Lessons from Rice Farming

Note—I have left the names of businesses and individuals out; privacy is the priority at the expense of making this less personal.

So it's been a long time since I've written anything on this blog, nearly a year in fact.  Last fall, I wrote prolifically about all sorts of things related to farming, and even though I am no longer farming, I will stick with the theme.  I am still here in the Central Valley of California, but hydraulic hoses, rice irrigation boards and white Ford Ranger trucks with screwdrivers as radio antennae are no longer a part of my life.  I am not posting any photos of the current work I do as an accounting graduate student at UC Davis: images of Bond Premium Amortization Schedules, Audit flowcharts and Section 179 property deductions somehow don’t compare with giant rice combines, grain bins full of popcorn and views across endless fields towards the Sutter Buttes. 

Sills Farms, December 2012

So what is the connection between the two?  How do I go from a life of farming in the rice country of South Sutter County to being a Master of Professional Accountancy student at UC Davis' Graduate School of Management?  I am not going to tell the story of how I got from one place to another, of how I got interested in accounting.  This is the story I constantly repeat in one form or another to fellow classmates, interviewers and many others, and there is another I’d like to tell instead. In the past few weeks, I’ve realized how profoundly farming has shaped who I am.  In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I would like to share my gratitude for all that farming has done for me.  At the same time, I also cannot ignore that the negative aspects of rice farming are still very much a part of my life.

Wheat, Dec 31, 2011 (your truly made all those perfectly straight beds, thanks to a GPS tractor)

 This past September I started a Master in Professional Accountancy program at UC Davis.  From the beginning, we were thrown into the career development, aka, job search process.  Recruitment for the big accounting firms began as soon as we walked in the door.  Was I prepared?  Not really.  I ended up buying a suit—the first one I’d purchased since high school graduation—the night before our big job fair, using the bonus I’d received from the farm when I left in August.  These initial days of school, where I felt like I was flying by the seat of my pants, reminded me of ‘water on’, that intense month of work during May and early June when we flooded over 1,000 acres of rice fields in preparation for planting.  During the first few weeks of graduate school, I reminded myself that if I could survive ‘water on’ I could survive this.  And I did.  Even though I didn’t get hired by one of the ‘Big Four’ firms, I at least looked good in my new suit, had a couple initial interviews that allowed me to get the jitters out and became more and more efficient about getting my school work done.  

Water's on, May 2012

Initially, when I first started graduate school, I looked back on farming with ambivalence.  I wondered at times why I hadn’t had a more ‘normal’ job working at an accounting firm or doing some kind of financial stuff (I actually tried unsuccessfully to get a job at an accounting firm last January and decided to stay on the farm).  It has been hard to explain to people what farming was really about.  The majority of my time on the farm I spent in the office, either making Excel spreadsheets for agronomy research or inventories, entering in time card data or researching topics including labor law, fuel storage regulations or corn cutworms.  However, during the harvest in the Fall I surveyed fields, had a stint driving tractor preparing fields for wheat planting and also coordinated a few days of the rice harvest.  In the planting season in Spring I helped flood rice fields and manage water levels.  This is not a straightforward thing to explain although people who know farming in the Valley understand the whole process.  When I began school, farming became something to flee from; if I lost motivation while studying, I imagined belted tractors (with no bonus burritos or cigarettes in the cab) or angry wasps and black widow spiders coming after me.  This helped me finish my tax reading when my concentration lagged.

Flooding a rice field, May 2012

But fear only works as a motivating factor for so long.  As the first few weeks of graduate school passed, I found myself waking up at night thinking about the farm.  I realized that I was in the midst of a culture shock and that instead of wanting to run away from South Sutter County and never look back, I missed a lot about it.  No, I am perfectly happy wearing a nice clothes and not having to worry about the things that could potentially ruin them, including, but not limited to: muddy dog paws, hydraulic fluid, rice field slime, that red grease that always leaks out of a chorizo burrito, sooty Johnsongrass pollen, motor oil, pump grease, pump oil, smoking oil from a poorly maintained ATV and did I say dust?  I don’t miss those things.  What I found myself missing is the people of farming, and the people have become a major motivation in school and life.  

Tractors, Dec 31, 2011

The farming landscape of South Sutter County is unforgiving: the machines stop for no one (only for breakdowns, which are frequent); in the summer, the heat can be intense and brutal, and the work doesn’t wait.  This place creates a particular class of people that are tough, ingenious, resilient and incredibly hard working. The guys on the rancho have myriad ways to survive the heat and the long days, including bringing enough burritos to stave off hunger during a 14 hour shift, as well as a remate stand’s worth of fruit for health and energy, and of course the frozen Gatorade.  This last trick became my favorite: when you bring a frozen Gatorade to work at 7 AM, it’s still ice cold when you crack it open at 3 PM it tastes like heaven and for a moment you forget that you still have five hours of work ahead of you.  

Combines, Dec 31, 2011

I think of the tough people in South Sutter County when school seems tough.  I think of the guys who spend 90 plus hour workweeks irrigating the crops, or who operate combines—solo of course—for weeks on end until the harvest is done.  I also think of the youth and the women, who are equally tough and who hold things down despite the fact that the men often indulge in vices to excess when they get off work.  I think of all of them, and whatever I’m doing doesn’t seem so hard anymore.  I stop complaining and I feel humble.  This is perhaps the most important thing that farming taught me: how to be humble.  When you're around people who spend their lives doing work that you can barely handle for a day and people who even though they may have stopped school after eighth grade are smarter, more ingenious and way, way better at fixing things than you ever will be, that makes you humble, despite educational pedigrees and grad school admission letters.  I am frustrated that our broken immigration system keeps many people from getting an education and realizing their potential, but it would also be a shame if I didn’t realize my own.  For that reason, I am very grateful for the opportunity to continue my education and find a career beyond the rice fields.  

Spring in Sutter County, CA

 Despite all the positive things that farming did for me, the work took a toll on me.  One has to take the good with the bad in life, the challenge for me is to hold onto the good I take from farming—the humility, work ethic and the ability to persevere—while leaving behind the bad.  At the heart of it, rice farming is a lonesome trade.  Spending 12 hours a day in a tractor is lonely, same goes for doing solo irrigation or field surveys.  Profoundly lonesome in a way that I could never have imagined at my previous job at an elementary school.  At first, I found rice farming a peaceful change from my old work, and it certainly had many moments of tranquility: the beauty of looking across a field lush with flowering yellow mustards in March towards the snow covered mountains or making an early Sunday morning round of the rice fields listening to soothing trio music on the radio.  I appreciated very much the company of co-workers when I had it, for they were the best part of the experience, but there was far too much alone time.  Even though it’s been since June that I stopped farming full time (August part-time) I have a hard time being alone for much time, and I have no desire to do activities like hiking alone like I used to.  The isolation and the intensity of rice farming made me feel bitter and detached at times from others not familiar with the realities the lifestyle.  The long hours during busy season exhausted me and left me with little energy to socialize even though it was what I needed most.  I didn’t reach out to old friends enough and I felt myself drifting away from some of them.  Being alone so much damaged my social skills, and I found myself becoming more and more like those irrigation ditch tenders who, when they corner you, will talk your ear off nonstop until you somehow manage to escape.  When I left farming and began the transition to school life, this is what I sought desperately to leave behind.  But now I have come to realize that I am proud to have farmed rice in Sutter County, CA.  I am slowly figuring out how to move beyond the negative parts of rice farming while not forgetting the people and the work and the powerful lessons I learned from both.