Rock pickin’ season

When my editor asked if I had time to spend a few hours picking rocks at Jerry Pohlmann’s farm, my immediate response revealed that I had no clue about what I was getting myself into: “Sounds like fun.”
I had the luxury of growing up with supple palms in the suburbs of Houston, Texas.  Having moved to Minnesota in late April, this was my first opportunity to experience the annual tradition enjoyed by farmers throughout the Midwest each spring known as rock picking.
Just over a dozen of us gathered around Pohlmann’s truck as he laid out the plan of attack for scouring 50 acres for stones larger than softballs. In addition to the Pohlmanns present, the group consisted of several farm-raised volunteers from Magnifi Financial and a few of my coworkers at Star Publications.
Pohlmann’s advice was somehow both vague and clear at the same time: “It’s not that hard to figure out; just keep moving and keep picking until you’re sick of it.”
Sure enough, that was about all it entailed. Row after row, we unearthed rocks and filled one trailer after another with them while a sunburn began forming a farmer’s tan on my arms. Occasionally, we encountered a rock too large to lift that we would flag and leave behind for the skid loader.
It blew my city-slicker mind that Pohlmann could recruit so many volunteers for a labor-intensive day of purging his land of rocks just for them to reappear the following spring like an invasive species. He told me there was no end in sight for the rock picking tradition, as technology had yet to produce a machine that could do the job as precisely as a group of humans.
After concluding work on a patch of land the Pohlmanns dubbed “rocky ridge,” we packed into a patch of shade under some trees near the fields. Then, while the volunteers enjoyed their choice of cold beer or water, I understood the silver lining to rock picking. Sure, it isn’t the most glorious work, but I couldn’t help but feel satisfied while listening to the farmers exchange stories and laugh over memories while basking in the breeze.
Later in the day, when chatting with Pohlmann, I learned he had been picking rock with his family of 14 since he was only 6 or 7 years old. He said he and his siblings would even be hired out to neighbors needing extra hands each spring.
Pohlmann told me he could undoubtedly tell an experienced rock picker from an amateur, as he’d been doing it for almost six decades. While he did gather I was still getting the hang of things, he said I didn’t stick out like a sore thumb in the field.
All things considered, I take that as a compliment. He added the group of volunteers was the best bunch of rock pickers he had in years.
For all farmers getting ready to rid their fields of large rocks this spring, stay hydrated and happy rock picking season.