There are some good reasons why the number of Iowa farmers shriveled throughout the 20th century, and here’s one of them: Back before hydraulics and air-conditioned tractors, farming was even harder work than it is now. It was grueling, backbreaking work, and then the next day, it started over.

Let’s do a quick comparison.

Just 60 or 70 years ago at any number of spots visible today from the top of 801 Grand, a farmer who needed to do some field work had to shovel feed for the horses, water the horses, clean up the barn after the horses, hitch up the horses, sit behind the horses all day long in the blazing sun, unhitch the horses, shovel feed for the horses and water the horses. And we still haven’t discussed milking the cows.

Today we have drink holders on our riding lawn mowers.

So why did nearly 300 people troop through our barn when it made its debut on the annual tour sponsored by the Iowa Barn Heritage Foundation? What’s the attraction?

The old farmers among them sure didn’t seem like masochists. They seemed to be reliving good times. Good? Grinding labor in miserable weather, with the occasional serious injury? What’s so good about that?

Of course, the explanation probably goes something like this: When you ran a small farm, you had your own little kingdom. You could feel proud and independent and see the results of your hard work and planning.

Besides, they worked with tangible things, from hand tools to ears of corn. Quarterly reports are great, but our minds are wired with the urge to drive a few nails, too.

Most important, for all of this backbreaking work and worry, they got a major long-term payoff. They got memories that apparently don’t fade, and that’s where they might have the edge on us.

Let’s be honest. Office work might be rewarding, but do you really see much difference between one day and the next? Deadlines are made or missed, co-workers send exasperated e-mails or jokes, budgets get changed by 2 percent – but do you see yourself relishing those memories in retirement?

The change in seasons is something you glimpse through windows. There’s no sound but the clicking of the keyboard and the whir of the copy machine, which is a pretty poor trade for songbirds and the wind. For a really big break, you can walk down the hall to the vending machines – not too fascinating compared with a walk from the hot hayfield through the cool grove and into the kitchen.

You certainly should take pleasure in receiving a promotion or helping to set an earnings record, but apply this test: Do you see yourself seeking out a restored 2004-era cubicle 30 or 40 years from now just for the pleasure of recognition? Can you imagine swapping stories with other former office workers about what it was like to use Adobe Acrobat?

Everybody worries about the decline of memory as we age, but here’s the real problem: We might not wind up with many special moments to remember anyway.