Farmers in Suits

~ This article first appeared in the Leader Vindicator newspaper. ~

Some men are ‘dedicated followers of fashion’, as The Kinks put it.  I recently noticed a guy walking along Main Street with clothing-forward confidence: Fancy summerweight coat, perfect slacks, fashionable loafer-type shoes, and explosions of brilliant color peeking out from socks, shirt, tie, etc.  Everything was coordinated to match, and I assume the matching garb was chosen by a curator to resemble the wearer’s eye color.  Posture and stride indicated that the street stroller knew he looked good, likely because he checked several times before leaving the house.

I stared at the ambling exhibition for a moment.  “Nah,” I thought.

An office man wearing a nice outfit is about as common as a ragweed seed in the late summer.  On the contrary, a much more rare and thrilling spectacle is spotting a farmer in a suit.

The first thing an observer will notice is sunburn.  A suit is not cut to match the lines of a favorite t-shirt, nor is a ball cap considered by the flamboyants in Paris to be an acceptable accessory to formal wear. There will be tan lines of epic contrast on display.  Nobody, to my knowledge, has coordinated clothing dye with that unique color of sunburn, which could be considered a rural fashion handicap that needs addressed by the powers that be in Suitland.  They also need to work on fabric lines that flow with the permanent dented ring of hat hair and design cufflinks that match grease stains on hands.

Shoes are next.  Trendy men’s shoes are designed to make feet look like delicate appendages that are agile enough to endure the wearer’s fitness preference to take the stairs, not the elevator.  Farmers universally avoid such fragility, opting instead to wear work boots constructed to withstand 365 day exposure to the elements.  Sometimes the boots carry evidence of their regular proximity to animals.  Once again, the Parisian suit guy would have a stroke.

The end result of formal wear on farmers is something of an anomaly in the fashion world: Rather than the person looking awkward due to clothing choices, it’s the suit that looks out of place on the farmer.

I’ve had plenty of experience with farmers in suits as a former member of the state Young Farmers and Ranchers (YF&R) committee.  Each year we would gather at a major convention held at the Hershey Lodge, a space grand enough that most guests feel obligated to dress up.  Event organizers required the upscale dress code in case anyone didn’t.  Day one of the farm convention was demarcated by a steady stream of awkward looking suits walking in from the parking lot to the lobby.

As a member of the Young Farmer committee, I spent most of my time in the company of sharp minded individuals selected from their region to represent the younger end of the agriculture spectrum.  These folks fast became good friends, and we’d share stories every opportunity we got.  Most of those stories were revealed after our duties were completed for the day.

There was always a tipping point shortly after dinner when everyone realized that they didn’t have to wake up and tend stock or drive a truck the next morning.  At this point in the evening, the noise level in the restaurant increased, rounds of beer were ordered with greater enthusiasm, and hotel staffers started wondering what to do about the rolls of Copenhagen that materialized out of thin air and took up space on the bar.

If laughter is the best medicine, then I added a few years during the late nights with dressed up farmers at the Hershey Lodge.  Agriculture is a vocation unpredictable enough that seemingly routine events can turn chaotic in an instant.  Those instances of chaos, recounted after the pain has worn off, are funnier than any comedy act.

Members would talk about their failed attempts as teenagers to hide raging hangovers from Dad while they milked cows in the morning.  Others had stories of trucks tipping over, grain bins splitting open, livestock escaping, and their children getting battered by goats, pigs, horses, and sheep.

Talk was not all work related: One member proved to us that he did indeed have his last name tattooed in capital letters across his back (the result, we were told, of a night away from the farm). 

Another guy, Bob, with the earnestness of someone vaguely aware that nobody has ever believed him, informed us that he had been struck by lightning…twice.  Once, the bolt exited his body by way of his eyeball, and the other time it came “straight out my rear end!”  Bob’s an interesting dude.  Nobody believed him.  But everybody listened when he talked, and then we’d howl with laughter.

I don’t think there was one of us there who enjoyed wearing formal clothing, yet it was a setting requiring such decoration that provided the opportunity to socialize and swap stories.  I’m forever grateful to the members of the Clarion, Venango, Forest county Farm Bureau for supporting me and providing me the opportunity to attend these conferences and broaden my horizons both professionally and socially.  Thank you all.

If you’re out some evening and you see a suit looking awkward because of the person it’s placed on, don’t shy away.  Buy the guy a drink and ask him to start telling stories!