Farm Life Confession: Why I Started Talking to My Socks

Is it normal to talk to your socks? That's the question I've been pondering lately. Farming can be a bit lonely at times. Anne is up and away early, and my mornings always start alone, often followed by long days in the field or at the barn with just me and the dogs. Don't get me wrong, the "family" in "family farm" is a huge help around here, but sometimes being a farmer is a bit of an independent endeavor. I spent a lot of years working in offices surrounded by coworkers, so maybe it's just more evident for me.

Anyhow, earlier this week, I slipped on an old pair of socks, donned my coveralls and work boots, and prepared for a big day ahead. Well, I wasn't even halfway through morning chores when I felt that familiar little unpleasantness we all know—a toe hole in my sock. It's like having a pebble in your shoe, a constant, nagging reminder that can drive you up the barn wall. Throughout the day—tractor driving, chores, and lots of other tasks—it was there, bugging me all day. 

A few more days went by, and each morning I had the presence of mind to select a good, solid candidate for my foot coverings, newer, elastic, and up for the task. But yesterday morning, the sock drawer was looking a bit like Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. The selection had dwindled to the dregs—socks that had seen better days and probably shouldn't see any more.

Then I spotted an old pair of white athletic socks, relics from my younger days. I looked right at them and said, "Now, I'll pick you, but you gotta promise to make it through the day," in a very caring but serious tone. It was as if I was striking a deal with an old friend. We decided it was a plan, and I decided maybe I am losing my mind, talking to my socks. 

But you know what? The plan worked. Those socks delivered on their promise, and I made it through the day hole-free. It's funny how the little things can make such a big difference. In a world where we often focus on the big picture, sometimes it's the tiny threads that hold everything together.

And so, life on the farm continues with its quirks and quiet moments. Talking to my socks might seem a bit odd, but maybe it's just a sign that I'm embracing the simple, sometimes whimsical, rhythm of farm life. After all, if you can’t have a bit of fun with your socks, what can you have fun with? So here's to finding joy in the little things and to socks that rise to the occasion, even when the odds are stacked against them. Until next time, may your days be comfortable and your socks be hole-free.

Farmer Rod
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