The one nice thing about farming is that you can drink on the job, if you are the boss anyways. I rarely drink when I’m milking or driving a tractor but when I’m doing paperwork that is when I like to. Taxes and our organic annual application seem to be less stressful and challenging with a bit of “I don’t give a .…” in my belly and mind. A little bit of RumChata in my cappuccino or hot chocolate has helped with this task for years. My numbers are all double checked by a professional anyways, so I’ve just got to be close to being right.
Back in the day on this ridge in Vernon County, Wisconsin during the probation, our farmers made their own beer, whiskey and wine like most of the country. We found bottles in every nook and cranny in every building. In the rafters, under the barn cleaner, on the fence line and even in the corn crib, just everywhere! Stories about these old fellers so drunk that they fell off their new tractors and combines and even slept in the corn field were not lies. At my parents place they must have used the bottles for target practice – glass everywhere. My annual summer project for me was to clean up under the tree near the pond, my own little fort with my kittens. Now my Mom has a cute garden there and less glass, needless to say, glass is like rocks. Our neighbor calls our type of rocks – sex stones, because it always seems like they breed every year. So a toast to us farmers for working in the hot sun picking up those sex stones, making hay, and planting crops ….a bit of booze is a good treat for hard working people.