What’s a farmer thinking?
Hard toil takes proper planning and foresight
On a Saturday afternoon, day t wo of seeding soybeans, I was at Ens Farms in Manitoba with our tandem grain truck, which has a two- container box on it for transporting seed. I had run out and I really wanted to finish that 250-acre field that day.
While the seed funnelled from the bin into the treater and then into the back of my truck, I caught myself standing in the middle of the company’s large yard asking a question: What needs to be said about agriculture in Canada right now? What would you and I talk about at, let’s say, a pub if you wanted to know about farming?
If you were hoping to talk about how Donald Trump or trade policy is affecting farmers, you’re going to be out of luck. But if you want to talk about actual farming, well, let me bend your ear for a few minutes.
The seeding season starts as a series of wilful, headstrong exercises in confronti ng the unknown with a mind for solving problems on the fly. This may seem like a pat and/or clichéd reduction of what farmers do in spring, but, trust me, it is the most appropriate lens through which to understand how this time of year manifests itself to a farmer.
Our seeder is 30-feet wide. It’s old but too effective to consider upgrading. Seeds are conveyed from the container in the back of our grain truck into six storage compartments, along the bottom of which are a series of adjustable openings.
Once t he seeder is in field position and has been lowered into the ground, the feeder wheel stationed at each opening moves seed from inside the container into a tube that is connected to a hoe- shaped shovel, the back and inside of which is hollow, allowing the seed to neatly drop into the ground at a predetermined depth.
The packer wheels at the rear of the machine ensure the seed is tucked beneath the surface.
If I began day one of seeding knowing what would be required of me, I would have felt defeated before the sun rose. But that goes for any busy day on the farm.
A few of those tubes were plugged, which is an issue that only presents itself after it fills and starts spilling out an opening at the top.
I had to stop the tractor, get out, crawl underneath the seeder and navigate a labyrinth of sharp steel shanks and pointy hoes, to diagnose the problem. Then I have to fix it.
I repeated this process numerous times that day. These are normal spring startup pains. These machines only work a f ew weeks per year, and sit dormant the rest of the time.
At the end of day one, I had seeded 150 acres of soybeans.
It’s busy. There’s no dawdling. There is no going home because the machine you are operating broke down. There is no quitting because it’s 5 p. m. There is no time for policy. There is no time to think about a carbon tax, Trump or NAFTA.
There is only getting the seed in the ground, at the right depth and at the right rate.
The window to get this done is finite. Each seed, each variety, has an optimal seeding date and optimal seeding conditions.
At the end of the day, I’m filthy and scraped up. At the end of the day, I’m tired. At the end of the day, I feel satisfied in a way that is unique to this time of year.
To spend full days on the open Prairies putting seeds in the ground is hard work, physically and mentally, but, oh boy, is it rewarding.
If you and I were to meet in that pub, I’d sit down, sigh, order a round, and find a way to say these things to you. These things are important to understand.