March 2019 - 50

AG LABOR REVIEW
The seasons are in the eye of the beholder
MICHAEL MARSH
President & CEO
National Council of Agricultural
Employers
Michael@ncaeonline.org
Looking out my office window here
in Washington, D.C., I observe that
most of the snow from the weekend's
storm still lingers in shaded areas. It's
interesting, from this Wyoming boy's
perspective, how 8 inches of snow
snarls this city to a halt. Heck, it's
almost paralyzed if a half inch of snow
hits the ground! Paralysis by Mother
Nature instead of politicians. And, no
one knows how to drive!
It's also interesting to me how
people raised in this area consider
temperatures less than 40 degrees to be
terribly cold!
I recall, as a kid, the weeks after
Christmas when my dad would run
the hose in the backyard, and the
temperature dropped at night to
almost 20 below. The water would
freeze and spread across the backyard
and, with subsequent irrigations,
spread even further.
The farmers fuss about
getting equipment ready,
anxious for the ground to
thaw and dry up enough to
get out in the field.
If we were lucky, a flurry would
dust the ice just enough so that the
next morning my brother and I could
scoop circuitous paths across the ice
(he was my younger brother, so he did
require my critical supervision). That
chore being complete, we'd get on the
telephone and call the neighbor kids
to grab their skates and come over
because it was warming up, and we'd
soon be at 5 degrees.
What followed was pure joy!
Flashing (or so we thought), around
the icy paths at a furious pace in game
after game of fox and geese, pausing
only for cups of hot chocolate. Then,
back at it again even though the
daytime temperature only got up to 10.
If we were lucky, the wind would
come up over the next night and blow
the snow off the ice. This set the stage
for hockey matches the next morning.
Hockey sticks and pucks were not to be
had. However, a gnarled cottonwood
branch and a rock always did the trick.
Those days were a lot of fun! As
I look back across the years and the
1,500 miles or so there was something
else involved in all that cold and
expenditure of energy. We knew
the ice wouldn't last forever. In fact,
underneath the ice and snow and wind
and cold lay something else.
That something else was the promise
of spring.
Growing up in a rural community,
you're very tied to the seasons. You see
the buds on the trees starting to push
and see the winter wheat sprouting
up through the snow. The farmers
fuss about getting equipment ready,
anxious for the ground to thaw and
dry up enough to get out in the field.
You felt the days growing longer and
it wasn't quite as dark walking home
after basketball practice. And then, the
farmer firing up his tractor across the
street roused you from sleep because
he'd had his coffee and he was ready to
go. It was better than any alarm clock.
As the days warmed, the pace in the
community picked up and the energy
of my neighbors did too. The hills
greened from the winter's moisture
and neat symmetrical rows filled
the fields after plowing, disking and
floating, as seed was put in the soil.
Winter was being shaken off and, with
care and nurture, lush crops would
burst forth.
And so, as I look out my office
window, I smile. Where my colleagues
might see white icy drifts giving way
to sloppy, slushy muck, and for them a
feeling of brutal, bitter cold. I see and
feel something else.
Spring is always a promise kept.
And, it's on its way. FGN
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March 2019

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of March 2019
