The Origin of Farmers

Stacey Tractor Dad

(The Original Farmer at 18 months with Dad and Handy-Dandy.)

I thought I’d explain myself today and tell the story of where my kiddo’s got their Farmer nickname.

It's evolved over the years really. I wasn’t raised on a farm but my Dad worked with tractors for his business and all over the yard, on Grandma’s wooded acreage just behind us and we did keep a horse, my sisters jet black Mustang-mix, Velvet. Mom grew a monstrous garden and there were always berries of some kind that needed to be picked and squished into freezer jam. Snapping beans and flicking peas with Grandma on her back porch or gathering eggs from the hen house were constant summer activities I loved to help out with.

Dave grew up on a hobby farm in a very small hobby farming community near Spanish Fork, UT . Cows, horses, pigs, chickens, a dog or two and a pond that looked more like a cesspool more often that not. We lived there for a while when Devin was one year old. Let's just say I learned a lot from the experience and have come to respect the farming circle of life, like just where and how my juicy, tender steak came to be. It’s one thing to know and a completely other thing to live it.

The first of my creative nicknames was that of Farmer-Toad, hoppy little things in the field next to the creek and pond that would bounce off your legs as you walk it, much like Devin when he started walking and constantly underfoot. In fact, his first Halloween costume was a frog.

Then it was Farmer-Snot, not very nice considering, but a farmer does what a farmer has to in middle of a field without a hanky. Dave introduced me to the concept which I would never, ever do even in the most neediest of farming-nasal circumstances. The name falls in line with the fact that most kids are covered in the stuff from one year old and on and Devin was no exception to the rule.

From the family farm we moved into our own hobby farm, though we only had chickens and two yellow labs, we did have a pasture that our neighbor turned his Palomino out in. Then it was curb and gutter until we found our property in the Forest Grove area. No animals or pasture there, figured the wild ones would make up for that. We did have a garden with grapes and berries, a classic well-like cistern, a year round creek and gravel road. The Farmers had room to roam. For the past two years and some odd days we’re back to suburban life with asphalt roads and all our shopping within a ten minute radius.

So now it's just Farmers. They know how to push my buttons and drive me crazy, therefore reapers of my sanity. For instance, they build me up by saying this like, "You're really good at this video game, Mom -" followed by a wicked smile or a roll of the eyes, "- for an old person." Just when my self-confidence was bubbling up out of the tar pit of parental lameness…

Poking each other needlessly, whining, selective deafness and other generally annoying things kids do to send their mother to the padded room in a nice white jacket where “cocktails”are served each morning, sooner rather than later. I'm sure you have no idea what I'm talking about!

In the end, that's the story of where Farmers came from.


  1. young family said...

    I knew the story, but it is still nice to read it.

    Cute picture of you!! That seems so long ago, when we were little and sat at our Grandma's knee learning things. AHHH memories :)

  2. Emma said...

    Hey I got a blog too so be sure to check it out!

  3. Jackie said...

    Hey! come check out my blog, oh and what exactly do you mean by this post? did you get another cat?