It’s National Agriculture Day. That ranks right behind Christmas and the Fourth of July here in the heartland. In Iowa, even in the inner city you don’t get far away from agriculture. It’s just who we are.

I grew up on a farm. Played with the newborn piglets being kept warm under a heat lamp in the worn aluminum bushel basket in the basement. Fed the chickens and horses for my daily chores. Walked beans for my high school job. We ate from the garden. Picked up our meat from the locker. Planned family outings around farm chores and the seasons.

I thought everyone had a farmer’s tan and the men at all churches must look just a little strange on Sundays without their caps on.

It was a comfortable life. A safe and secure life. And one that looks pretty darn idyllic from the perspective of going on half a century.

Truth is it was unending hard work and 24/7 responsibility. It was spending the night in the hog house and bringing those little pigs to the house to be saved in the wee hours. It was chopping ice out of the stock tank at 20 below zero. It was coming in after 14 hours in the field to an hour’s worth of chores.

I grew up seeing people sweat. Literally. Hard labor in the heat of the midday sun sweat. I even learned what that felt like first-hand. I learned that dirt, mud, and even manure are not to be feared. They wash off.

And I grew up seeing people sweat – figuratively. I was told more than once that new Homecoming dress I wanted would have to wait until a load of hogs was sold. I saw the furrowed brow shielding the intent eyes as they poured over the books lit by the single-bulb desk lamp. I felt the intensity of the prayer when the rains hadn’t come.

I feel privileged now to have work that often takes me to the farm. In some ways, not much has changed. Farmers still sweat – literally and figuratively. Farm kids still learn about hard work, responsibility, and priorities. Manure still washes off.

In other ways, things have changed. Farming is more high-tech, and in general, well, just plain BIGGER. Efficiencies of scale. Farmers feel more public opinion pressure, and have no choice but to absorb the non-stop lightening-speed bombardment of new information.

But the heart and soul, they never change. Heading out to climb on the tractor at the break of dawn and inhaling as much fresh, crisp air as your lungs can possibly hold never changes. Nor does seeing a meager pile of Christmas presents for your kids under the tree and telling yourself business will be better next year.

Farmers have been saving those little pigs in the middle of the night, and getting chores done early to attend an evening church vestry or Co-op board meeting in town, for generations.

It’s just who they are. And I’m glad I get to be part of the machine that keeps them humming along. Glad some days I get put on my boots and go to the farm.