It occurs to me that I love the way guys interact with each other.

Most of the time there’s no fanfare, no sharing of recipes, sometimes there’s spit, and sometimes there’s even no seriousness in (or baseline reason for) a visit or conversation.

The only exception to my admiration of male interaction would be that there’s rarely ever any chocolate within reach. (How do they sustain themselves between ketchup applications at meal time, for heaven’s sake?)

A friend of ours called up my husband one day just to chat. When my husband answered, there was no “hello” or otherwise tomfoolery from the other end of the phone. The first thing he said was, “What are you doing with your life?” (His “guy way” of asking, “What’s up?”)

It sounded funny, but it also got me thinking that there was a lot of “punch” in that one small question. My husband proceeded to go down the list of things to do for the day–some tasks were less warmly anticipated than others. Nonetheless, it was clear that he had plenty to do with his life, at least for the day.

I don’t think farmers have any trouble filling in their list of “to-do’s,” especially if they have livestock. And this time of year lurks just like spring planting and fall harvest, with four-legged babies arriving by the bazoombas out in the barns and in the yards. And when that’s not happening, there’s hay to cut and bale, and machinery to get ready for whatever season is biting them on their heels … and only so much time to get it all done before it all hits the fan.

There’s usually plenty of “fan” to be hit, that’s for sure.

It’s not that everyone in general understands this farm lifestyle, and that’s why it seems most peculiar anymore when someone appears to “get” what farmers do with their lives.

Once last summer I was leaving my mother’s place with one of her friends, when we met up with this woman’s husband. When she introduced me to her husband, we exchanged formalities and asked me what we do for a living.

“We farm,” I said.

And without hesitation, the man stuck his hand out to shake mine, looked right into my eyes and said, “I want to thank you for your service.”

That line, reserved for those serving their country in such gallant and dangerous ways, was said to me about what we do on the farm, and I don’t mind saying I was taken aback by it.

“Well … thank you,” was all I could manage, since I was so surprised that someone who didn’t live on or grow up on a farm seemed to understand the value of what we (and all farmers) do every day all year long.

“Life” is a short word, but it has such big implications. We all do different things with our lives, and every job has value. What would our lives be like if there were no restaurants (or people working in them) in which to celebrate joyous celebrations, or keep our busy lives going? Or no people to clean up after the rest of us in order that our public buildings might be clean? Or no retail clerks to help us leave a store without handcuffs? Or all those “dirty jobs” that keep America moving forward, and medical workers in all kinds of places who (along with our military) do some of the most heroic work of all? Even the newspaper editor, minister, undertaker and grave digger do some important “last things” for all of humankind.

All work has intrinsic value, as do the people who dare to do (whatever) the work.

Imagine how our world could change if your average working person felt appreciated by John Q. Public. As a woman of the farm, those echoes of thanks I heard will last a lifetime, and I am trying to pay that habit forward.

And so I ask you — what are you doing with your life?

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