By Jim Van Der Pol, Kerkhoven, Minnesota — I was raised to farming. Most of my “indoctrination” was carried out by my father. He truly believed that he who could farm certainly would, and that others would just have to be satisfied with a lesser lot in life. When I was a little boy, three or four perhaps, the instructions given for locating me were to “find Jake and look down.” The barn my parents built to replace the one that blew down on our former farm a few miles down my road still bears my three-year old footprints in the concrete.

Dad is gone. So is Mother now, and I have been amazed at how very intimidating it has been to find myself in the predicament of being the oldest, at least in that my generation is the oldest. The idea that I am or ought to be speaking from experience is confusing. How did I get so far so fast? My confusion is worsened by the knowledge that I do not in any sense “know” what my parents knew, even though all of us are, or were, farmers. Continue reading “Musing on Dad’s mistakes”