Beyond the Cab: My Farm Contributions Without Tractor Driving

I Hit a Mailbox – and Quit Tractor Driving

Fourteen years ago, I hit the neighbor’s mailbox with a tractor. And I still cringe when I pass it.

I don’t like to think of myself as a quitter, but I quit 4-H tractor driving after just two practices.

I’m a big believer in the idea that you can do anything you put your mind to. But I’m also a big believer in being honest, especially with yourself. And honestly? I can’t drive tractors.

I Help on the Farm – Just Not in the Tractor

“You didn’t grow up driving tractors?
You didn’t hang out or help on the farm then?
So you don’t help farm now?”

I did hang out on the farm.

• Instead of driving a tractor, my dad taught me farm math on the whiteboard in the scale house.
• Instead of driving a tractor, my mom taught me how to wean piglets without getting bitten by the sow.
• Instead of driving a tractor, my grumpy taught me the history of the fields we farm while he ran the combine.

And now?

• Instead of driving a tractor, I check seed depths behind the planter.
• Instead of driving a tractor, I make last-minute chemical deliveries to the field.
• Instead of driving a tractor, I analyze yield data and help make informed decisions using logistics, agronomic, and financial skills I picked up in school, my job, and by just showing up.

I get – driving a tractor looks cool. Especially now that you can get thousands of likes on TikTok with a sunset cab shot. But honestly? You know what’s cooler to me? A fertilizer spreadsheet that can be sorted by owned vs. rented ground or price per acre. It just doesn’t photograph as well.

My Strength is in the Decisions, Not the Driving

Let’s be clear – this isn’t a girl thing.
It’s not my anatomy that keeps me out of the cab.
It’s the number of objects I could hit and the cost of the equipment I could break.

I’ve got plenty of strong female operator inspiration around me. And I’ve got a solid support system that would back me if I wanted to jump in the seat. It’s just not something I’ve ever loved. And that’s okay.

Not being able to run machinery hasn’t stopped me from farming. I take the skills I do have and I put them to work.

Every farmer has strengths and weaknesses.
Some aren’t strong with finances, so they get help with the books.
Some don’t study agronomy, so they use scouting programs.
My weakness is driving. So someone else does the operating.

Farmers spend more time making decisions than they do actually running equipment. But somehow, machinery operation is still what people see and value.

I love the behind-the-scenes work: seed selection, fertility programs, budgeting, spreadsheets. I thrive in that zone.

Right now, my biggest contributions are analyzing programs, fertility, and yield. This year, I’m setting goals to learn more about financials, herbicide programs, and data management – because let’s face it, that stuff’s constantly evolving.

Value Doesn’t Always Have a Steering Wheel

My hope? That every person on a farm finds where they provide value, because value isn’t tied to a steering wheel.

And value doesn’t always look like spreadsheets or soil tests either.

Sometimes in the spring, it’s grabbing a cheeseburger from McDonald’s or making a DEF run to NAPA.
In the summer, I help time fungicide applications.
In the fall, my most critical decision might be how to time supper delivery to the field.

This Is What My Role Looks Like

If I filmed a video of my little farm life, it wouldn’t have cool tractor transitions or flashy new equipment. It would be me in a truck for hours, making three stops at different agronomy retailers, picking up chemicals and dropping off checks. It would be me sitting in the cab – not driving – but uploading a variable rate seeding prescription to the 20/20. It would be me bringing parts, cooking and delivering meals, and keeping our kids alive.

And if you ask my husband, keeping the kids alive is harder than driving a tractor anyway!

I Finally Found My Place

For years, I felt like I wasn’t enough on the farm.

Now? I know I have a place.
It’s just not in the driver’s seat of a tractor.

And for that…well, everyone’s mailboxes are safer.