Eight-hundred words to describe the turning of the dirt. While I was working, friends and neighbors all around me were doing the same, tractors all over the township, people I’ve known my whole life, working land in our community that has been farmed every spring since our ancestors came from the old country and cut the trees in the lumber days. Eight-hundred words is not nearly enough to describe the years, the changes, the things we have seen, even the things I’ve seen and experienced in my time as a young man.

The turning of the dirt is more than our job — it’s the purpose, the existence that makes us who we are as farmers. Above anything, we will keep our farms running and pushing forward as those who came before us, for our children, and to feed the world. I turn off my audiobook in the tractor to reflect on the request to write this article, memories of years gone by, the changes, the farms that neighbors and friends have had to let go. The movement of fence lines and the expansion of neighbors. The endless changes through the ages as time marches on and on. I turn the tractor on the headland, lower the harrow and begin my next pass down the field turning the dirt.

My great-grandfather worked some of these same fields with a team of mules. His most famous quote was, “Tractors will never last — you just need a good team of mules.” Later, 50 years in the future, my grandfather turned the dirt for many years. Then my uncles and father joined the work, transitioning later to my father, and then to my brother and me. Generations of men and women in our community every spring brave the weather and the world as we turn the dirt. This is the most determined demographic of people that I am proud to be a part of. My father told me once “farming is a gamble. We always hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Save from the good times for the bad times.” I was 12 years old when he told me that and I have never forgotten. If you talk to any farmer in the local area, we all have a similar story to tell. As soon as we could walk, we were in the barn learning. As soon as I could touch the pipeline in the dairy barn, I was milking cows in the evening with my dad. Getting off the bus, eating a snack, then out to the pasture to bring the cows in for evening milking. Carrying milk to the calves for feeding. Some nights, hiding from my dad and trying to get out of work! That brings a smile to my face as I lift the harrow, turn the tractor on the headland, spin around north facing, and start my next pass down the field turning the dirt.

From the tractor seat I can see our farm, our capital, our center, our home. I see my brother moving equipment on the yard to prepare for the next phase of work. I see my wife walk

Courtesy Photo Evan Beyer and Collin Beyer stand between their two main International tractors, the 1086 and the 4786 "Piglet."

into the main barn with our children to begin evening chores. No cows to milk anymore. One of the changes. So many differences and so many memories flood through my mind. I watch the trees on the edge of the field damaged from the ice storm. Another event I will never forget for the rest of my life. I see my neighbor bring his roller to a field near me to push the seeds in the seed bed and set them for germination. I see another neighbor heading north with a planter and I’m sure they see me. All of us working in our own ways, carrying on, and turning the dirt.

As the day ends, I watch the sunset start on the horizon. The orange and red pop through the clouds and light up the sky. In that moment the world melts away. The smell of fresh dirt, the sunset, the wind and the field moving the tractor as a paint brush through the dirt at my finish. The most beautiful display of colors on this earth. I lift the harrow one last time, turn the tractor, and head for home. Every year we turn the dirt, we feed the world, we keep this promise to carry on for those who came and built before us and those who will come after us.

Collin Beyer can be contacted at beyer_farms@outlook.com, or visit the Facebook page at “Beyer Farms — Alpena, MI.”

Courtesy Photo Collin Beyer’s point of view while riding in the cab of the tractor, chisel plowing the field.