Bring your overalls

It's really not like any other trip you'll ever take. After all, you're on vacation, right?

But there's one thing for certain when you make a drop in at the land of fields, cows and combines:

Visitors to the farm will be put to work.

I never really put much thought into it growing up. That is probably because I grew up on the farm, where everyone worked and I never considered otherwise.

Whenever a relative or friend dropped by, even for a few hours, a chore was sure to be asked of them.

* Could you drive a truck up to (insert field here)?

* Would you mind jumping on this horse and helping round up a few head?

* Here's a glove, and there's the branding iron!

Yep, there was always something to do, and as a result there was no good time of year to visit the farm if you were looking to take it easy.

Even when I was away at college, the rural work snuck in when I least expected it.

Staying the weekend at one of my new friend's home in another area of rural Montana, I was rudely awakened by the family's Doberman pinscher (who I had yet to realize was not a trained killer, but a docile, loving creature).

I opened my eyes as I felt something hop on the bed. The last thing I was envisioning was a guard dog looking me squarely in the eye, a low, fierce growl festering from within.

I tried to get back to the dream - or nightmare - if this was it. I closed my eyes and a moment later I blinked, and sure enough, doggy was still there, growl ever present.

Finally, I got the nerve to move. I thought it might be my last gesture, but, as Sean Connery said, you gotta die of something. The dog's growl slowly vanished, and so I pulled myself up and grabbed some clothes.

It had been a long night, as far as Saturday nights among college students go, and so the crack of 10 a.m. came early.

I somehow found the kitchen and there was my buddy, along with the family, snickering at my 'wake-up call.' Seems they had taught him the fake growl, just to keep someone like me from being at ease, or to get him out of bed.

"Yep - good one," I said. "Ya got me."

Across the table, my buddy's dad was hastily slamming down a farm breakfast of eggs, ham and hash browns, and I was quick to follow suit.

My instinct was kicking in.

It was time to get to work.

Sure enough, we were out and about fixing fence and doing chores in the barn in a few minutes' time.

I returned the favor some weeks later, by bringing my buddy home with me.

After another late Saturday night on the town, we somehow made it out of bed by 8 a.m., and threw down whatever fixings my dad had labored over.

Next on today's menu: field burning.

Ah, what better to do on an autumn day in Central Montana?

... Actually, I could think of a lot of things. Unfortunately, our lot was set.

We burned to dad's heart's content, and by about sunset, it was time for us to shove off, back to the center for higher learning.

Funny, but my buddy never mentioned accompanying me back home again, nor I he...

The work we'd gotten used to over the years. So for him, it must have been dad's breakfast that turned him off.

For me, it must have been the dog.

Jerry Hitchcock is a copy editor for The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at jhitchcock@cdapress.com