At my job in daycare, it’s an Easter tradition to take the children (two and three year olds) to a nearby farm, have the parents come along if they can, go back to the daycare, let the children search for coloured eggs and then have a little Easter brunch with eggs and home-baked bread.

Of course, not all parents can always come along, and this year one of our classic runs-around-like-a-maniac-all-the-time is alone, so he’s assigned to me to keep an eye on.

He’s very chatty all the way to the farm, he loudly sings all the Easter songs he knows and can barely contain himself. I have to hold his hand the entire time. He RUNS to the chicken coop when I let go of his hand, opens one of the little doors, STICKS HIS ENTIRE HEAD IN BETWEEN THE CHICKENS, and starts cooing.

Boy: “Hello, Mrs. Toktok, hi there, Mrs. Yellowbeak, ooh, I sure love your feathers, Mrs. Tappyfeet. You ladies are all so lovely. Thanks for making all those eggs. Your home sure looks nice, I like all the sticks!”

He just goes on and on and on like that, being really gentle with the chickens like a total professional. The farmer instantly loves this little boy. The toddlers who are slightly intimidated at first look at him, and he tells them there’s nothing to be afraid of if you’re gentle and polite.

One by one, even the children who are scared get to pet the chickens and pick up some eggs. All the parents are absolutely melting. Later that day when he’s being picked up by his mother, she is very surprised.

Mother: “He’s never been to a farm, and so far, I’ve only seen him be very scared of animals, especially birds! I have no idea what happened!”

Boy: “But, mommy! These are EASTER BIRDS!”

I love my job so much.

My father-in-law lives on a farm out in the Brazilian countryside. I didn’t grow up in the country and have always been careful around any creepy crawlies in case they have a nasty surprise. As you can imagine, when visiting the farm, there is a good mix of insects, spiders, snakes, and even scorpions to be aware of.

I am playing with my five-month-old son in the front room when I look up and see a spider about the size of my hand crawling up the sofa about a metre away. I grab the baby and go and find my husband (the native).

Me: “[Husband], there is a giant spider on the sofa, can you have a look and see if it is safe or not?”

Husband: “Oh, [My Name], it can’t be that bad.”

It should be said, I am not afraid of spiders or things like that, and have never exaggerated about one in my life. He gets up to have a look and immediately swears loudly. This attracts the attention of one of the housekeepers there, who immediately runs off to grab the bug spray once she has caught a glimpse of it.

Me: “So… that’s a bad one, huh?”

Husband: “Ah, it would give you a nasty bite, but probably wouldn’t kill you.”

Me: *Still holding my son.* “And the baby?”

Husband: *After a few seconds.* “It might kill the baby, yeah.”

Welcome to the tropics!

My father has a small plot of land in the countryside where he has planted some olive trees and, along its borders, fruit trees. We usually go there at least three times a week to do some work between Spring and Autumn. When it’s fruit season, the trees don’t really wait nicely to let all their load ripen, so picking the fruit is quite a task. 

One fine day, we parked our car at the far end of the plot and were walking to the other end when we saw a person with a large bag, busy picking fruit and shoving them in a wooden crate. 

Now, my father and all the farmers around have no problems with someone picking some fruit and eating it on the spot: “Eat as much as you want but take nothing home” is what they say. This guy, however, is stuffing a whole crate with what looks like at least 5 kg of fruit. 

Since we are walking, the intruder thinks we are also wanderers like him, and doesn’t stop picking fruit.

Father: “Good afternoon, lovely day, isn’t it?”

Intruder: “Good afternoon, as lovely as it can get!”

Father: “Are these your trees? They bear a wonderful load!”

Intruder: “No, they’re not mine. I’m just picking some fruits after the owner told me I could.”

Father: “Really? Who’s the owner? I would love to ask his permission too; these fruits are mouthwatering.”

Intruder: “Sure, the owner is [Father’s Name].”

Father: “Oh, really? And when did I give you permission to pick my fruits?”

The intruder realises he has royally screwed up, throws his hands in the air, leaves the full crate under the tree, and runs away.

Father starts laughing and tells me:

Father: “Look, some good fairy picked some fruits for us. We can do something else today!”

I work in a huge farming supply complex, and that includes an outdoor department selling tractors.

A customer has just completed the paperwork to buy one of our models on the lot. As I’m walking him to his car, congratulating him on his purchase and asking him if he’s looking forward to the delivery, we hear some distant thunder.

Customer: “You’d better wrap up the tractor in case it rains.”

I laugh at the ‘joke’.

Customer: “Why are you laughing? I don’t want my brand-new tractor getting damaged.”

Me: “From rain?”

Customer: “From the elements!”

Me: “It’s been outside on this lot for a few months, sir.”

Customer: “Yes, but now I own it. Shrink wrap it so it won’t get damaged by the rain.”

I was tempted to ask him where his farm is. I’d love to visit an entirely indoor field!

As a Caribbean lad living in a cold and damp European country, I seek out nostalgic food whenever I can.

About two weeks ago, I found a website that lets you order from farmers directly, and they had some goat farms.

One farm in particular looked good, so I briskly ordered.

The same day, the farmer emailed me to say that he could not fulfil the order exactly, but if I ordered directly through email, he could get close. 

So, we do that. He would arrange for the website to refund me and send me a payment request.

A few days with no word, I emailed the farmer. 

He apologises; the website didn’t let him refund the order, but he promised to mail out the items in the meantime. 

Another day goes by, and I get a track & trace email telling me my order is underway, and an email from the farmer to double-check. All is good in the world.

On the day of delivery, we anxiously wait for the delivery. We check the shipping company website and see the virtual delivery van get closer and closer and…

Shipping Company Website: “You weren’t home, we will try again.”

And five minutes later:

Shipping Company Website: “You weren’t home, so we’ll deliver at a collection point.”

Obviously, we never saw a van. I try contacting customer support. Once I get a human in chat, I explain that the driver just skipped us and clearly lied that they tried to deliver.

The rep lets us know it’s underway to a collection point. This we already knew.

I explain these are perishable items, but all the agent can tell us is that we’ll receive a code for the collection box.

Meanwhile, my girlfriend goes back and forth to the collection point in hopes of intercepting the delivery, because when I say ‘perishable’, I mean ‘very perishable’.

The day passes, and the next day the shipping site tells us the virtual Christmas sled (their idea of being festive, I guess) is underway.

We wait for an indication that it was delivered at the collection point and a code to collect it.

Nothing.

We go into chat with customer service again, who can do nothing but tell us we’ll get a code. 

Eventually, my girlfriend goes to the collection point again, and lo, the lady at the counter flags her, hands her our package, and says:

Counter Lady: “No way I was letting this sit in my shop over the weekend, so I intercepted it.”

Once home, we saw why the lady was so adamant.

The way the farmer had fixed the order was to ship us the goat meat in the form of a whole leg.

The farmer sent another e-mail to inquire, and since the website still didn’t process the return, he let the €10 difference slide.

Great service, bad service, and slightly weirded-out service, in one order.