Grandpa had an old Chevy

I remember it as a regular cab, long bed, four-wheel drive. Light brown and the seat had been worn to where the springs were showing. It wasn’t fancy but it was paid for, and it got the job done.

I would jump in the passenger side, working that stubborn handle. Having kids now I have realized they still don’t build door handles for kids to be able to open easily. I figured it out though, I wasn’t about to miss out on chores with Grandpa.

We would drive that thing over to the grain bins and load out corn in five-gallon buckets. One bucket at a time. It seemed like the whole bed of the pickup was full of buckets. Other than the one spot that had rusted out.

From there we would make out rounds – Down to the “Stockholm” place to feed sows. Then head back to the north pasture beyond the windbreak. The road was rough in that old Chevy but I didn’t mind. Watching Grandpa shift the gears made me want a stick shift one day.

Next stop was the Quonset, where the Deutz-Allis waited with the feed mixer hitched on. Grandpa would fire it up and drive over to another grain bin and start filling it with whole corn. Then came the ground mix, I wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but I do remember it smelled good.

I remember one time my uncle Lonnie sent me some in a Ziplock bag so I could use it with my farm toys. I thought I was the coolest kid having actual grain on my farm set!

Once the load was mixed, we’d make our way around to fill the hog feeders. I always loved the pigs. To me they were fun and curious, and the piglets were full of life. Sitting there on the arm rest of the tractor, watching them crowd around the feeder, I thought: “This is farming”.

Of course, the truth wasn’t quite as simple. Pigs didn’t make much money in the 90s, and they don’t make much money now if your stuck in the system. But back then, none of that mattered. All I knew was that I was with Grandpa, doing the work, feeling the dust and the grit of daily farm life and the satisfaction that came with it.

These mornings planted a seed in me, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I learned farming wasn’t just about profit – it was about responsibility and finding joy in the work itself. Today, raising pigs still doesn’t come easy. But through selling directly to the customers we can carve out a little more value, a little more connection, a little more reason to keep going.

Every time I step into a pen, with a five-gallon bucket full of feed, I think of those days in the old Chevy, riding along, with Grandpa.