The Rural Voice, 1991-01, Page 34by Bob Reid
Irvin Don Becker never won first
prize at a livestock show in his life nor
sold any of his dairy cattle overseas
nor had people lining up at the end of
his lane to buy breeding stock.
He never had the time to attend any
of the fairs near his R. R. 2, Petersburg
farm. At 80 years of age, he now has
even less time and knows it, yet he
continues to farm.
Currently milking nine nondescript
cows of varying breeds, he is not
concerned about passing on several
decades of carefully selected blood
lines to the next generation.
Many farmers say they farm for
their sons, — and in more recent years
for daughters — wanting to give them
the "good start" they never had. Of 13
children, none of his sons or daughters
expressed any interest in taking over
the farm. He realized long ago he was
farming for only one person —
himself.
"I would rust up if I ever stopped,"
he replies when asked why he still
farms. He has seen that very thing
happen to most of his friends at a
much younger age, most of whom
stopped living not long after they
stopped working. He believes there is
a close connection between the two, so
he continues to rise at 6 a.m. every
morning and works to at least 9 p.m.
each night.
Until three years ago he did his
own field work, but the machinery,
like his friends, wore out before he
did. The old tractors sit in the drive
shed, of no use to anyone and slowly
settling into the ground. Becker
realizes that at his age there would
never be enough time to pay for new
ones as it took most of his best years
to pay for those now sitting in their
final resting place.
"I can still do everything I used to
do," he claims. "It just takes me
longer now." He sold all of his land in
1984 except for eight acres, and now
buys all the feed for the cattle, pigs
and fowl he continues to care for.
At one time he milked 25 cows by
IRVIN
BECKER:
FARMING
AT 80
KEEPS
HIM ALIVE
hand and kept pigs — one sow to
every cow — to use the milk so there
was never a need to buy concentrate.
"That is when I got my rest," he re-
calls of the hours in the barn milking,
head pressed against a soft, warm
flank, letting most of his body relax
while the hands continued to work.
He still weighs the same 138
pounds he did in his prime, a bit more
with the several layers of tattered
clothing he now wears since the cold
and dampness started affecting him
more. Two thin bony arms poke out
from under the layers, fastened to a
pair of thick, swollen hands testifying
to the years of hard use.
Becker admits his farming
operation may no longer be a paying
proposition. He speculates that he, his
wife, and one handicapped son
remaining at home, might be better off
living in a small frame house built five
years ago, surviving on the old age
pension and a few saved earnings.
But he finds it impossible to sit down
for more than a few hours, restless to
30 THE RURAL VOICE