This sign is my WTF? Tuesday submission for this week. It isn't a WTF? for me because I see them all the time. But I thought some of you might enjoy this little snippet of Redneck Valley culture. Tractor crossing signs are not uncommon here. We've also got horse and buggy crossing signs - I'll try to get a shot of one of those. Even more common than seeing the signs, though, is seeing actual tractors and horse and buggies on the road. They go really slooow and are a bit of a hazard, but I have to admit I enjoy seeing them around. They give this place character. And to me, a tractor is a reminder of a place where priorities don't get jumbled and life looms large.

(Don't ask me why the farmer's hat looks like a firefighter helmet.)

My mom grew up on a farm that my great-grandfather bought and has since been passed down generation to generation. My grandfather grew up on that farm, married my grandmother, and she moved into the house with his family and they all lived there and worked on the farm. When my great-grandfather passed away, my grandparents built a new farmhouse on the same farm. My mom was born and raised in this house, as was her brother who grew up, married my aunt, and now lives in that house and runs the farm. My grandfather still lives there and insists on puttering around on the tractor, but he isn't much help anymore. My uncle shares the farm responsibilities and profits with his son who is my age and who was also raised in that house and will inherit the farm when my uncle dies. I've always felt it a bit unfair, to be honest, because it is understood that the son of the family will inherit the farm, and so the girls are free to leave, go to college, and make a new life for themselves. The son of the family is never really given that choice. For the only son to abandon the farm would create a huge burden for the family, and family comes first on the farm.

As a kid, I visited the farm often, and those are some of my favorite childhood memories. I helped herd cattle, pick beans, gather eggs, and bale hay. I've milked cows and watched my uncle shear sheep. I've ridden over every inch of those hills and hollows on a four-wheeler. It may all sound a bit redneck, but I have way too much respect for farmers to consider them hillbillies. They are smart people with a wide range of skills. They are veterinarians to their animals, mechanics to their machinery, harvesters of their land. They are problem-solvers and do-it-yourselfers. They are self-sustaining. And the farmers I've met have an understanding of their land and animals that is like a sixth sense, a sensitivity to the rhythms of nature that most of us never even notice. Their appreciation and respect for "the land" is what I respect about them most of all.

I still visit the farm several times a year, and God seems most real to me when I'm there, when we pray for rain at the supper table (dinner is lunch - the evening meal is supper), when we sit on the porch swing and watch the sun sink below the mountain tops, when the fields are dotted white with lambs in the spring, when the tomato plants in the garden start to bend, heavy with ripe tomatoes. On the farm, God still seems to be present everywhere.

My mom says the farm is a great place to visit but not a great place to live. She says we get to experience the novelty of it all without being tied to it, without waking up at 4am to milk the cows, without having an income that is in so many ways dependent on the weather, without working our fingers to the bone just to get by. And she's right - I wouldn't trade my life for theirs. But the farm provides a much-needed balance to the rest of my life. I always leave the place with a clearer perspective of my place in this world, a greater appreciation for the simple things, and a better understanding of what matters most in this life.

And so every time I find myself driving behind a tractor, I don't mind that it slows me down for just a moment. Sometimes I need to be pulled away from my hustle-bustle life and reminded of the lessons I've learned on the farm.