On location at Matteoli Brothers farmland in Robbins, CA. Photo: Chuck Gathard

Recently, I sat in a farm shed in California’s Sacramento Valley, trying (and failing) to keep dust, grime and metal shavings from falling into my laptop, lenses and cameras. It was 95 degrees outside and my jeans were smeared with red grease and oil coated my steel-toed boots. Behind me, a farm worker grinded sharp edges on spade shovels. To my left, a mechanic banged his sledge hammer on a wheel stuck to its hub. My nerves were edged, but in that moment I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You see, I was in the middle of a farm operation run by second-generation sons, who were employing their third-generation sons and daughter and fifty others. Nearby, their youngest grandchild, holding mom’s hand, was learning to walk. Modern U.S. agriculture requires giant, expensive machines. And while these machines help make for highly efficient operations, people – often families of people – still own and oversee the seemingly never ending cycle of till, plant and harvest.

I was there with our video crew to document how their business relies on my client’s lubricants, but really, I got to drop into a family business for a week, to get a passing glimpse into 30 years of grinding hours, ten months out of every year. To hear about their challenges, their narrow escapes and their dreams. You can try to script this, but, unless you smell the pollen on the wind, taste the dirt in your mouth, and feel the rough powerful handshake of a man who pushes against the earth everyday to make it happen, then you just won’t get the story right.

So much of our professional life in the 21st century is spent virtually – on a computer, online, or on our smartphones engaging digitally with the world. I’ve been fortunate to travel to a dozen countries on five continents over the past decade to film and work alongside men and women who still work with their hands and who engage with the world in a way that requires their full attention in the moment.

Multitasking for these folks means loosening a bolt with one hand while holding up a heavy object with the other. It’s not trivial and everything that touches our lives – even if one never leaves the confines of a relatively comfy office or cube – is impacted and enabled by the people who still literally keep the wheels of commerce turning.

What have I learned along the way?

ONE: Blue collar or white, we all want to have focused work that matters and to walk away at the end of a project knowing it was a job well done.

TWO: Everyone wants to be treated with respect and paid fairly for his or her  efforts.

THREE: Eye, ear and toe protection is essential.

FOUR: Every person has a story to tell; ask the right question, really listen to the answer and prepare to be moved.

We were shooting video and stills of 100-ton dump trucks hauling ore, set up at the apex of a sweeping turn at the bottom of a 10 percent grade where trucks were moving steadily in and out of a gaping maw in the ground. My focus was drawn to a huge Caterpillar bulldozer that was moving 2-ton boulders that had fallen off a nearby rocky escarpment. The sounds of back up beepers, roaring diesel engines and falling rock created a cacophony of sound that was a little overwhelming, but provided a thrilling crescendo that a scene bristling with energy and effort.

  As I shot photos, the video guy next to me started shouting and swearing. By the time I turned to find out what was going on, a 2-ton service truck, with four men and a few hundred gallons of diesel and hydraulic fluid that had just missed the turn, was 50 feet past us. “He missed us by like 12 feet,” he shouted, visibly shaken. I was less quick to react, not fully appreciating the near calamity. Then I saw the truck smash into a rock berm surrounding the roadway, the only thing that kept the vehicle and men from plummeting 150 feet to the bottom of the pit.

I was cool and calm in that moment, but that night I had trouble sleeping, pondering the fate of being crushed to death in the middle of nowhere, in the blink of an eye. Whenever I think of that near-miss incident, John Lennon’s words, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans,” usually pop into my head. Our plan that day? Staying alive. We were wearing hardhats, steel-toed shoes and bright green reflective vests. I’m pretty sure the driver purposely swerved to avoid us because we gave him a chance to see us in the moment when it most mattered. And that’s what I took away: stuff happens; people lose their brakes; you’re not always paying attention to the real hazard in the moment; so it’s best to be seen and give the other guy a chance to miss you.