Favourite farm job with Dad.

Just wondering what are your favourite farm job that you do with your Dad (or for older guys your favourite job with your son/s) I allways enjoyed fencing with my Dad. We did a lot of it when we had the farm. He was really something with an axe and had a particular way fitting up end stays. His best friend who bought Dad's first farm once told me he could tell which fences Dad had built just by looking at the end stays. Years after we sold the farm, my wife and I bought a house on half an acre. Dad came up to help me fence it. We had been working for a couple of hours when I noticed mum watching from the house. She call me over and said "have you and your Dad had an argument, you haven't spoken to each other for half an hour". We were so used to working together there wasn't much to say. Dad's getting on and doesn't swing the axe any more. But his last end stay is just outside my window.

Its not a job that I like to do most with my dad.After a dry spell and the crops were in the ground and not doing so well,We would get a rain, a nice day long rain and he say lets go for a walk. We would end up in the middle of a barley field or knee high corn and we would just stand there. The first time I asked what we were doing.he just waited a couple minutes and just said listen.I listened but my young ears couldn't hear anything.Finally he said just listen to the corn growing with all this rain.Dad's gone and the farm is gone but every once in a while I will catch myself standing near a field after a rain and listening to it grow.

I just liked riding the tractors with him; at least when he was in a good mood!

standing in the machine shed watching a badly needed rain come down or silo filling. I don't square bale much anymore but i had Dad come out the other day to drive the 830 on the baler while my son and I rode the rack baling oats straw, kind of like old times!

Well, it hurts to say , but I don"t have many happy memories of my Dad . He was extremely abusive & being the oldest boy of 11 kids I usually got the blunt of working in the garden or fields . I remember Dad telling me at age 7 (yes 7) to take the tractor & start plowing up the garden . I actually knew how because I was always with Dad doing gardens for other folks around the area . Dad would never compliment me but I heard from Mom that he was pleased with my work .So I guess I"d have to say , Dad taught me the values of a hard days work .Kids today don"t fathom the word unless it texting .God bless

Just when it seemed there was no end in sight to the long days making hay, we would wake up and find it had rained. Spending the day with dad in the shop was pleasant. The rain had given us a little break in the S.E. Nebr. heat and long days in the fields.

Haymaking. He used to drive the Massey 135 with the Vicon twin basket tedder on the back "Swathing up" ( making the windrows) while I did the baling with firstly a Massey 168 with a Howard Bigbaler , then later a Renault 781s. We had a succession of big balers, a Howard Bigbaler then followed by a Claas Rollant 62 and finally a JD 550. ( The Claas was good but being a 5 foot "soft core" baler it was useless for silage ). Happy days that will, sadly, never return.

This is not exactly a farm job but farm related. I always enjoyed going to the farm auctions with Grandpa and Dad. I still go to two or three auctions a month and continue to get a thrill at the thought of a good auction.

I would say grain threshing. Several neighbors would would get together and help thresh. Good food and conversation at breaks and lunch.Then on to the next farm. Other wise helping Dad fix things. Ron Mn

Looking back, everything I did with dad was pretty much a good time. Farming, flying, even just shooting the breeze. Sure do miss him.

I was too young to help but filling silo in the fall with corn silage.

We must be related. I was the second of 3 boys until another came along 17 years after me. My older brother could do no wrong and I could do nothing right. The next younger was sick a lot so he stayed around the house most of the time. My favorite memories are any time I was running the tractors alone, especially the back field 1/2 mile from the house. I was in my own little world so I could think a lot about everything.

Probably building fences.

He would always stretch the wire "banjo tight".

Never raised his voice to me, but would cuss tools and equipment without shame.

Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Working in the hay fields, in September that is or working with the cows.

I would be happy just to sit on a 5 gallon bucket in the sun shine picking green butter peas with him again if I could.

He has been gone for 8 years as of this past Sunday.

I guess I should add that when I was mowing berms for the Pa.DOT with Dads Ford 601 workmaster & away from home & Dad was a refreshing time .It gave me alot of time to dwell on the good things in life . I often saw white tail deer , skooted bunnies out of the weeds & other wildlife . I hate snakes so I made it my duty to eliminate them if the opertunity arrived .Also, me being in command with a powerful piece of machinery & its maintanance gave me a boost of pride . I saw roads I've never seen (or seen since) back then in the 60's. I do wish my Dad would've shown me love & taught me some of his mechanical knowledge . There was 3 of us boys . The middle one did nothing wrong & Dad taught him alot while I had to do the work of lite holding , wrench fetching & cleanup . Then the youngest was really mistreated by Dad . Dad often told him he could die & wouldn't be missed . I often envy guys that had or have loving fathers who share . My poor Mom was the sweetest Mom a guy could have . She took many beatings herself for us kids . God bless

Dad was tough to be sure. He expected things done when he was away. He droved a semi most of the week.
I guess working in the shop. I learned a lot about tools and how to use them. Working on the lathe was my favorite.

My wife tells about her first exposure to us "farm" types by how when she ate with our family (back when we were still in school) Dad and I could carry on a conversation about farm work using one or two syllable words, grunts, nods, gestures, etc. She was totally clueless. Little did I know we had our own language!

I guess I miss grinding feed with dad. We didnt have a grinder mixer just an old David Bradley hammer mill. Dad would scoop so many shovels of corn and then he would point at me and I was to add a coffee can full of protine. Usually worked out good and we feed alot of hogs that way. Sure miss the old man, give anything to see him again.

I have a ball doing anything on the farm with dad! How couldn't you? Off to yourself where you can talk and act a fool. Can't be beat in my book! Me and my dad got a late start. He was raised on a farm, and told me I was crazy for wanting to buy a farm! Now its a different story I'm gonna have to buy another tractor just so I can have one to play with. He's getting close to retirement so we can really start loosing some $.

I still have ours. Converted it to PTO from belt. You can hear it humming for half a mile. Did you bag off from yours? Dad would never take the time to teach me the millers knot. I needed to see it SLOWLY. Apparently it was so simple he couldn't figure how I could miss it.

I would say cutting pulpwood with the old man. He owned a little over 60 acres of mountain land, and when he got off work he would pick me up after school to go to the mountain and cut wood. Within a couple of days we would have a load on the truck and ready to haul to the mill.

Daddy did not want to have to drive 30 miles back to the mountain to get his pickup, so he had me drive it and follow him to town. We would stop on the outside of town and leave his pickup, and he and Mom would come back later and get it. I was big stuff, a 13 year old boy getting to drive his daddy's truck lon public roads like that. Today, they would put both he and I in jail for a stunt like that.

The old man was hard on us, but looking back today, I realize how much I learned from him. He never finished high school, but I got to say he was one of the smartest men I know.

Sad to say, but too often true; some people should never be parents. I've often wondered if he was totally clueless about the harm he was doing or knew and just didn't give a damn. I can certainly relate..........I was 52 when he died and it'd been a long time since I worked for him, but my wife says that my whole personality changed when he died.

Dad always made the job fun I expecitaily liked burning bean staw at night. Im 52 years old and lost my dad when I was 29 miss him everyday. so cherish hte time you spend with your dad even if he is in a bad mood, could be gone tomorrow

Didn't do a lot of working on the farm [i:654c4848f0]with[/i:654c4848f0] Dad. If he thought I was ready to do something, he'd show me what he wanted, answer any questions and turn me loose, which I consider working FOR Dad. Did feel good to be trusted to do it to his standards tho.

As far as time spent with Dad, I'd have to say shooting was the best. About the time I hit my teens, Dad got into Skeet and Trap in a big way, and we spent many pleasant Sunday afternoons either shooting with the old manual trap in the back yard, or going to one range or another to shoot with the other fellers.

Dad always made sure I got to shoot a couple of rounds, and helped me out with pointers. He was often a little short-fused on the farm, but endlessly patient with me when we were shooting.

I can"t think of anything that I didn"t like to do with my Dad.He was always so patient about everything he did with you. He taught me alot,I lost my Dad five years ago and I miss him dearly.
So anybody who still has there Dad enjoy them even when they are not in the best of moods.

Bit long to rtead, but this is something that I wrote in college for a writing class. The equipment has changed and I've got passengers in the cab (wife or oldest boy), but the sentiment remains the same.
AaronSEIA

The Red Machine

Growing up on a medium sized farm I have done many things. I have spent many hours watching Market to Market, an agricultural marketing show on PBS, with my dad trying to figure out when to sell a drought or flood damaged crop. I have spent more hours making parts runs with him in a rusty GM pick-up, and when that one went, a Dodge with a ram on the hood.
I first learned to drive the lawn mower, acquiring the necessary skills needed to move up to the bigger tractors. Still more hours were spent riding shotgun with him doing anything and everything. We tilled, planted, combined, and even hauled manure together. I would sit on the fender and analyze his procedures and ask questions about what he was doing and why. More hours were spent gleaning information from him, drawing on his years of farming and mechanical background. None of this, however, holds a candle to my favorite place to be.
On a hot September day the words " I'd like to try some corn this afternoon if I get the chance" really get my adrenaline pumping. As dad climbs up in the big 915 I jump up onto my home for the next two months. My favorite place to be is in the seat of an International Harvester (I.H.) 1066 tractor at corn combining time. A 1066 is not the pinnacle of tractors, to be sure, its over 20 years old, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Climbing the two steps to the platform of this big red machine makes me feel like I'm on top of the world. Pushing in the clutch as I flip the key on and depress the starting button is a thrill. Once the 414 cubic inches catch, the turbo whines, and I rev. it a couple of times I'm set to go.
Watching dad send the I.H. 915 combine, also red, also old, into the corn signals the start of the season. I always like to watch the tall, brown cornstalks shudder and tremble right before they are snapped to the ground and robbed of their ears. Meanwhile, I select a gear to tag along behind with a large red wagon. Of the sixteen forward gears I choose one in the middle, first high. At this speed I can keep up with dad at three miles an hour and still watch the ground.
The first combining of the year is as boring and slow as it is exciting. The combine needs some adjustments and I scan the ground behind the combine from my seat. I'm looking for the telltale signs of a poor job, kernels on the ground and half-threshed cobs. Spotting these signs, I signal dad to stop, jump off the tractor and run along the fence dodging cobs being shot out the back of the machine to report my findings. Dad nods and crawls into the back to make some minor adjustments. I climb up to the bin on the combine and grab a quick sample to test for moisture. The goal is around 20 to 24 percent, its right at 23%. Dad comes out and we're on our way.
Since dad is opening the field, I have nowhere to go but right behind him, waiting for a chance to dump the bin. This is a terrible place to be, but I love it. At a distance of a couple hundred feet I can still hear the roar of the combine above the idle of my tractor and the fender radio belting out K.H.A.K. The dust is the worst. This year the wind was strong and I spent a lot of time in a cloud of itchy corn chaff.
Later in the season, when things really get going, I have even more fun. Coming home from school at three, I would change and go out until ten or eleven at night, later on weekends. That was a blast, sitting on the big 1066 on a crisp, starry night listening to the tractor, K.H.A.K., and the combine. I loved to turn off the lights, tip my head way back and stare at the stars.
Once dad gets my 600-bushel wagon full, I am off. With the big lights guiding my way, I start moving one gear too high so I can watch the big orange and blue flame rolling out the exhaust stack as the tires alternately dug and spun trying desperately to get 36,000 pounds of wet corn moving. Once I hit the road I was gone. As I turned on the hazard lights I started the wonderful task of getting all that corn up to road speed, 25 miles per hour. Without touching the clutch once I'd rev. the engine and drop it into second, then third, then the ultimate, fourth: road gear. The last thing I did was open that puppy up and sit back to watch the smoke and flame pore out the exhaust as the tractor fought its way up to 25. That is a rush, flying along with the whine of the transmission below me and the scream of those cubic inches pulling in front of me and the gentle bobbing of the big red monster on a cool fall night.
As I slowed down to pull into the yard I could see the steam cloud rising out of the dryer like steam from a pot of boiling water. Driving past the big thing I can hear, and feel, the 20-horse motor and fan scream against the calm night. It is an amazing sight to see that massive ring of blue and gold flame, highlighted by one bright yellow spark plug tip, getting forced into the hollow center of the machine. Fast moving air heated to 200 to 210 degrees is used to dry corn down to the 13% moisture for storage.
Pulling up to the ten-inch wide 41-foot long auger that takes the corn into the holding bin, I shoot for the exact center of the hopper. Once found, I start the auger up and pour it on. The 1950 Case DC used on the auger can barely keep up with the massive flow of corn as the exhaust starts to glow cherry red. I can unload those 600 bushels in about ten minutes, that's very fast. In those ten minutes I check the propane tank, the corn coming out of the dryer, the corn going in, and the holding bin. I look for stuff that is wrong like high or low moisture, low propane in the tank and a full holding bin. Ten minutes and 500 bushels later I'm back out in the field.
Sure, this isn't an actual place like a tree house or my room, but it is a place to me. It is the great outdoors during the best and busiest time of year. Spend some time driving the backroads at harvest time and I think you'll agree this is one of the best places to be. Keep your eyes open though, it’s a special place for me and I'm sure I'll be out on the road with a smile on my face and the wind in my hair.

When I was a kid I would ride with grandpa to haul oats for dad. He would bring his ruger 22 and a box or two of shells and let me shoot at things. We (grandpa) would take a nap under the wagon or tractor in the shade, time permitting. He also showed me how to take apart the oats kernel and eat the good part. Not to mention all of the stories from the good ol days. He's now 90 years old and in the hospital recovering from having a softball size tumor removed with 2' of his intestines but he's doing good. Sure will miss him when his time comes but it's not yet thankfully!

Growing up on our farm in the 40-50's everything was work with Dad, it was kind of hard making farm work fun, especially when you are a kid. I do have some good memories working with Dad. Dad always would write me while I was in the Navy at least once a week to let me know what was going on around home. Dad kept a diary for a lot of years, it is like him still being around reading it.Dad has been gone around 15 years now,and still miss him and Mom. Stan

Harvest time and Planting time , were my favorite times with Dad ,, He loved a good crop , And Really Knew How to Hustle and Get everyone else to hustle when All hands were needed to get the job done before the weather changed ... his Eulogy is over Your Stories ,We Lost him 2 yrs ago this month ...

Work with the old fart everyday, he lives right down the road and shows up in the morning around 7 to feed his calves while i'm milking. He seems to batch about everything and anything, but I don't let it bother me, it's easy to get him to smile after joking about something. He's 67 and really slowed down, he's had the old timer fever of never changing whitch is a drawback on the farm here. All in all there is no one I would rather work with day after day, he has taught me a lot and I thank him for that. Tom

For me it was Granddad, and it would be counting heads during calving, or anytime really. Driving an old pickup over the prairie, watching him kind of point here and there and hearing him count to himself. He always told me to count too, but very seldom was it that I got it right. Seems to be a bit of an art to it. Hard to see those calves when their mommas don't want you to.

Probably cutting wood. Not exactly farm but actually anything together. My dad died in 1968, when I was 25. Had he lived longer, we would probably had a used car lot. I could fix anything and he could sell screen doors for submarines. No lie! Women of all ages really liked him, too!

Corn harvest hands down. Just something about the cool weather and bustin it out. Drives dad nut's when others help him. I know where he wants me to be with the trucks or carts, nobody else can seem to figure out the way he thinks.

Interesting thread. The eye-opener is some of the posts about not-so-great father relationships.

I do recall enjoying doing ANYTHING with my father. Used to wait on the porch steps for him to come home from work. I'd bug him to play catch as soon as he hit the sidewalk. He'd go to the garage and I'd follow him, watching and learning from whatever he was doing.