The wrong signal

My husband, Aaron, and I have been married for 11 years. We survived being pregnant and having a baby during the coronavirus pandemic, we weathered the storm of building a new house and we have made it through numerous tax seasons (CPA husband). But the latest incident tested our marriage like nothing else: hand signals.

Who knew the motions, or lack thereof, of hooking up wagons would be the straw that nearly broke the camel’s back?

The two of us had just finished unloading our second load of small, square hay bales. Yes, my family still makes those things, which is a story for another time. It was hot and muggy, Aaron was fighting a headache and I wasn’t feeling in tip-top physical condition that day. We had to bring an empty wagon out to the field so my uncle could keep the baler going.

As Aaron backed the pickup truck up to the empty wagon, I held the heavy wagon tongue with one hand while motioning to him with the other. The wagon began to roll a bit and I couldn’t get the pin lined up in time to secure it before it moved itself off alignment. A few failed attempts, and I was frustrated, and so was Aaron. He got out of the truck, and we had an “opinionated” discussion about what hand signals and verbal cues would have made the encounter go smoother. In hindsight, the dirty back truck window and my short stature were probably mostly at fault.

No worries; after we brought the wagon back to the field, we cooled down and filled our bellies. Hot and hungry is a bad combination, but we reconciled after our meal in a climate-controlled environment.

You think there would be a universal language for hand signals used on the farm. Wrong. I should have known better, as I grew up taking different directions from my dad and uncle. One holds up a palm of spread-out fingers when he wants you to stop, the other slowly closes his fist until the exact moment he needs you to apply the brakes. Aaron prefers to use two hands and close the gap to illustrate how close you are.

These are all perfectly good uses of hand signals in theory, but I think we can all agree the correct answer in any situation is whatever the lady deems appropriate at the time. After all, happy wife, happy life.

Don’t even get me started on deciphering hand motions while in the tractor. It is especially tricky when you are pulling into a field with a wagon, and you have half a second to interpret if the “come here” wave means unhook that wagon in this spot or follow me down the entirety of the field before the driver of the other tractor breaks eye contact and continues down the rows. We don’t have the luxury of 2-way radios in our tractors, and cell phone service is basically nonexistent in most of our fields. So, you pray your telepathy skills are on point that day.

If the tractor cabs could tell stories, they would probably share about all the curse words and confused mumbling that happened after said hand motions are made. Having one of my kids with me provides a second set of eyes but usually an entirely separate interpretation. That means I also have to filter my words, which takes extra brainpower. No wonder I’m mentally exhausted afterwards.

As we head into harvest season, let us all remember to be patient with one another. None of us is a mind reader, and until we adopt a universal hand motion language, let us just sprinkle in some smiles, thumbs-ups and words of affirmation.

Jill is a stay-at-home mom who helps part time on her family’s 140-cow dairy farm near Forest City, Minnesota. She and her husband, Aaron, have two children: Hayes and Nash.