There are probably many vocations that make filthy clothing multiply like rabbits — a mechanic, a miner, septic tank workers, plumbers (ask my husband about our basement sewer pipe incident to find out how I know that); veterinarians, road construction workers — and daycare providers of babies and toddlers who have it spewing out of both ends on any given day and for all sorts of reasons — whether the child is ill, or simply won’t swallow strained carrots.

When our twin boys were babies, I remember going to bed one night, and after they both got sick, I had a whole new load of laundry waiting for me by morning, with crib sheets and mattress pads, towels for clean-up of cribs and the rocking chair; different jammies for the babies (twice), different jammies for me (three times), and cleaning rags for the carpet.

I needed to go to bed as the sun came up. It also should have been my first clue that they would grow up to be farmers, for as much laundry as they produced just that night.

But from other firsthand experience, I know that a farmer generates as much dirty laundry as any occupation. After all, he’s involved in all the occupations I mentioned earlier — just as part of his work; and his work apparel shows it in such ghastly ways.

The farmer’s cap may possibly be his dirtiest piece of daily attire, if only because he tends to gravitate toward the one that feels the most comfortable, and then (in a very anti-Mickey Rooney kind of way) doesn’t move on to the next one, regardless of its oil level. When they finally do come around to seeing the washing machine, you’ll want to handle them with care–using tongs and wearing goggles or a gas mask at the very least, and keeping the local animal shelter on speed dial in case something comes jumping out of it before it sees detergent.

Pity they get in that shape, too, because most farmers probably have only one or two caps to their name. (Insert “laughing face” here…) Indeed, most farm homes have a whole wing dedicated to caps that are “free” with the purchase of a cool million dollars’ worth of seed.

No wonder they hoard those “free” caps. They have a lot invested in them.

For our guys, even if they have garbage bags, totes, secret closets and pull-up floor boards stashed full of caps, they still take caps that are given away, if only because (back in the day for our boys, especially) they might be “too cool not to have.”

It’s like when farmers lose their pliers. They might have a dozen other pairs, but they don’t want any of those pliers — they want the familiar, dirty, oily hand tool they lost.

I’ve witnessed them flocking back to that pair like swallows headed for San Juan Capistrano. I hope that if I’m ever lost, my husband searches in the same way for me like he does for his missing pliers, rather than just going out and getting a different wife.

One time I remember sitting in on quite a lively discussion with my husband’s extended family about how to dry a farm cap. My husband has always insisted on placing the freshly laundered cap around the bottom of a medium to large sauce pan to help give the cap some shape after it dries (of course, after having gotten permission to wash that cap in the first place).

If only it were that simple for me to ensure some kind of shapeliness as I dry off after a good washing.

One of his aunts that day said she would turn it upside down and place a cereal bowl on the inside of the cap to let it dry.

But his other aunt piped up at the discussion table and stole the show as she said, “I just hang it on the door knob.”

Her husband, realizing the size of the drying apparatus got smaller with every pass, joined in on the uproarious laughter that filled the kitchen.

Finally he said, “I could have gone all day long and not heard that.”

Karen Schwaller writes from her grain and livestock farm near Milford, Iowa. She can be reached at kjschwaller@outlook.com. Note: New email address.