Farm Boy Friday

Confession: I never went out with a farm boy. Ever. I had farm boy neighbours. Rode the school bus with them. Went to church with them. Never dated any.



Actually, I never "dated" anybody. Just went on lots of long car rides. (And yes, as a matter of fact, I actually have written a book about it!!!)

I don't regret my lack of a farmer's son boyfriend though, since quite a few of them were related to me. You think I'm joking? I'm not! Twenty years later, most of the neighbourhood is Dutch. My daughter, when we move back out there, has a very high chance of going out with a nice Dutch boy. They're all quite tall and fair skinned, have neato tractors from Holland, and go to church a lot. Not that I expect she'll go out with a boy I approve of. She is half-me, after all.

Nope, I never gravitated towards the respectable type. Looking back, I can see a definite pattern:

-pretty eyes
-loves music
-unruly hair
-as my dad would put it, "a s**t disturber" which if you're a farmer is not good because you want all your s**t in one place so it's easier to move later
-an absolutely worshipful look in his eyes when he sets them on me

I didn't ask for much and I married the third one who came my way!

Now I have a thirteen year old daughter. She is me, only more. She's taller than I was at that age- she's eye to eye with me right now. She's prettier than I was. Smarter. Has a better singing voice. She says all the boys in her class are rude and mean and they like that hip-hop music so they're totally out of the running. I can't wait to move her out to the sticks, so the boys have to work a little harder to get to her. Jethro's looking for a house with a porch big enough to stand on and look intimidating.

Well...one day, just a few weeks ago, we were shopping at my favourite store, TSC. They have a new, awesome clothing line called Farm Boy and Farm Girl. On a big poster above the T shirt rack, right there in all his glory, was....





...................AN AUTHENTIC FARM BOY...........................




We both stared. I think our jaws were both hanging.

ME: Sweetie...I think we have to move out to the country. Soon.

GIRL: Yeah....

Now just for the record, there were some good lookin kids in my youth. I had brief fleeting recurring crushes on a couple of the guys in my class. No, not the ones who were my third cousins. I don't think. Anyways. By the time I got to high school, there were tons of handsome young men who could drive a tractor and make your heart flutter at the same time. Going to church was a total blush fest. You wouldn't believe how good looking those guys were! What was I thinking? I could have married a fine lookin fella who would have wrapped me up in 100 acres of love!

But no. There was no question. By the time I was 18 I was totally lost on this big, grinning, pale skinned, long haired, rock dog. Not the son of a farmer. Son of an immigrant Englishman who taught high school shop. Not a country boy, but a small town boy with the feed mill on one side, beer store on the other, and a chicken coop behind.


I don't feel like I missed out on anything. I got what I wanted.

But my Girl...




I'm just saying.

Maybe moving out to the sticks won't be such a difficult adjustment for her?


Look at you, you cute Farm Boy! With your pretty eyes and curly hair and perfect stubble on your perfect chin.




And them big hay bale flinging arms.

And the way the stylist carefully sprinkled little bits of hay chaff on your T shirt.

Dang.