We had a great time on the farm.  And I had a really good week off.  It’s nice to be back though and I’m looking forward to the Nomad Boot Camp tonight.

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The Burlington Northern Santa Fe carries coal.  Lots of it.  I don’t think you can really connect with how much coal we burn for energy until you see one of these trains go buy.  Every car full of coal and stretching for as far as you can see in either direction.  It happens about 40 times a day.

The sound of this train passing by the farm has always brought me great comfort.  Like an old friend you never lose touch with no matter how long it’s been since your last visit, the sounds it makes are familiar to me in ways that travel deep into my soul.

If you listen closely, you’ll hear the train in Madison pass by once in awhile.  I just wish it happened as often as this one.  Listen…

Click here for the audio…

Ask Laura and she’ll tell you straight on that “She didn’t marry a farmer!”  A doctor either.  She did marry an entrepreneur, which could be considered worse in some ways.  I don’t think I ever really understood what she meant until today.  The work of the farm is NEVER done and almost always demands your attention in some way or another…

Laura’s Dad just walked in the house.  It’s 6:30  in the morning.  He’s been out all night in one particular field planting the last of the soybeans for this year’s crop.  The rain over the last two weeks has been relentless.  For those of you who’ve never experienced a farm the way I have over the last 15 years, this means the ground gets awfully wet and it make it impossible to plant until it dries out a bit.

So, yesterday at about 3 in the afternoon, Laura’s Dad and brother headed out to plant the last 100 acres or so.  They’re still not done and they worked all night.  They’ll be done in a few more hours though, and at least for the moment, they’ll rest easy knowing that those beans will be ready to harvest before Christmas.  If the weather holds up in the fall that is.

The life of a farmer is one lived at the mercy of the weather.  I remember when I first started coming here 15 years ago.  I was in college and the internet was still only reaching a minority at dial-up speeds.  And in the back corner of the office at the farm house sat a little computer monitor sitting atop a white box that would deliver to you the weather in any form you desired.

I remember thinking to myself that they must be obsessed.  Checking the weather, talking about the weather, and pulling up the data from a recent rain for example was a constant activity here at this old farm house.  It took me awhile.  I’m a city kid.  But I finally understand now.  The weather determines everything around here.  And when the clouds clear, and the heat beats down, there are crops to plant and you had better take advantage of every ounce of dryness when you have it.  Especially this year.  The rain has been unstoppable.

My parents could tell you another story of a visit they made here some years ago.  Upon their arrival (for the first time), they were thrust into the activity of moving bags of seed as quickly as possible into a truck to deliver to the field they were going into as quickly as possible.  Rain was coming.  That little old radar machine said so, and it was vital to get the planting done.

Countless other experiences like this one both in the planting season and during harvest are a reminder to all of us that we are in a great debt to every old farmer who is willing to stay up all night to sow the seeds of our food.  I think about this early this morning when I’m tempted to loathe a poor night’s sleep in a very hot room, and yet I refrain.  Because while I rested, a farmer stayed committed to the work of feeding the human race and soon I’ll eat breakfast as a result.

It’s 5:30 in the morning and the heat is already pounding into me like a wrestler in the weight class two steps above mine.  The old farm house is old.  Really old.  I think it’s been here a hundred years and you can see it in almost every nook and cranny.  This morning though, you can feel it in the heat.  No matter how hard that furnace runs the air conditioning, the heavy-weight wrestler throws him back to the mat struggling for another escape.  Time and time again.

Laura grew up here and will tell you stories about how hot it used to get when they didn’t have ANY air conditioning.  How they used to huddle in the kitchen next to the window unit they finally purchased when she was in high school.  “Now that was hot!”  She tells me.  And I believe her, because every time we’ve visited over the last few years, it has been summer like this.  And during almost every visit, I’ve felt sticky, spoiled, and ready to head home every time the dew point finds its way above 60.

No one sleeps real well when we’re here either, especially on the first night.  Which is why when Carl walked over to my air mattress in the living room at 3 in the morning I didn’t act the least bit surprised.  “I can’t sleep.”  He told me.  “I’m not surprised.”  I replied.  “It’s so hot and stuffy in here, who could?”  So, I sent him gently back to his air mattress and we found a way to rest until about 5 in the morning.  We’ve been up every since, and though I’ve turned down the thermostat twice I can still only barely feel a difference…

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Originally uploaded by fitnessnomad

More on this photo and the real problem with health care on the John Ashworth Blog later today…

http://www.johnashworthblog.com

Ana and the Nomad mobile…

Originally uploaded by fitnessnomad

Catching up here on The Ash Flash blog. Finally got my imac and learning how to use it. This should make it easier to produce for this blog, which is focused mostly on personal stories and writing and my photography…

John