The Bag-Lady, Farm-Lady

I really wanted to write an article titled, ‘Can Life Get Any Crappier?’ Though it seems some days are more lacklustre than others, after giving it more thought, I decided it went against my hypothesis about living optimistically. So I rallied myself, counted my blessings and carried on. I used to sing at local events and a very wise, beautiful friend always made a point of reminding me, “Never lose your song – the world needs to hear your song.” I have taken that to heart – though some days my ‘song’ get’s buried under disquiet and anxiety. Be that as it may, I try to keep ‘my song’ and its close cousin, laughter always close by.

One recent rainy cool morning found Fred staring out the windows, pacing nervously. Our fields, still with unharvested crops (even though they are meagre) were getting another wet beating from Nature. When I suggested we take a drive to the city, he thought it a great idea.

He didn’t have to ask where I would like to be ‘dropped off’ while he went about several errands. Wordlessly he deposited me in front of Winner’s Department store. (TJMaxx in America.) My first stop is always the jewellery counter then to the handbag section. Absorbed in handbag heaven, a voice beside me asked, “Which one? Which purse do you think looks best on me?” Surprised someone was actually seeking my counsel, I looked and smiled. I had found a handbag soul-mate. Someone like me who believes that a handbag is not just an accessory; it is an extension of one’s wardrobe; a personal fashion statement.

An attractive, smartly dressed gal with a purse slung over each shoulder stared at me waiting for an answer. I was elated, for my new friend understood that a handbag has to be selected with great care. I told her I preferred the bronze and black, not the glitzy pewter bag with chains and studs. “Too much fu-fu for my taste and when you include your wallet and things it only adds to the weight.” She smiled back at me and said, “You are right. I appreciate your input – it’s a tough decision isn’t it?” Placing it back on the rack, we both smiled appreciating the sarcasm. She showed me a few other bags asking again for my opinion. At least twenty years her senior, I was flattered. She then admired my handbag, which I had only changed that morning, spilling the contents of my summer straw and fabric satchel on the kitchen table then transferring ‘my junk’ to a meticulously chosen dark burgundy tote.
My sisters lovingly call me ‘The Bag Lady.’
A conversation began between us, “What do you do?” she asked. I told her I am from out of town and my husband and I are farmers. She studied me for a moment then exclaimed, “REALLY?? You don’t look like a farmer’s wife.”
I burst into laughter and said, “Thanks.” Then added, “ . . . I think.”
My mind was racing as I thought, ‘here we go again.’ A farmer’s image continues to endure so many absurd connotations. Like the concept of a farmer’s tan - the image of a farmer’s wife to many is as brazenly delusional that brown cows make chocolate milk.
She was curious and continued, “What do you do on the farm?”
I was a bit taken aback - the job discription of a farmer's wife? Where to start??  All farmers know that there is always and ever something to do, it’s not a nine to five occupation. I told her that I help my husband when he's in the fields. I could tell this still did not satisfy her query. “Do you feed chickens and pigs and cows?”
I tried to suppress a smile and told her that we only grain farm. This business of farming suffers enormously from being misunderstood. She really wanted to know and I didn’t have time to explain. Fred was quick when he shopped at his manly farm equipment and parts department stores and my time was premium. I quickly told her that I help him in the field and there is much maintenance and repair work and also we have a huge farm yard with buildings and bins to care for. Again and with sincerity she mentioned that I don’t look like a farmer.
We parted laughing, agreeing we’d run into one another - another day, in the same place.

On our long trip home Fred and I chatted and chuckled about the encounter. It makes us rather sad that people don’t have a farming-clue. Not many consider paperwork, accounting, reading/studying, computer time and a long list of phone calls when they think of farming. I also believe that farmers undervalue their worth and how important they are to their friends and family, the industry, community and country. I recalled reading something by author Bill Bryson, ‘There are only three things that can kill a farmer: lightning, rolling over in a tractor, and old age.’

I didn’t buy a handbag, I don’t need one. There won’t be much money, if any income from the farm this year to put in it anyway. But that night as I removed a pair of Jeanbay jeans ($20); a warm silk-like lined black hoodie ($20, or "bunny-hug" as we call them here on the Canadian prairie) and a cozy grey/black animal print cardigan, ($15) from my Winner’s shopping bag, I did so with a smile. I thought of the lady I chatted with that day and I imagined her putting her wallet and other things in her new handbag. I wondered if she was telling her family about our exchange, about meeting a farmer who sure didn’t look like a farmer.

It’s so true. Us farmers can clean and gussie-up real good.

And I think there’s a country song in there someplace.