My daughter and I had the opportunity of a lifetime, in my opinion, to go flying one day with our extremely generous friend: Ray Stranik. As we were coming close to the end of our flight, Justice pulled my headset away from my ear to shout that poignant statement to me. These rare occasions of clarity take me off guard as I am used to rambling editorials surrounding who blew milk out of their nose during lunch at school that day or which boy pushed the teacher just a tad bit too far and got himself in a world of trouble. She’s here to remind me that the simple thoughts of a child can be the most relevant and should be regarded as such, listened to in spite of everything else we have on our minds, and tucked away in the recesses of our minds to be brought out later, during those times when we aren’t necessarily seeing them in such a favorable light.
The idea of the flight came about because I wanted to write something surrounding harvest, I thought to see the combines in action from above might inspire me and possibly generate an approach I had not previously considered. Plus, I love to fly, especially small aircraft where there is seemingly so little between you and the surrounding atmosphere. The Air Force provided me with several opportunities for incentive flights and I grew to love everything about it. The initial heaviness then the shift to weightlessness as you take off, the added perk of the wind in my face from the open window of Ray’s 1946 Piper, and the jump and jerk when there’s a tiny bit of turbulence. I also must mention that the rare glimpse of our beautiful Morse Bluff from above took my breath away even more so than seeing the Mediterranean sea from those heights when I was stationed in Italy and got to go up in an F-15…straight up. I am addicted to that feeling of hope and panic just before landing, be it on an official landing strip or in a hayfield with the perfectly parallel harrows next to the pilot’s farm, guiding us in safely. It’s all heaven to me and the commercial flights are exciting but I feel too safe in those big planes, it’s just not enough to summon that adrenaline the way a smaller plane can.
In spite of all of this emotional buoyancy bubbling up within me beginning days before pre-flight, I attempted to stay mentally on track. Apparently there was some Nebraska game just finishing or it was too early in the season; we only saw a couple of fields with any activity, though I did get an excellent shot of a family baling hay. I say family because I didn’t actually see the folks but the machinery was moving with such synergy, they had to be blood relatives, making their living together, doing what they love. I got all of that from 400 feet above ground…..it’s a gift.
In my view, farming is something that has to come from within. In order to face that gambler’s lifestyle every day of your life, to crave that dependency on nature which is mostly out of your control, you have to love it or it just can’t work. I see farming as reckless, exciting, wild because of it’s unpredictable nature, and expensive. On the other hand, I’ve also noticed that farmers are some of the most conservative people I’ve ever met. It’s this dichotomy that has me perplexed and curious, so much so, that I daily suppress the desire to quit my job and sell my soul for my own “quilt square”. I despise my windowless, desk bound, paycheck-every-two-weeks-safe job that is paying for my house, supplying my family with affordable health insurance, and feeding us. I crave the open air, the dependency on the news supplied by the weather station, the gratification of being able to drive by and actually see what hours of labor can produce, and the excitement of living on the financial edge.
There’s a farmyard along the highway on my way to work and now and then they have an old piece of equipment for sale which sends my mind off on a tangent, dreaming of the possibilities. A few years ago they were selling an old, bright orange, heavy-duty farm truck with the wooden, slatted, sides built up on the bed…oh what I could do with a truck like that! Then, just a couple of months ago they rolled an old International 1420 combine to the edge of the highway and placed a “For Sale” sign in front of it. I got to thinking; “If I had that, all I would need is a couple hundred acres and a tractor and maybe a planter!”
Trust me, I’m not an idiot, just a dreamer and I’ve been accused of romanticizing things… a little. I know full well, that it takes so much more than that and most importantly: a banker with an equal amount of farming in his heart. Without the desire and array of generations of farmers, our small towns wouldn’t exist and all of the supporting jobs and careers would vanish, including my own.
We saw more than just farms and farmers from the air. I saw a patchwork of neighbors working together to support one another and to continue our pleasant way of life. We saw so many new lakeside developments along the river, we saw countless groups of contractors and builders on top of and within the framed-out skeletons of new homes, we saw lush golf courses, multiple industrial parks, and the train that ties us to the rest of the world. We saw full parking lots at familiar bars as well as next to churches in every small town from Ashland to North Bend where we have all met to share each other’s company at one time or another. We saw that, in spite of all of the growth and overflow from the bigger cities, we still have so much green, so many trees, and so much water in our rivers and lakes. We saw one of our neighbors warmly waving up to us the minute he recognized us in the air.
From above, my daughter and I were afforded the rare and cherished chance to be able to appreciate the idea that it takes all kinds, not just the farmer, to support the farms all around us. The farmer may be out there in the field, seemingly alone on many occasions, but that farm is only one of the interesting patches connected to the rest on our colorful, tale-telling quilt displaying the diversity that makes us all a part of our beautiful Nebraska.