I’ve been reflecting on an old pitchfork that’s been on the farm for as long as anyone can remember. Did my dad buy it? Unlikely, as he never had livestock. Was it my grandfather’s, who worked with horses? Or maybe it’s even older, from my great-grandfather’s time. We’ll never know.
Lately, I’ve noticed one of the center tines is bent and worn down more than the others. It’s been rubbing against the ground for years while feeding livestock, gradually wearing down with each use. The metal has thinned and smoothed over time, showing the signs of countless days of work.
I keep thinking there must be a metaphor for life in there somewhere. Maybe it’s a reminder that those who stand out often bear the brunt of the load. Or perhaps it’s just another example of how farm life wears things down—this old pitchfork, the tractors, and some days, even me! I can’t shake the feeling there’s a saying in there somewhere, but then again, maybe a worn pitchfork tine isn’t exactly something that resonates with the masses. Still, I keep coming back to it—there’s something about it that sticks with me.
Truth be told, I really have no idea where the pitchfork came from. But I like to think it’s been in the family for a long time. I never met my grandfather Ewing, but if I want to believe that this was his pitchfork and it’s speaking to me now—well, who’s to say I’m wrong?
It’s funny how a simple tool can connect us to our past, whether through real history or just the stories we tell ourselves. And sometimes, those stories are exactly what we need to keep going.
Thanks for being part of our farm’s story.
Warm regards,
Farmer Rod
The Mystery of the Old Pitchfork 👨‍🌾
