The Farm Supply Store

Where are the farmers to walk through the farm supply store and look at the miniature farm machinery for sale. Christmas gifts. "Oh, my boy would like that." And stare at a tractor a kid could drive around the pasture, legs peddling fervishly and think "too much money." "Oh, my girl would love that big stuffed lamb" or is it a sheep, a Dorset, white with horns made out of plush, soft and cozy to lie over, watching T.V., evenings. And the hobby horse, a first horse for my little girl. Where are the farmers whose children know what a farm means and whose wives know what a farm means, and who want something more than a mixer for Christmas? Or, who really do want a mixer for Christmas.

I saw a man walk through the Christmas gift department in the farm supply store. Hands half in his pockets. Thumbs out. He wore a cap and jeans and farm boots. He walked up and down each aisle, slowly, his head turned sideways, looking at the selection of gifts displayed on the shelves. Some nice canisters for the kitchen. Maybe. Are there still little boys who collect matchbox size tractors and seeders and spreaders, just like Dad’s, and know what they are? "I have a whole set!" Are there still little girls who collect miniature cows and calves and know the difference between the black and white ones and the red ones? And who care, because they show their own calves at the County Fair, 4-H, in the summer. Where are they? The echo of their voices and their smiles and their shining faces filled the aisles of the Christmas gift department in the farm supply store. Where are their fathers, brown leather wallets bulging with receipts, and a few bucks, cash money?

I bought a Christmas ornament. A chicken standing on top of a sheep standing on a cow, the star behind them. And a pair of work gloves, soft leather, the only ones in women’s sizes. There was a pretty tin of cookies. I passed it by twice. I liked the tin. There was no price on it. I bought it anyway. I looked at the receipt on my way out of the store. Cheap enough. A pretty tin in which to store beans in the larder. Winter. Maybe I’ll get another.

There were no people in the store. Oh yes, the man who works for me was buying a big bag of cat food. And a couple bought a giant bag of dog food. The man in the Christmas gift aisle, the one with the sunshine lines on his face was nowhere to be seen. Where are the farmers? Where are the farmers in the farm supply store? Christmas. Sylvia Jorrín For the ongoing story of the farm with pictures visit www.sylviasfarm.com ",1]

There were no people in the store. Oh yes, the man who works for me was buying a big bag of cat food. And a couple bought a giant bag of dog food. The man in the Christmas gift aisle, the one with the sunshine lines on his face was nowhere to be seen. Where are the farmers? Where are the farmers in the farm supply store? Christmas.

by Sylvia Jorrin
For the ongoing story of the farm
with pictures visit
www.sylviasfarm.com

Editor's Note: This is the first submission by Sylvia Jorrin, a farmer and author from the Catskills. In 2004, She published the tale of her life and her farm entitled: Sylvia’s Farm: The Journal of an Improbable Shepherd; she also writes for numerous magazines and news outlets on issues regarding farming and sustainability. She will soon be featured in Martha Stewart Living Magazine (April, 2007). We were thrilled when Sylvia contacted us and asked to join in the York Staters project. We hope to be featuring more of her work in the future. Welcome Sylvia!

If you desire to submit your works to York Staters, please email us at york.staters@gmail.com, we're very laid back and friendly, so don't be afraid to drop us a line over any old thing.

-Jesse