I always wanted my field reseeded over the years but never seemed to get around to it. Years ago, I did have a neighboring farmer bring his tractor over. I ended up plowing, disking, and harrowing the field with it. He came back and planted. The problem was the seed I bought was only shells because the mice found the burlap bag in his shed before planting.  Then I heard about a no-till drill, which unbeknownst to me had been around for years. Apparently, it works well on fields where plowing is difficult. The rig is quite a beautiful piece of engineering. The disk cuts a furrow in the field, the drill puts the seed in the ground, and the back wheels following cover the seed up. I know this isn’t everyone’s idea of beauty, but my field is to me. Even now my wife and I spend time each day sitting on an old donated bench watching the robins forage for worms on our pasture. There is even a small groundwater pond that occasionally the mallards reside on for a short time.  Anyway, a friend of mine told me about a local farmer who rents a no-till drill from the local soil conservation agency and may be willing to plant my pasture. I was able to get in touch with him, and even though it took awhile, he showed up and planted the seed on the acre pasture. We had a great time BS’ing about the drill and his years of farming in this beautiful valley. His family had owned a lot of land, but one of the younger members needed money and eventually they had to sell most of it off. The farmer ended up buying a ranch in Wyoming where his son lives and he helps him work the fields. I know what the phrase “watch the grass grow” really means now. Being at 6,600 feet elevation, the early season is quite cool and the sun takes its time warming up the soil. Germination takes its time and watching every day doesn’t seem to help. I had to move the horses to another pasture and what I thought would be a month or so may be much longer. Problem is even though I don’t have to get up and feed twice a day, I miss my horses, and my dog misses the routine, so we have to just feed the goats instead. When the farmer was done reseeding the field, I asked him what I owed him. He told me to just send my address to him and he will send a bill. I forwarded my address that day but no response. I finally ran into my buddy and asked him why I have yet to receive a bill. He just said he’s not going to send me one. My response was why and he just gave a me a blank look. I don’t really know why, but I have a difficult time asking anyone for help even if it’s offered. If I owe someone, I have to pay him, then I can rest. I remember years ago when I was young my grandmother who loved watching cowboys and Indians on TV said something I remember to this day. Nearing her later years as relatives who passed would leave money behind for her, she told my mom not to give her any more money. I get it. Give it to someone who needs it. The money wasn’t going to benefit her in any way. It was just an irritation. Back to the farmer who reseeded my field maybe, just maybe, I did pay him back. I think he could tell that I was so excited to see him roll up in his Kubota tractor and no-till drill. We talked for quite awhile and I took pictures of him and his drill and sent them to a few of my friends. I told him that I wish I would have been a farmer like him. I wish I could have grown up planting the fields, irrigating the pasture, watching the water flood the hay fields, working until dark and getting up at sunrise and back at it again. Maybe even working a full-time job to afford the lifestyle. I wish I could have grown up close to the soil, understanding what it needed and thankful for what it provided. I wish my sons could have worked beside me, though maybe not so excited to be forced to get up early, but following that path later in life. When it’s all said and done and the farm is up for sale and divided up and the money comes rolling in to replace the life and lifestyle — the land where my grandfather and my father toiled to give us a better life, where my mom fed us from the same land, where we as kids learned to drive the old ford pickup thru the fresh cut fields — I’ll realize that the dirt, the land, already gave us what we needed. Like my grandmother said: Don’t give me any more money. I already have been given what I need.  Goog Beroset lives in Oakley. The post Watching the grass grow appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less