Farm Computers I Have Known

***Here is a change of pace for your reading enjoyment. This is a humour column I sold to a Canadian farm publication a couple of years ago. For those who don't know, agriculture is one of the several sources of income I have to draw upon. By its very nature, it's harder to money from that industry, than making a living by writing. On that note, without further adieu, here is the story***



Farm Computers I Have Known



I bought a computer. It seemed like the thing to do. Most farm publications offered the same advice. Get a computer now, was their common refrain. Visions of a bright new agricultural horizon swirled like a dust devil through my head. Not wanting to be left in the technological dust, I followed the experts’ advice. I bit the bullet, or perhaps I bit the byte, and entered the world of technology.



Like all new toys, the computer became the focal point of the household. That is, if overwhelming an entire room makes for cutting edge interior design. Fortunately for me, crowded bookshelves, calendar covered walls, and a battery charger in the living room are not the dream of interior decorators either. Unsightliness was not an issue. I didn’t care. I was computing.



After connecting up the printer and speakers with a screen and a huge box like thing referred to as a tower, I was set to go to work. If I could translate the hieroglyphics posing as an instructional diagram, anything was possible. I would create and account and maybe even do a bit of field mapping. I had used a computer in the world of employment and considered myself to be vaguely computer literate. I defined computer literacy as the ability to find the power button. Knowing a mouse from a floppy is something everyone from the farm understands. I had this thing covered. I pushed the power button and waited for the entire thing to spring to life. Nothing happened.



An eerie sensation overcomes a person when a piece of equipment fails to operate as expected. Am I at fault, or is the machine in need of immediate medical attention? I suspected both possibilities. I fiddled with the cables and wires and discovered that at least I had it plugged into the outlet. I had visions of money flushed into the regions beneath any septic tank. Something was wrong.



My confidence in my technological skills was draining faster than my neighbour’s pothole into my wheat field. I had to find a solution. I was reminded of the purchase of a new swather that arrived with the knife improbably placed upside down. That I could remedy. It has long been a personal policy to never ask for directions when locating an unknown destination. A little time and patience is all that is needed. After a lot of time and the end of my patience, I was baffled.



No amount of tweaking and poking was getting the desired result. On the verge of ending the problem with axe and sledgehammer, I sought professional help. I asked my mother for assistance. After asking me if I had the contraption plugged into an outlet and receiving an answer in the affirmative, she suggested that I call the dealer.



I knew it. I had to do it. The new toy had to be packed into its original box and returned for repairs. The humiliation was beyond mortal comprehension as I explained the failure of the technology, and downplayed the human element. With a counter side manner that would make a kindly family physician envious, the dealer assured me all would be well. I accepted the reassurances and returned home.



There, where the computer had proudly taken its place, was an empty void. Cords and cables were connected to nothing but open air. The screen was dark and the printer was silent. I endured fitful sleep for two days. The worry was too much to bear. Soon, I told myself, the computer would be home and all would be well. After having survived being stuck in the mud for two days while combining, I was capable of surviving the stress.



On the third day, after the sacrifice, the computer was returned home. I failed to fully comprehend what had gone awry, but the conversation seemed to centre around the need to reload the operating system, or something like that. The transplant had been a successful one, and I was assured that I could now compute until my eyes hurt, or my behind did, whichever occurred first.



Flushed with renewed enthusiasm, I reconnected the cords and cables in rough approximations of their earlier locations; give or take a few creative variations on the untranslatable diagrams. I punched the power button on the computer and the one on the screen. Lights flashed, words describing exotic activities appeared on the screen, colours changed, and odd looking little drawings, referred to almost mystically as icons, appeared where only emptiness had been. In the end all was well. The computer was on. It was working after all.



Following the instructions provided by the dealer, I set forth in a confident manner to load some software. The idea of loading sounded reasonable, like placing square hay bales on an empty hay rack. The screen presented instructions that I blindly followed. I felt almost robotic in my obedience. It worked. The cessation of normal thought, and surrender to the computer’s will was the secret. I had learned its intimate knowledge. The computer is in charge. The operator just clicks the mouse and follows orders. After clicking and following for several software loads, I was certain that the computer and I were on good speaking terms. It had not given me more than a few dozen disciplinary beeps and stern warning messages. I felt that we had an understanding. It was good.



I had a program for something referred to as an office suite, although I saw no usable furniture. Maybe I missed something when it was shipped. I also had a drawing program to compensate for my need to label drawings composed of the most basic of subjects, like stick people. In a more adventurous vein, there are programs for CAD design and for computer geographic mapping. I had successfully entered them into the voracious appetite of the computer memory. There was a lot of RAM in there, tending the growing flock of programs. The world of computational wizardry and creativity was at my fingertips.



With all of the expertise of thousands of software designers to draw upon, I punched up the menu to test drive a program. Would I choose to map the yields of the fields, or to design a slightly better mousetrap? The choices and various options were intoxicating in their bewildering complexity. After much deliberation and careful thought, I made a well reasoned choice. I decided to play a game. I lost.