Brianna Walker

For people who love, even water is sweet.

— Chinese proverb

Valentine’s Day isn’t a holiday that we typically celebrate — unless eating copious amounts of conversation hearts counts as celebrating. I don’t eat chocolate and I’m too practical for cut flowers.

Fifteen years ago, I did get a pair of Muck boots on Valentine’s. I was wasn’t sure how romantic that really was — but my husband assured me it oozed love and hearts.

“Just think of all that quality time we’ll spend together changing pipes,” he grinned. I am sure I rolled my eyes at the time, but those boots have been a staple in my life. I wear them snowmobiling, four-wheeling, snowshoeing, changing pipes, to the barn — and of course to town. In hindsight, it really was the perfect Valentine’s gift.

But other than that, we have never really gotten into that February holiday — until this year. OK, I’ll be honest, it had nothing to do with Valentine’s — I was just looking for another reason to play with my new toy.

For Christmas this year, my husband had upgraded my vinyl design cutter to one that was twice the size. And I was having a ball. Decals for the semi, a few wooden signs, stickers for the kids’ rockets, and even a few mugs.

So Valentine’s seemed the perfect way to continue my fun by making everyone shirts. I discovered, though, that Christmas is the only holiday where I feel obligated to wait for the actual day to pass out gifts. I was so excited I passed out the gifts on the 13th. I don’t know who seemed more surprised, my husband or the kids.

I have always rolled my eyes at celebrating a day “that is an overly commercialized way to make money off of love.” And now here I was passing out presents? Whatever happened to the woman that used to live in my body?

I shrugged aside their questions and encouraged them to open their gifts. The kids pulled out their shirts and were as excited as farm boys can be about new clothes. My husband pulled his out and looked a little confused but was nodding appreciatively. It read: “I have everything I need.” He looked up when I unzipped my jacket to reveal the shirt I had made myself. It said “I am everything.” He rolled his eyes at my arrogant humor.

“Muck boots and me, what else is there for Valentine’s?” I laughed.

The next day, on Valentine’s proper, we were scheduled to pour concrete for a center pivot. Nothing more romantic than screeding cement in the rain. So wearing my old Valentine’s Muck boots and a rain jacket, I watched the cement slide down the truck’s chute into the forms. We were cold to the bone but basically finished, just running a trowel around the outside to edge it.

Unneeded until we started driving machinery home, I sought shelter in the cab of the pickup. I had just started playing with the dials of the radio when my husband jerked open the passenger door, “Take me home — my leg!” He winced as he pulled himself into the passenger seat. I glanced down. The denim of his jeans was wet with blood from his knee down on one leg.

Questions flooded that quick ride home. He had slipped getting into the skid steer and fallen, gashing his leg pretty good in the process. His jeans and socks went straight in the trash when we got home — it would take more hydrogen peroxide than they were worth. Thirty minutes later, his leg was cleaned, iced, elevated and wrapped in purple and red vet wrap. Once the ibuprofen had kicked in, we even drew hearts on his bandage.

“Ya know, if you wanted to spend Valentine’s with me, you could have just asked!” I teased. But in my heart I was relieved that it wasn’t worse.

As I mopped up the last of the blood, I thought about love and Valentine’s. Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart — and clean up the blood from that pumping heart.

It wasn’t the Valentine’s that I expected. It wasn’t the Valentine’s romance from a movie. But it was still with my family — in my comfortable, old Valentine’s Muck boots. And when we’re together, I truly do have everything I need — no matter the situation.

Brianna Walker occasionally writes about the Farmer’s Fate for the Blue Mountain Eagle.