Going to Ag Progress Days is progress in itself for some

Two minutes into our inaugural trip to Ag Progress Days earlier this week, my husband and I looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably.

Who were we kidding? Our idea of farming is buying corn from a roadside stand. When asked where milk comes from, we say, “A plastic jug.” I know corn is seasonal, but I rely on the grocery store to tell me which one.

We were the only people within a four-mile radius not wearing steel-toed boots. Suddenly my expertly manicured hot pink toenails felt very exposed. “Some guys are probably able to stop at each of these big tractors and explain to their kids what they do and how they do it,” Jerry said as we passed rows and rows of towering John Deeres that could reduce our house to rubble. One in particular had so many sharp teeth, we mused it could easily be part of the final scene in a gory horror flick.

After a moment of further consideration, he looked at our daughter and said, “Allison, these are the things that take up two lanes when they’re on the road and make Daddy crazy when he’s trying to get to work.”

Then he turned to me. “How was that?” he asked.

“Accurate and informative,” I decided.

We zipped past the tractor thingies, and I could tell by the amused grins of the men standing by their machines that our mere presence was humoring them. I felt like yelling, “I TOTALLY BUY CORN! A LOT OF IT!”

But I refrained.

As I scanned the crowd to find a single specimen of suburbia, another observation dawned on me: Everyone was wearing John Deere green. Kids in logo-clad trucker hats. Ladies in shirts that read, “Real women ride Deere gear.” Even a gaggle of Mennonite girls had matching versions of their traditional homemade floor-length dresses with “John Deere” emblazoned all over them.

Right as I was about to point it out, I looked down.

I had on the one top in my entire wardrobe that apparently is that exact shade of green. And to complete the ensemble, matching flip-flops.

Gah.

Nothing quite says poser at an agriculture festival like clean fingernails and an Ann Taylor cardigan in a tractor company’s signature color. I might as well have attached a sign to my back that read, “NEVER BEEN ON A FARM. IN FACT, I JUST CAME FOR A FUNNEL CAKE.”

So that’s what we did. We shamelessly invested in all the traditional fair fare, found a spot under a tent in the shade and dug in.

Afterward, we tried to muster some interest in exhibits outlining soil properties, the granular makeup of different types of bread and a wagon that toured area fields used for crop research, but I was definitely out of my element. I wanted to crawl back to the comfort of our push-mowered lawn and store-bought tomatoes.

Jerry, however, had a different outlook.

Wiping a smudge of barbecue sauce from his pulled-pork sandwich off his face, he said, “See? Farmers need consumers as much as we need them.” He was right.

“Lets get some ice cream before we attempt to find the car,” I said. “You know, agricultural stuff.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Plus, on the bright side, we won't get stuck behind any tractors on the way home because they’re all here."