The Farm Wife Sagas

I grew up as a farmer’s daughter, and I swore I’d never marry a farmer (or a firefighter, for that matter). But here I am, living proof that “never say never.” Funny how life works out. From stacking hay bales as Wally Johnson’s daughter to now raising a family on the farm, I’ve learned a few things about what it means to love, live, and dream with a farmer.

Here are 9 things every future or current farmer’s wife should know:

1. Date Nights Are Seasonal

Think you’re headed to dinner and a movie? Not if the cows are out, the hay needs baling, or the weather app says rain is on the way. Romance might look like riding shotgun in the tractor, bonus points if he brings snacks and the toddler is asleep or in preschool.

2. Dinner Is Flexible

Sometimes it’s a homecooked meal at the table, other times it’s sandwiches in the truck or foil-wrapped burgers passed through a tractor cab window. Chinese is probably my favorite go-to for field dinners. It’s quick and usually comes in reusable containers. Win win.

3. Patience Isn’t Optional

The weather, the animals, and the equipment will all test you, not counting the toddler that has found out she can talk every minute of every day. Learn when to take a step back and breathe. It also never hurts to have Reese’s and Mountain Dew around at our house.

4. Everyone’s on the Crew

Farm kids don’t get “chores,” they get job titles. Whether you’re stacking hay, bottle-feeding calves, or running parts into town, congratulations, you’re hired.

5. Laughter Saves the Day

When a cow escapes at midnight or the tractor dies halfway through the field, you either laugh or ugly cry. Pick laughter, it makes for better stories later.

6. Celebrate the Small Wins

A good rain, a healthy calf, or finishing a field before the storm are fireworks-worthy moments. Celebrate them like they’re a vacation in the Bahamas, because they kind of are.

7. Dream with Him

Farmers see hope in every seed and future in every pasture. Share in those dreams. They’ll keep you both going when the days are long and the bank account is short.

8. Don’t Take Barnyard Words Personally

If you’ve ever tried to help work cattle, you know “Move faster!” or “Shut the gate!” isn’t a personal attack. Honestly, he probably didn’t even know how bad it sounded until it came out. Forgive quickly, and know that “I’m sorry” usually follows right after the cow is in.

9. Be the Positive One

When the weight of the world sits on his shoulders, be the reminder that there’s a plan and a reason. Pointing out problems doesn’t lighten the load, but your faith and encouragement do.

Being a farmer’s wife isn’t easy, but it sure comes with the best stories, muddy bootprints by the door, and a front-row seat to the most beautiful sunrises. And at least you’ll never have to wonder where your husband is, he’s either in the barn, in the field, or buying just one more piece of equipment. Like Brad Paisley sings, I live for little moments like that.

God’s perfect timing is something I often forget. Especially when I want something so badly, when I second-guess the things I’m doing, or when I ask, “Why hasn’t _______ happened yet?”

It’s only afterwards that I can see there was a plan all along. There was a reason. And in the end, it worked out perfectly.

When Colton and I were dating, I remember feeling so frustrated when I’d see others getting engaged. I thought, Good golly, when is this guy going to propose? We were living together, buying a house together—marriage seemed like the obvious next step. And then, one perfect day, he did. Later, when COVID forced us to move our wedding date back, I wondered again why God’s timing wasn’t lining up with mine. But when the day finally came—with rain, a rainbow, and sunshine all in the same July afternoon—I realized His timing was far more beautiful than mine ever could have been.

The same happened in 2021, when we decided it was the perfect time to start a family. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson about trusting God’s plan, but nope—I questioned it again. If you’ve been in the infertility struggle, you know how exhausting it is. The testing, the tracking, the worrying over every little thing you eat, drink, or do. I prayed and prayed. And just when I had about given up, I took a test before heading to a wedding—and it was positive. Me, being the over-animated one in our relationship, couldn’t keep it a secret. Even though I would’ve loved to record Colton’s reaction, I just couldn’t keep it in!

June 2022 came quickly. Pregnancy wasn’t easy, and I worried endlessly about life after maternity leave. How could I leave my baby for 60+ hours a week? But once again, God had a plan. He opened the door for me to work for family, to balance being a stay-at-home mom with helping provide. It was on His terms, in His timing, and that plan had been set long before the baby, the marriage, even the relationship itself.

I don’t share this to say that God is just going to drop money into your bank account or deliver the perfect spouse to your doorstep. What I’m saying is this: when you walk in faith, you can trust that the ups and downs are shaping you for something greater. That the tears will one day give way to laughter. That the darkest tunnels will always open to light. And that, in the end, His timing will always prove to be perfect—because He is preparing you for an eternal joy and a heavenly future far beyond anything you could imagine.

So have faith, trust in His plan, and thank God for unanswered prayers.

Every small town has that one house—the place where kids gather, laughter spills onto the porch, and memories are made that last a lifetime. For me, that house was my parents’.

Growing up, our house was the place where everyone gathered. It didn’t matter if it was a Tuesday night after sports practice, a Friday after the football game, or a random summer weekend—our driveway was always full of cars and our living room always had extra kids sprawled across the floor. Bonfires, pool parties, late-night fishing trips, and after-prom fun—it all seemed to end up at Aunt Pam’s pool or at my parents’ house.

At any given time, there were two or three extra kids around, sometimes more. Our home wasn’t overflowing because my parents were strict or overprotective. In fact, I think sometimes they secretly wished for a weekend where they could sip coffee in a quiet house without another “slumber party” happening in the living room. But the truth is, our home was the fun place. It was safe, welcoming, and filled with people who led by example—teaching us lessons about hard work, responsibility, and respect without ever having to lecture.

There were a few non-negotiables if you stayed at the Johnson’s. Curfew was 10:30—no exceptions. Dinner didn’t hit the table until the animals were fed, and you could bet that if you were under our roof, you were part of the team when it came to chores. And once that 10:30 curfew hit, if you planned to stay up, you’d better keep it quiet so others could sleep. Those rules might sound strict to some, but they never felt that way. They gave structure to the fun. They reminded us that freedom comes with responsibility, and that respect is what makes shared spaces work.

And oh, the memories we made. We had movie marathons on the living room floor, playing hide-and-seek in the dark until someone got caught giggling. Summer nights stretched long at the pool, with the glow of porch lights and the sounds of bullfrogs keeping us company. On more than one occasion, we piled onto the back of trucks to catfish until the stars started to fade. Somehow, my parents never seemed to worry too much. Maybe they worried quietly and just didn’t let it show, but from where I stood, they seemed to balance freedom and trust so effortlessly. Looking back now as a mom, I see how much intention it must have taken for them to let go just enough for us to grow, while still keeping boundaries in place.

One of my favorite memories will always be my dad cooking in the middle of the night. If “his girls” were hungry, he’d fire up the skillet and fry tenderloin at 2 AM, laughing as we hovered around the stove. And to the guys who tagged along after a night of fishing? He’d walk through the living room, point at the clock, and say, “I’m going to bed—but when I wake up, you better not be here.” It was his playful way of keeping order, and everyone respected it.

What strikes me most when I look back isn’t just the fun—it’s the trust. My parents trusted us. Other parents trusted them. Friends knew our home was a safe place to land. That kind of reputation isn’t built overnight; it’s built through consistency, boundaries, and love.

Now that I’m raising a daughter of my own, I understand in a deeper way what it meant for my parents to be “the house to be at.” It wasn’t just about hosting—it was about creating an environment where kids could feel safe, where responsibility was taught, and where joy overflowed.

When I picture life 10–15 years from now, I hope our home carries that same legacy. I hope our porch light feels like a welcome sign, our kitchen feels like a place to gather, and our living room floor feels like the best place to pile up with friends. I hope we find the balance of discipline and fun, of responsibility and freedom, of structure and grace.

Because at the end of the day, being “the house to be at” isn’t just about having a pool or throwing bonfires. It’s about building a home where kids know they belong, where love and laughter live side by side, and where the memories made will last a lifetime. Maybe you grew up in a house like that too. Or maybe you’re in the season of building one for your own family. Either way, the greatest gift we can give our kids is a home that feels like the best place to be.

So here’s to striving to be that house. The one always full of giggles and gossip, where children learn the benefits of chores and taking care of animals, and where trust and freedom go hand in hand.

Here’s to being the “fun” parents while still figuring out parenting as we go.