Companion Farming. It is better than growing alone.

I have this weird fantasy where I secretly take pictures and videos of Captain America and I, and I edit them into a better commercial for FarmersOnly. You know, kind of like the Match and eHarmony ones, only with more cows. Oh and instead of the first date conversation being about our jobs it would be about what dead things the dogs drug into the yard lately (a whole deer head with eyes and all, thanks Susan…). Less giggling and more full out belly laughs. Fewer sly hair flips and more hands shaking and praying to not spill the wine. Heavy discussions about how many cows we wanted to have when we got older, or how much acreage we wanted to own. And the tagline for this? Companion Farming. It is better than growing alone.

 

Why Companion Farming you ask? A few months ago I was walking across one of Captain America’s fields carrying two bottles of tea; making a beeline straight for the tractor when it hit me. If I hadn’t drove the hour and a half to get there, and he had flipped the tractor or gotten kicked by a horse or whatever random farming accident, no one would even notice until it was too late.

 

The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I felt physically ill. I fought it down and hopped on up to make a few rounds as “tractor candy.” But it hasn’t been very far away from my thoughts ever since. As we made the rounds and small talk I found my thoughts wandering and toying with words, as they are frequently wont to do. I was thinking about how glad I was to be alive and in the relationship that I am in, and then I started being grateful for the opportunity to explore my hobbies and interests like companion planting, and I looked over at CA and thought to myself how lucky I was to have such a nice farming companion, and then the thought hit me. We were companion farming. I was put in his life to prevent him from an untimely tractor accident (or at least to cry a lot if it happened) and he was put into mine to help me too. Because let’s face it. In a few years I too would be farming alone.

 

Over the past few weeks my thoughts have been circling around this idea of companion farming as if it was an unruly cow and I REALLY wanted to pet her calf. Which is to say I will think hard on it and then lose interest only to come back a few days later and stare longingly at the cuddly little epiphany that is just barely out of my reach. Seriously, it is right there.

 

I have had a lot of thoughts that almost catch it.

 

We refer to loved ones, friends, romantic partners, and pets as companions. Ideally most of those relationships are symbiotic, and help each other, to create a better whole. To extend the idea of companion gardening into it, there are certain plants that grow well together giving support to sprawling vines or fighting off certain insects for their neighbors. Those companions don’t replace sunshine, soil, or water; but they go an awfully long way when it comes to boosting the liveliness and productivity of their sister plants. For example, squash can grow by itself, but it is much more susceptible to bugs without some radishes in its life. Much like I can grow by myself but am much more prone to bouts of depression without all of my companions around. Each one is specialized and good for certain things like conversation, hugs, devil’s advocacy, fun wild nights, shopping, or listening; much like certain companion plants are great for things like immune support, physical support, or even pest deterring.  

 

God is a gardener planting people in our lives to help us grow in certain ways. We must chose our friends as if they were companion plants (IE stay away from those black walnut friendships ‘cause nothing good will come of that [black walnut trees actually release a toxin into the ground that can kill rival plants]). Not everyone that will take from you also gives you back what you need. After all, what good is a little shade if you’re both starving and fighting for nitrogen? When selecting a mate you must choose someone that you not only grow well next to, but who also doesn’t steal too many of your nutrients, all the better if they add what you need back into the soil.

 

Any of those work? No? Well, heck. They don’t quite do it for me either. Maybe one day I will clutch that cuddly calf of insight and it will be as clear as day, but for right now it is still about as see through as lake water after a rainstorm. Geez, I am rocking the redneck analogies today. Sorry ‘bout that!

 

One way or another, I am so grateful to have my life so full of EXCELLENT companions.

 

And part of that is because of FarmersOnly. So watch out, Captain. It only makes sense that I should give a little back!

 

After all, who could resist a handsome farmer fake threatening
you with a knife as you snap pictures of him cutting bale strings for you?
C'mon! The ad will write itself!

 

 

You don't have to be lonely...

It has taken me awhile to admit this...

W and I broke things off a few months ago. It broke my heart, and even though I know better I felt as though I would never heal. But after a great deal of crying, self pity, and internal debate I did it. I tried online dating a few weeks ago.

FarmersOnly.com is actually a thing. Believe it. Chintzy ads aside, it is pretty fantastic. Imagine if you will that you are fishing, and you know you want to catch a catfish. Do you go hang around fishing holes known for bluegill? No. You go down to the river and throw in your hook where you know there is a passel of channel cat. Dating is similar. I know that a lot of what I am looking for in forever has to do with a rural lifestyle, so why look somewhere else? Laugh, tease, and kid all you like, but for me FarmersOnly was like the Sears and Roebuck catalog of guys (who ALL LOVED and WANTED A RURAL LIFE). Score.

Now, there are some drawbacks to meeting “farmers, ranchers, and good ol’ country folk.” Namely different approached to grammar and in general an intense affection for hunting and beer. I am a self proclaimed grammar Nazi, so that was a bit of a hurdle. Though there aren’t so many guys there that mix up their, they’re, and there as there are in my Facebook newsfeed; so it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. I’m okay with hunting and beer as long as I don’t have to be outside in the early and cold, and as long as it is decent beer. Also, I’m not that picky as to what “decent” is either.

I met a few gentlemen friends on this site, and went on a few dates with mixed results. One guy in particular has stood out in the last two weeks. I have nicknamed him Captain America, and he didn't run screaming away when I called him it to his face. Or when I sang him his theme song. Or when I talked about random dead things on our first date. Bonus. Anyway, there was one other “drawback” that I hadn’t anticipated. Let me give you the back story:

I sent off for my  renewed Firearm Owners Identification Card in December. I didn’t receive it until this week, so I have been unable to previously purchase a firearm to protect myself from varmints or intruders. A few weeks ago my friend’s house was burglarized and I mentioned all of it in a text to the Captain. His response was a resounding encouragement to have a weapon in my house because the results of NOT having one and needing it would be much worse than having one and using it before my card came in. I agreed with him offhandedly and thought nothing of it as I went along my merry (continually texting him images of freakishly large snake sheds and angry bulls).

That is, I thought nothing of it until this week when upon telling him that my card came in; the boy brought a very nice revolver into my house, informed me that it was his snake killing gun and that it wouldn’t matter that I am a horrible shot, and asked me if I would like to keep it until we could go purchase one of my own. **Update: done and done!

To be fair, blithely telling him I was unprotected and then sending him a bunch of stories and pictures of things that could potentially kill me was probably a bad idea. Lookie! I am innocent, and helpless! Gah. What can I say? I am an awkward dater.

But here is the tricky part: we have been on several dates, he has cooked for me and I for him, I have met his horses and he mine, we have worked on his farm equipment a couple of times, and he offered to leave me a gun. Are we friends? Are we seeing each other? Are we dating? Is it exclusive? By accepting possession of this revolver would I somehow perform some part ancient redneck marriage ritual leaving me betrothed, or more? Seriously, it is a NICE gun. The thing could be a bride price, but wouldn’t that go to my dad? It is like Carrie with the shoes in the Sex in the City movie, only a revolver? What is proper etiquette when a guy tries to leave you a gun? Should I clean it? Oil it? Practice shooting so that I can hit the broad side of a barn? Is it like in the Princess Diaries where I am going to have to shoot a target through a flaming hoop to signify something? Because if I have to hit a target at 50 yards I am going to need a lot of practice. 

Also, when he asks me to come over to “help unload his baler” is that code, or did he just buy two balers? Why do you even need two balers? Oh yeah, spare parts, but still. Is it a euphemism? Do good ol' country folk even have euphemisms? Are they like the pick up lines in my last post? What do these things mean!?!? Is it intensely manly and attractive to kill snakes and make boots out of them, or is it creepy? Agh!

Geez, the things I never had to consider when I met a guy at a bar!

Awkward

I am a socially awkward dater.

I don’t go on many first dates because when I do I wind up talking about things like animal spines and deer skulls. I don’t know why. First dates turn me into some sort of sociopath. I panic when faced with a new person that I don’t know, and resort to discussing things I do know, like random dead things in the yard and dehydrated opossum carcasses in the barn. Sexy right? God. No wonder I can’t beat them off with a stick. <-sarcasm

I have found that in addition to the regular things that most girls look for in a guy I also have a weird ranking system that most other women do not have.

Normal                                                   Me

Buys flowers                                         Has hand raised baby (raccoon/opossum/cow/deer/etc.)

Respectful                                             Can fix farm equipment (bonus points if with bare hands)

Romantic                                               Finds hay stacking/cow checking/fourwheeling romantic

Good conversationalist                     Can use chainsaw and gun, preferably not at the same time

In good shape                                       How high can he throw hay

Cares about appearance                    Smells like: coal smoke, diesel fuel, hydraulic fluid

Takes me to nice/cool places            Has sexy farm animals/tractors

Etc.                                                          Etc.

 

Needless to say I was devastated when Boyfriend and I broke up a few months ago. I felt a crushing sense of depression. I have so many weird little ticks and idiosyncrasies that I really felt like I would be doomed to be alone forever. The echoing moos across the hills would be my only music. Horse hugs would be the extent of my comfort. In short, since I was so dedicated to my farm lifestyle it was a choice between being alone and doing what I love, or being in love and doing what made me miserable. I chose to stick to my guns with my lifestyle choice, and lead the life of a hermit if need be. I pictured the ends of my days driving a tractor across a barren landscape hopping off to cut bale strings to the agitated bawling of newborn calves, and I was strangely okay with it. After all, I’m tweaked a little differently. I don’t particularly want a life of leisure, and if a guy can’t appreciate my work ethic and lifestyle choices I would probably make him miserable in the long run. I wouldn’t want to do that to someone I cared for.

So what is a girl with horrible dating skills to do? Use redneck pick up lines?

“You can come drive your t-posts at my place anytime.” Suggestive wink…

“You’re right. I don’t need vinyl fence boards. I need wood. Badly.” Come hither look…

“Would you like to follow me home and plow my field?” Hint of a suggestive chin tilt…

Somehow I really don’t see those working out for me. I mean. They’d work on me, but it would take a special someone for me to use them on. But then again, maybe when I find a guy that I can share a glass of wine and swap “things the dogs drug into the yard” stories with maybe he will appreciate those too.

Because I giggle like a moron every time I read them.

Maybe I should just become a nun…