LAUREL COUNTY, Ky. — With reports of contaminated food over recent years, it was without too much thought I agreed with my husband that raising our own food was a great idea.

Thus, in 2008, we began a farming experience that has generated a multitude of memories over the past four years.

We began the ‘farm’ by purchasing some pigs, then purchased our first cow sometime later. With recalls of beef and other food products during the early part of the 21st century, I was convinced raising our own food was the best idea. That way, if we did suffer from food poisoning or contamination, at least we would have an idea of where it originated. The chickens came in 2010 after the egg contamination struck the U.S.

However, obtaining animals required feeding and watering. I quickly learned that heaving a 50-pound bag of feed was extremely difficult. Carrying a five gallon bucket of water for more than 100 yards was also a challenge. Thus, the purchase of three 50-feet water hoses and locating a large feed barrel close by eased that problem.

Farming has further enhanced my awareness I am neither technology savvy nor mechanically inclined. While my lack of computer skills has always been a joke around the office here, my capacity for mechanical functions is even worse.

With farming and gardening comes equipment that is gas-generated and requires strong muscles. While buying the gas is simple but costly, starting the equipment is a different story.

The four-wheeler, though easy to start, likes to get stuck in gear, flashing the “N” and “1” as I attempt to utilize our mechanical equipment to my own benefit. One has to rock the four-wheeler back and forth to jar it back into the proper gear. I have described my experiences of dealing with this situation as a simulated epileptic seizure as I jump up and down and back and forth unsuccessfully, fully knowing I would win the funniest home video award were this ever recorded but also knowing such a film would definitely have to be edited.

I have nearly mastered the riding lawn mower, except, of course, when those unseen items grind away at the mower blade. I once  wrapped a pair of blue jeans around the blade while mowing around the clothesline poles, requiring lifting the heavy mower and the using scissors to remove the tattered and tangled pants.

Using a tiller is another challenge. On the occasions I can yank the cord hard enough to start it, I am then faced with maneuvering it through the rows of produce. My first experience with a tiller sent my neighbors into spiels of laughter as I wrestled through the hard ground I envisioned as a garden. Through the years and another tiller later, I can boast of being able to turn some fresh fertile ground with this miraculous machine, and being able (most of the time) to make sharp turns at the end of the rows without churning up half of the next row.

The weed eater, however, is a constant source of irritation. That device sets the stage for a never-ending form of self-control that I regularly lose. On the occasions I am able to start the confounded contraption, I am soon challenged with running out of string. Though the string may be two inches outward when I begin my latest project, it is all too soon it breaks off and no amount of striking it against the ground to extend more string is ever successful for me. My repeated attempts to remove the spool have resulted in total frustration and verbal outbursts that should never be heard or repeated, although most of the neighbors know when the weed eater isn’t working to my specifications.

This orange and metal contraption has instigated many an argument between my husband and me. Though he patiently re-strings the spool, I seemingly can never win in my efforts toward having a neatly trimmed yard and my own farming independence. I am convinced that either the weed eater is cursed or that it has rescinded its curse on me as many times as I have cursed it.

The issue that now burns into my stubborn nature is this: If we have the technology to transplant body organs and design rockets that can go into outer space, why can’t there be tillers and weed eaters that women are able to start?



njohnson@sentinel-echo.com