"Country Girl"

When someone asks me what my husband does, I proudly tell them "He's self employed and farms." Their next question is almost always "OH so you must be a country girl?" IF there is one term I hate more in the world it would be "country girl."

When I think of a country girl, I see a pink camouflage wearing, bow hunting, deer shooting, bull testicle eating, double fisting, beer drinking, 4 wheel driving, mudding, dirty girl. That's not me, and that's a far cry from what I am.   The term country girl does nothing to represent what a farmer wife actually is and the roll we play in supporting our husband and contributing to the daily operation of a farm. If anything, I'd like to redefine that term.

 I've always wanted to be a farmers wife, it looked traditional, classy, and fun. It did not look hard, tiring, exhausting, or draining. Guess what? It's all of the above; traditional, classy, fun, hard, tiring, exhausting, and draining.

I don't hunt, I hate to hunt. There is nothing fun about getting up at 4 a.m., setting in the cold, in the dark, waiting for an animal to cross my path for me to shoot. It's cold, it's dark, I have to keep quiet and I don't wanna go. However, I will proudly support my husband shooting as many deer as the law will allow and eating every last one of them. I'll cook it and I'll eat it but while he is out hunting I'd rather be baking a pie, cleaning the house, or thrift store shopping. Hunted animals are free food and I like free.

A country girl should be able to drive a manual transmission through any mud hole without killing the transmission, right? Wrong. I can't drive a manual transmission, maybe I could to save my life but you will never find me willingly driving one because I can't. If you ever see me on  the side of a road in an old ford pickup with what appears to be car problems, just drive on by. I'm just trying to get a five speed started and it typically takes me more than one try or five tries for that matter. Smile and wave, smile and wave, but don't expect me to wave back because by this point I've been standing on my left leg for so long trying to keep the clutch down and I'm trying to move the gear shifter thing from neutral to first gear while on the phone with Andy typically in the tractor in front of me and I have NO free hands. I'll smile and wave in my head.

Dirty, I'm not a fan of willingly being dirty. I like to be clean, have brushed teeth, semi brushed hair and a bra on before going out in public. However, sometimes duty calls. Sometimes your husband is miles away and there are cows out on 82 highway and you are still in your nighty pajamas and it is now your responsibility to go contain the cattle. What does one do? One quickly throws on whatever clothes they can find and go find the cows in my little (automatic) Ford Focus.. For me, that typically means sweatpants from the dirty laundry, old cowboy boots, a shirt with no bra and the best looking hairdo do you will find on this side of the Mississippi (insert sarcasm). My father in law finds it to be quite hilarious when he seems me in these types of circumstances, specifically on the side of 82 highway in a culvert trying to keep a cow out of the road and patiently waiting for help to arrive to graciously put her back where she belongs. If you ever see me on the side of the road with a mortified look on my face and clothes that make me look homeless, just remember; duty probably called and my husband/father in law are on their way and things will return to normal soon. Smile and wave and I'll wave back.

Patience as mentioned in the above paragraph, that has never been a virtue for me until I became a Dawson. These people are the most patient, carefree people I have ever met and I am very thankful my husband exhibits that quality as well. I'm learning, this has been one of the hardest lessons for me as a newly married girl and farmers wife. Sometimes there are times when we have plans and were suppose to be someplace fifteen minutes ago and I have yet to see my husband who will need to shower and I'm pacing through the living room waiting on him. OR I've had dinner ready for an hour and Andy was suppose to be home an hour ago and he had to pull a calf and is getting ready to walk through the door at any time smelling like he just got out of a sewer. It's just what we do, we wait, and we are patient because some things are just out of your control and the end result is better than the alternative.

No, a farmers wife is not the glamorous life style one would imagine or the lifestyle I thought it would be before I got into it. If I'm a farmers wife who must be a country girl, then yes I am. I am my own version of that. I'm a wild game chef, a homeless looking girl on the side of 82 highway, automatic vehicle driver by choice and a manual driver without choice, a patient individual, a lover of this country lifestyle I've adopted and of a husband who has the most important job, feeding the world.