Mondays are just young Fridays

I grew up in a Canadian city surrounded by wheat, a community where agriculture was the lifeblood.
Wheat was king, but pulse crops, corn, potatoes, and cattle were all a part of the economy.
I grew up reading the same newspaper I later worked at. Agriculture was often front page news; crop prices, rainfall amounts, weather conditions, and whether conditions would see farmers through another year.
In good years you could see the impact on the city, sales of just about anything were on the rise. In bad years it was a drought everywhere off the farm. Farming drove the economy on the prairies, and has a greater hold on the Gross Domestic Product of this country (and others) than it is given credit for.
We think in terms of commodities, and not food, and we don’t think enough about the farmers who produce what ends up on our table.
I’m always reminded of my roots as temperatures begin to drop at night this time of year. I know that as I’m sleeping soundly, old friends of mine may well be out all night on their equipment and racing against the first frost, hopefully near the end of harvest.
Hope is a big part of agriculture. Farmers, each year, take a gamble of what they will grow and when they will plant. You’ll never meet a more optimistic bunch of people than farmers; hope is a word that sustains them.
Farming is, like no other industry, at the mercy of the weather. The best growing conditions, and the finest field of crops, can change overnight as weather can wreak havoc on the land.
We give it so little thought as we pack our grocery carts with fresh fruits, berries, and vegetables, bread, eggs, milk, and the meat we eat. We think, so little, about who cares for the land.
We look for the best prices, but how often do we think of the price a farmer is paid for his time and investment? How little of that $2 loaf of bread does a farmer receive?
It is more than nutrition; it is food for thought.
09/04/2017                                                   j.g.l.

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