Hard Work

Upon entering my father’s office, you would notice a number of photos, prints, and souvenirs that provide an immediate and intimate glimpse into the Gulbranson family heritage. The first thing you would notice is a selection of family photos. From those frames smile three treasured daughters, six charming sons, and numerous grandchildren. A further scan of the room reveals a special reverence for our family faith. A framed painting of Jesus Christ and photos of sacred LDS temples adorn the dark office furniture. And in every other available space you would see inspiring wildlife prints of ducks and geese or detailed brass sculptures of elk and deer. Every ornament, every image, and every keepsake from that room illustrates what things the Gulbranson family values above all else.

I too hold all those things sacred. At the end of the day, nothing takes precedence over my family and my faith. However, there is one item in my father’s office that commands my attention every time I enter that room. It too reveals a key principle and enduring legacy within the Gulbranson family; one that I have grown to appreciate even more with the passage of time.

Directly across from my father’s desk, and always in plain view, there is a quote attached to the wall. Taken from the words of the legendary inventor Thomas Edison, it reads:

“Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like hard work.”

One cannot understand the Gulbranson family story without understanding the principle of hard work; for without it, the Gulbranson story does not exist. Success within our family has been the precise result of dirty coveralls, calloused hands, and disciplined effort. The quality of hard work prevails as one of the fundamental ingredients to genuine and enduring success. No amount of talent, privilege, or trickery will ever substitute for undiluted hard work.

For my part, some of the more significant lessons of hard work were taught in a laboratory of pastures and hay fields. Nine miles west of Vanderhoof, British Columbia, my father owned Hart Lake Ranch; a beautiful collection of rich fields cultivated with green alfalfa and golden grain. Each acreage had been painstakingly carved out of the rugged British Columbia countryside, creating an exquisite contrast between modest crops and towering poplars and pines. Yet, for all its optical allure and picturesque charm, the ranch achieved its utmost preciousness following the long hours of the harvest work. And while the landscape exuded refreshment and pristineness, the associated labor was anything but.

Some of the beautiful views from Hart Lake Ranch

Between the months of June and September, we donned a permanent uniform of grease stained hands, earthy jeans, and hay dusted shirts. As the work day wore on, the heat-induced sweat beaded from our body and clung to our itchy outfits. The perspiration added layer upon layer of dry alfalfa leaves, dust smudges, and oily deposits. While all of this may have been cause for discomfort and inconvenience, and it most certainly was, it did little to deter us. There was lots of work to do, and too little time to do it.

In our work, everything depended entirely on the weather. Conditions had to be exact and prolonged in order for the hay to dry out and reach a harvestable state. Any bit of rain drastically delayed our work and caused irreversible effects on crop quality. When you combined the weather delays with a short summer season, sporadic breakdowns, and strict Sabbath observance, our 18 hour work shifts seemed entirely justified. Without the long shifts, there was simply not enough time to accomplish the work. Therefore, when the sun was shining, we were working. From early Monday morning until midnight on Saturday, anyone could hear a distant hum of a busy tractor or a hurried truck from anywhere on the ranch.

Due to the time-sensitive nature of the hay harvest, any delay or complication caused plenty of frustration. At the onset of the harvest, we would dream of completing our work in record time, thereby leaving us plenty of time for fishing, camping, golfing, swimming, or general vacationing. However, as one unexpected rainfall lead into one or more breakdowns, our confidence would give way to frustration. In this way, farm work became emotional work, as well as physical work. We hurled wrenches, kicked tires, and muttered curses in regular expressions of annoyance. Nonetheless, we continued undeterred until the final bale was stored.

Every summer, I would finish the harvest with a renewed antipathy towards farm work. “It is too inconvenient,” I would think, “too uncomfortable and too demanding.” When I entered another school year every September, my friends couldn’t understand my cheerfulness and enthusiasm. While they lamented the end of vacations, trips, and recreation, I rejoiced and smiled. Admittedly, I was less enthused about school and more enthused about having a life outside a tractor. I felt my taste for farm life was sated, and I would never miss the work.

But I did miss the work; every year, every time. While I thoroughly enjoyed my classes, they often provided minimal feelings of satisfaction and accomplishment. In contrast, the work I fulfilled on the ranch empowered me and assuaged me. When I missed the work, I entered into a cycle of remembrance. I remembered the therapeutic sentiments I earned when I dirtied my hands, raced the elements, or fixed a problem. I remembered the satisfaction of reviewing the literal and tangible fruits of my labor. I remembered the fresh vivid scent of newly cut alfalfa hay, or the deep earthy aroma of pure wet dirt. I remembered the pleasant moments of reflective solitude and contemplation. I remembered the small reprieves from work, when family members delivered Slurpee’s, sandwiches, lemonades, and pizzas. I remembered the hours of enlightenment and education, as I listened to novels, documentaries, and histories. I remembered the ample opportunities to develop a cerebral catalogue of favorite musicians and soundtracks. I remembered how much I grew in terms of character and attitude. In short, I remembered how great hard work can be.

That remembrance, and the allure of good compensation, brought me back every summer.

I do not presume that farm work is the only vocation where hard work prevails. In truth, I have tried to carry the lessons and habits I have formed on the ranch to other endeavors and industries. I have witnessed the principles of hard-work take effect in students, accountants, entrepreneurs, lawyers, doctors, and countless others. However, as a matter of personal history and experience, farm work will always have a special place in my heart.

As implied by Thomas Edison, most people fear hard-work. We have many reasons to fear it. Hard-work requires exceptional sacrifice of time, comfort, convenience, and even sanity. Hard-work is not always pretty, but it is always rewarding. Of all characteristics along the spectrum of human attributes, hard and honest work does more to distinguish and exalt you than any other trait. I am grateful to have enjoyed farm work, and learned from its noble labors.

May you seek opportunity and success through hard work, no matter your occupation. Regardless if you find yourself behind a messy desk, before a troubled patient, or inside a dirty tractor, you can reap the spiritual and temporal benefits of good, honest, hard work.