugar beet cooperative.

He knocked on my door at 7:30 a.m. Muting the cartoon, I answered still in my pajamas with my newborn in my arms. My neighbor, Jeremy, eyeing me, said, “Your cows are out. Is your husband home?” No, my husband is not home and nowhere near cell service. I tried to not sound bitter.

Farming is rarely a one-man job. Very few can get by without some sort of outside “help.” Even with thin margins, having a hired hand or two makes a huge difference – if not financially, it sure helps with your quality of life.

March was Women’s History Month, and as a woman and a lover of history, I fully engage in the celebration of our vibrant and remarkable history. A social media post from popular blogger Carrie Mess – author of Dairy Carrie – reminded me not to forget about the history of women in agriculture. This got me thinking about how women in agriculture shaped my history.