•February 17, 2016•

By Jerry L. Ginther
New Progress Columnist

Many years ago during the late 70s and early 80s, I took some pleasure in the business of farming.  Having enjoyed the erg classes in Sullivan and belonging to the Future Farmers of America (FFA) during my high school years, I later engaged in the occupation on a small scale, relatively speaking.  I say relatively because when comparing 100 acres to today’s farming operations, it would be considered less than peanuts.

However, it wasn’t my “bread and butter” job but mostly an expensive hobby. My father and brothers all farmed so I thought it was in my DNA. I truly loved it, but due to my more reliable full time job with the railroad, there was no expanding the acreage.

Often, I would have to do my fall plowing at night on my days off.  Moonlit autumn nights were my favorite times to plow. The fragrance of the newly plowed earth hung in the cool, night air. The brilliantly scoured moldboards reflected the moonlight like mirrors when they were raised out of the ground at each end of the field. So bright was the light from the moon that I could plainly see the furrow ahead without using the headlights on the little model A John Deere. Preferring not to use them because of the fog of bugs they attracted, they were only switched on at each end of the field to illuminate the headland for the drive to the other side of the plowed ground.

Of course, with each pass through the field the area of plowed ground increased in width, making the drive across the ends longer. Once the right rear wheel of the tractor was in the furrow and the trip rope pulled, the plow settled back into the ground, and the headlights were extinguished until needed for the next turn around.     Login or Subscribe to read the rest of this story.