I think my love of agriculture was passed on to me from my dad. It’s in my
DNA. I was born with this deep rooted love for the land, the soil, the way things grow...except in my garden of course. That, my friends, is an utter and complete failure. Remember the book I blogged about? "Cut Flower Garden"--the book with the beautiful skinny girl, walking in her field, with an abundance of beauty thrown ever so effortlessly over her shoulder? Well, there’s no color to cut in my garden folks, and I’ve decided that the smell of freshly cut weeds can be just as rewarding as anything--that is, if you’re not allergic, but back to my point. This is my dad’s 1950 International truck.
All five of us Baker kids learned to drive a stick (three on a tree) by driving this truck. We would refuel our tractor or combine by bringing the truck to the field carrying a big tank of diesel fuel in the back. The International is like the Baker farm mascot, and it’s a memory of my dad.
This year the International was used as part of our Twogood Farm booth during our local Swedish Midsommar Festival.
It was a delight to have people come by who remembered the truck and haven't seen it for years. Local farmers came by and reflected on stories of the past. Some people wanted to buy it. My dad loved to write things down, and while showing the truck to someone, we discovered his pencil figures on the truck side board recording the number of hay bales per load.
Conversations lingered on about the past through a drink we offered at our booth called switchel. It is known as the haymaker’s punch. It's like gatorade, only better.
In the old days men would drink this recipe of apple cider vinegar, ginger, and honey during haying season. This is my great grandpa giving a girl a drink during the haying season in 1900.
I love agriculture, and I love to sell our beef. For me it’s a way of helping people connect to the land. This land connects us to the past. I have a growing appreciation of what my dad and his dad’s dad went through so that we can be here now. The land we farm is the same land and I feel honored to be here.