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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.

History tags him as the giant collector. His name was Fredrick the First of Prussia, and he had a passion for giant soldiers, which he collected from throughout England.

Flack. Harassment. Annoyance. Utter disbelief. Face-making accompanied by head-scratching. Occasional profanity. Threats of bodily harm.

Since the time the last of my five kids left home, Father’s Day Sunday has brought with it a slight amount of unnecessary angst. Not that it would alter my affection for any of my two daughters or three sons, but I always worry, just a little bit, one or all of them will neglect, for whatever reason, to contact me on Father’s Day.

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.

Decisions.

Should I plant low-lignin alfalfa? Can I afford to hire another employee? Can I not afford to hire another employee? Should I buy the neighboring property? Can I justify a new rake? What about a hay barn? Is it time for me to sell out?