By Cody Hendrickson I grew up in southeast Minnesota outside a small farming town called Harmony. We lived ten miles outside of town on our own small dairy farm, and ever since I can remember, I worked on the farm helping Dad with whatever needed to be done. There was always one job I had that I didn’t complain about, and that was holding the gate open for Dad. I can remember the first time holding the gate open for him. All he said was, “Make sure the cows don’t get out.” Simple enough I figured. At this point I was around six, and I understood the concept. He drove the tractor through the gate opening and took a bale of hay to the…