Animal Crackers Uncaged

There are some things in this world that just defy logic and give further evidence that we are on a downward spiral as a society. That was the case this week when I saw that Nabisco had redesigned the box animal crackers come in to take away the bars in the picture and “free” the animals. This because of pressure from People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). This just further proves the degradation of our common sense when it comes to animals.

This comes on the heals of PETA being one of the groups that helped drive the Barnum and Bailey Circus out of business because of concerns about how the animals were cared for. Personally, I think it is a shame that something as iconic as the circus is under attack by a small group of radicals who don’t share the same view as most of the society. We can debate the merits of animal care of circuses; however, the animal cracker debate is one of the dumbest I have ever seen.

Folks, this is a cardboard box full of cookies that are barely more edible than the box. The fact that a group of radical animal rights activists can protest something like the picture on a box of cookies and get a response from a multi-national corporation is astounding, really it is mind-blowing. When we are losing battles like this to the animal rights activists we are close to sliding down that slippery slope.

I would guess that the next step in this mind-numbing saga is that they will be upset that the crackers are confined by the box itself. I can see it now a “free the crackers” campaign complete with celebrities who are bemoaning the fact that the animals are cooped up in the at box. They will probably show horrible pictures of broken crackers caused by being confined in a space too small. I say all of this in jest, but it is just as plausible as worrying about the bars on a picture on the outside of the box.

The problem is that these groups have worked their way into the fabric of our everyday lives. Once they were fringe, radicals who did not garner any attention. I am not mincing any words when I tell you that their main objective is to destroy animal agriculture and elevate animals to the same level as humans. As crazy as it sounds, this is another step in that direction.

Groups like HSUS and PETA are chipping away at our ideas of animals and humans and removing the separation between us. Each small victory is another chink in our armor and puts us closer to being out of business. They find the weakest link and like circuses and go after it. As farmers and ranchers, we think it doesn’t matter and allow them to go out of business.  The public, who has no real connection to animals other than maybe a cat or a dog, see this as proof that there was poor treatment of animals.

Then the story about removing the bars on a box of cookies comes up and, again, further re-enforces the idea that the animals were mistreated, and this group of radicals is out for the best interest of animals. We know this is not right, but it is easier to ignore and roll our eyes at than to fight. This is the same tactic they are using against us in agriculture too.

HSUS went after swine farms in Florida and Arizona because they were few in numbers and without much notice banned gestation crates in those two states. Only a handful of producers were affected and the whole thing barely made the news. Another chip was knocked out of our base. Then they set their sights at bigger states with larger populations that know nothing about modern ag.  Don’t believe me, find a chicken producer in California. Better yet, buy a dozen eggs in California and tell me what they cost. Another chip, a little bigger one, with each victory the anti-ag groups get a little bolder and look for bigger targets.

So, if you think that a box of animal crackers is no big deal and roll your eyes at the stupidity of it all, I think you are missing a bigger issue and one that has huge implications for all of us that raise animals for food. If we continue to allow these groups to blur the lines between humans and animals, if we allow them to chip away at our livelihoods soon we will look around and we will be out on an island by ourselves with no one to help us. That is their goal. As ridiculous as the printed bars on a box of cookies are, it is still important and a chip no matter how small.

It does make me wonder what is next. Will PETA emboldened by their clear victory in removing the bars from the box of animal crackers go after another target. I wonder if Goldfish crackers will be next. After all those poor fish are forced to smile no matter what, even when they are being eaten. I write this only partly in jest.

Sweet Corn Disaster

I really enjoy sweet corn; it and home-grown tomatoes are some of my favorite things to eat. If you know me, or even if you have just seen me, you know that eating is very high on my priority list. Nothing beats a good ear of sweet corn. That is why two years ago I decided to turn one of our smallest fields into my sweet corn patch. That is when this tale of tragedy started.

The field is just a little over an acre with a steep field entrance off a very busy road. It was hard to get the equipment into the field, especially the combine. Two years ago, the field was to be planted to corn as part of our normal crop rotation. That was when I hatched my sweet corn idea. Just the thought of an acre of sweet corn made my mouth water, I would have enough for myself and all my friends and neighbors.

The field was prepared just like the rest of the corn ground, except for the fact that I put down dry fertilizer myself instead of the anhydrous (remember this field was going to be sweet corn because it was too small to get equipment in). My first surprise was the sticker shock when I found out how much seed for gmo sweet corn was. Oh well, I could sell a little at the local farmer’s market to recoup my cost.

My next surprise was to find out that with the drums that we had for our air planter I could not plant the right seed population. We did the best we could, and the population was a little thick but not bad. The corn emerged and initially the project looked like it was going to be a success. Then life happened.

We decided to buy a new house. The house move did not affect the sweet corn patch, but it did affect my time. More specifically, the sweet corn was ready the week we needed to move. We had a couple of meals off the sweet corn patch and a couple of my neighbors picked a little bit of it. However, the greatest majority went to feeding the deer and racoons in the neighborhood. I contemplated sending Wildlife and Parks a bill but decided my crisis was not their problem.

Fast forward to this year. I decided that my sweet corn experiment would work if I gave the field a little more attention. I borrowed a small disc from a neighbor and worked the ground properly. Remember the whole move thing last year? Well that affected my ability to keep the patch clean and left too many dead weeds to plant into. In any case, I prepared the field and purchased the seed. Then planting season happened.

We started in on the corn and corn planting was strung out enough that we went straight into soybean planting. I had a really hard time justifying the time it would take to switch everything over to the settings I needed for my sweet corn experiment. Because of this and a couple other unforeseen scheduling conflicts I did not get to plant my sweet corn until the middle of June. Some years that might work but if you look back on the end of June and much of July you will remember it was hotter than normal and much drier.

Speaking of drier, remember how I worked the patch down so well. I was reminded of why I am such a big fan of no-till. That ground was much drier and much fluffier than our untilled ground. Remember how I had a problem with the population the year before. The seed I had this year was much lighter and smaller and I went from too many seeds per acre to not nearly enough. However, in retrospect, population was not my worst problem.

The seed sat in the ground for weeks until we had enough moisture to sprout it sometime in July. Then the one hundred plus temperatures cooked it. Finally, the rains and cool temperatures came, and the corn started growing. Then two days later it started tasseling at a grand total of three feet tall. Even then I had hope, after all the weather for pollinating and filling out ears was the best we had all summer.

That was when the wildlife found my sweet corn patch. Each night I would look at the patch and think that in a day or two I would have some sweet corn to pick. The next morning I would come back to find that plant mangled. It looks like my sweet corn experiment was even worse the second year.

It’s a good thing I am so bull headed, or I might never get to eat sweet corn. Yeah, I could buy it but that costs too much, and it is more fun to grow your own. Besides, I am being encouraged by the deer and racoons to keep trying too. A few tweaks here and there and next year will be my year, you can count on that.

 

From Jethro to Captain

It all started with Jethro, the champion bucket calf, and last week it ended with Captain, the champion market beef. A span of sixteen years that covered many heartbreaks, experiences, opportunities, countless friends and even a few successes. The 4-H livestock experience was bookended by two calves that could not have been more different and were a good analogy of the whole experience.

Jethro and Captain were both black steers, and that was all they had in common. Jethro was a bucket calf we bought from a friend. Go figure, the first year I needed a bucket calf we had none, so I had to buy a bucket calf. Little did I know that Jethro would be about the cheapest purchase I would make over the next sixteen years.

Isaac named him Jethro after attending the Peace Treaty Pageant at Medicine Lodge. Jethro was the cattle rustler the cowboys hung from a tree and it is beyond me why Isaac was so enamored with that scene that he had to name his calf Jethro. Jethro was a pretty good bucket calf and Isaac gave him a whole lot of attention. Of course, at the tender age of four, Isaac needed our help with him every step of the way.  Everywhere we went that summer we quizzed Isaac about the parts of the bucket calf and other questions the judge might ask.

When the time came, we helped Isaac wash the calf and shine him up. Isaac marched him into the ring and gave the best performance of his career. Jethro was chosen Champion Open Class Bucket Calf that year and we worried it was a mark that we would never hit that mark again. Tatum and Isaac went on to both win the 4-H bucket calf award but after that our family hit a long drought when it came to beef awards.

We bumped along and showed the best calves we had in our herd for several years after that. There were a few successes along the way, a class winner or two but for the most part we spent our time in the middle to lower half of the class. It was frustrating but now looking back the lessons learned with those calves were probably the most valuable ones we could have had.

Fast forward to this year and Captain. Captain came to us from Kentucky and was a show calf through and through. I wish I had a good story as to why Tatum named him Captain, but I don’t. She pronounced him Captain the day he stepped off the trailer and, to be honest, the name fit him to a t. He was a stately steer who commanded your attention. He was also a big teddy bear that never offered any trouble or caused any grief. All in all, he was the easiest steer we ever had when it came to handling and he loved to have his neck scratched.

Tatum put an incredible amount of work into Captain. Each morning she rinsed him off, brushed his hair and fed him all before heading off to work. Captain spent the day with his sidekick in his pen in the barn under fans where it was cool. Then at night she repeated the routine before leading him back to his pen for the night. The work was all Tatum’s with Jennifer and I doing very little. In fact, if we did anything it was under Tatum’s strict supervision. She also spent countless hours working on showing him and by the time the fair came around he was nearly automatic in the showring.

Jethro made one appearance in the showring, at the county fair. Captain made the spring show circuit and the county fair was his eighth trip into the showring. Along the lines of “I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to” was that he moved up one place at each show. Starting out third out of five in class at his first show in Marysville to Reserve Overall Market Beef at the last show before the county fair in Seneca. We joked about how that was a good sign for the county fair hoping that the form held true.

We knew the competition would be tough at the county fair and it was. Captain peaked at the right time and he came into the fair weighing the right amount and looking like we had hoped he would. That night in the showring he looked the best he ever had and showed perfectly. One of the biggest thrills of our families entire 4-H career was when the judge slapped Captain and brought everything full circle.

I won’t lie, two short days later when I walked by Captain on the truck to the processing plant there were tears in my eyes. I like to think I am tough, but Captain tested me.  I scratched him under the neck one last time and thanked him for the experience he had given Tatum, but everything has its time. Words cannot express how blessed we were to have our 4-H career bookended by two champion beef like Jethro and Captain. Its funny how life works out sometimes.

 

 

The Eve of the Last Fair

This is the eve of fair for us, more specifically it is the eve of the last fair as a 4-H family for us. I must admit that this last is probably the toughest one for me. To say 4-H has been a large part of our life is the biggest understatement I can make and to say the last fair is tough is also not the whole truth. Next year and next summer are going to be different.

My kids were involved and active in the fair probably earlier than most. When Dad is the Extension Agent life stops for the rest of the family and the fair consumes all the time for that week. Jennifer always told everyone that she was an Extension widow and that statement was completely honest and true.

Our fair involvement started with Jethro, the bucket calf, and will end with Captain, the steer. Both were black cattle but miles apart in type. Jethro was a half Holstein bottle calf and Captain is a show steer and that is fitting because the difference in the two calves represents the distance we have traveled as a 4-H family.

4-H has taken our family places we never dreamed it would have. Ten years ago, we started the sheep project with two lambs (I should remember their names, but I don’t) and this coming year we will lamb nearly a hundred ewes all because of the experience we had with the 4-H sheep project. Isaac’s Southdown flock is paying his way through college and vet school and it started with one whether named Rambo (the story of how he got the name is a good one, but one I don’t have space for).

The transformation that 4-H has had on all of us is incredible. Both Isaac and Tatum are planning careers in agriculture and both can attribute their future career plans back to skills learned and experiences they have had through 4-H. The leadership, work ethic and knowledge they gained working on their projects cannot be matched through any other channel. More importantly, 4-H has ignited a passion in both of my kids for agriculture that I am eternally grateful for.

Most important in our 4-H experience are the people we have met and the friends we have made. At the fair each year we have a tradition of meeting at the campers and sitting in a circle talking about the days events, life in general and, most importantly, decompressing for a bit. This gathering has become known to us as the circle of friends. The name may be a bit tongue in cheek but not really.

I remember as a young agent with a young family how we felt so included when we were invited into the group. That was when I started to realize just how important and how big of an impact the fair and 4-H can have. It was hard each year to see the families on their last fair and that seemed so far away and suddenly that family is my family. It happened in the blink of an eye and I am not sure I am ready for it.

I have hope because as the agent I saw many families graduate and move on but almost all of them came back. That is good because the hardest thing for me to imagine is life without the circle of friends. The experiences, skills, opportunities and lessons learned through 4-H are important, but the most valuable thing gained are the relationships.

So as Tatum sprints down this last straight away of the marathon that has been our family’s involvement in 4-H I am sure there will be many “dark glasses” moments in the next couple of days. I say family because 4-H is truly a family experience, all of us, Isaac, Tatum, Jennifer and I have been truly moved and affected by the program. It is time to move on and view life from a different angle, but it is also sad know in that we are moving on past something that has truly been so important to us.

So, I sit here reflecting on the rockets, the pies, skirts and benches that have been exhibited with varying degrees of success. I think about the sheep; Toots, Twinkle Toes, Fuzzy and Wuzzy, Poppy the Shroppy, and Rambo. I remember the cattle; Jethro, Blaze, Glory, T-Bone and of course, Captain and it is hard to think of a summer without 4-H critters and projects. I assure you that the last weekend in July will be a whole lot calmer and less stressful, but it will also be a little less fulfilling next year.

In the end, the next five days will be both tough and happy. I am so grateful that we were blessed to experience the wonders of 4-H and the county fair. It was an experience I wish more families could have and one that I will never forget or regret. I hope this year I will have a bit of time to sit back, reflect and soak up the experience. This will truly be a fair to remember.

My Bad Skills and Other Things I Didn't Learn

Over the years I have attended many leadership classes and read copious amounts of self-help articles and books. Many of these focus on one’s self esteem. Often when they talk about self-esteem they say to focus on things you are good at. Being humble myself, I decided to poll my family to find out just what I am good at. It appears everyone has hidden talents, things that they are just naturally good at. Here are the things I am good at as identified by my family.

First, it appears I am good at tying bad knots, this is nothing new, it is a talent that I perfected back when I was in 4-H. This allows the cattle, sheep or horses to better utilize the grass in the yard and various other places that don’t get grazed very often. After all, anyone can tie a good knot (including many young children as my wife often points out) but only a truly “special” person cannot grasp the simple art of knot tying after forty plus years of practice.

I am spectacularly bad at measuring things. If it were not for his Grandfather, Isaac would never have gotten better than a white, sympathy ribbon at the county fair on his woodworking. Which, by the way, is the ribbon I most often got in my woodworking career. The adage, measure twice, cut once may be good for most but I could measure ten times and still cut three or four times. Something changes between when I measure, mark and cut anything. I can safely say that everything I have ever built was unique in its measurements.

My forecasting and predicting skills are uncanny. Whether it is the markets, weather or who is going to win the world series, I have the amazing ability to be completely wrong. If you want a sure bet, pick the other side. Of course, when I do that, my prediction is right. If I mow hay thinking it won’t rain it does, if I sell grain thinking the market won’t go higher it takes off to new highs and if I think my favorite sports team will do well, they are doomed. My ability to be wrong is second to none.

Another one of my hidden talents is to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If we are working cattle I am never where I need to be. When I go to the grocery store and I have the choice between two lines, I will pick the slower line in every case. Even if there are ten people in one line and two in the other, the line I wait in will take forever. If I have can take two different routes to the same destination, I will always find the one with road construction.

The talent of being in the wrong place seems to go right along with my talent for being late. No matter how early I leave or when I start to get ready, I am always in a time crunch. It must be my unerring sense of timing, which is also a talent of mine, but I can leave two hours early and due to things like mechanical issues, bad planning or other unforeseen circumstances I will be fifteen minutes late. My being late talent borders on a superpower.

Those talents were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to things my family identified as what I am good at. Some were simple things like not being able to drive a nail straight or always leaving a gate unlatched. Then there were the simple, fundamental things I was good at. Things like forgetting to change the setting on the washer, not mailing things left on the counter and not checking my phone for messages.

Come to think of it I am darned talented when it comes to forgetting too. I forget things daily like turning the water off when filling tanks and forgetting things on an annually like my anniversary. Anyone can forget they had water on, but it takes a “special” talent to forget which day you got married.

My family also says I am good at being grumpy. But then again, they say I ought to be because I practice it daily. I am not sure this is my talent completely, after all, they are talented when it comes to making me grumpy. Which prompted them to tell me that I am also very good at making up lame excuses.

Apparently, my talent is unlimited. Especially when it comes to being bad at something. I am a master of disaster but at least I have my family to keep me grounded. My theory is if you are going to do something be the best at it. Only my exceptional ability to be delusional keeps my self-esteem at a high level and I must find something to take solace in. I am living, breathing proof that some of us are put on earth for no other reason than to serve as a bad example to others and that is my most “special” talent.

 

4-H KIds Say the Darnedst Things

This week I am kicking off one of my favorite times of the year, county fair season. I know some of you have already had your fairs buy most will be happening in the next three weeks.  There is nothing more refreshing and wholesome than a county fair. I must admit that I am somewhat addicted to going to county fairs and maybe that explains why I look forward to judging them each year.

Yes, I have been judging county fairs now since I graduated from college and that would be…. Well, let’s just say its more than I have fingers and toes. It can be hot, sometimes you leave really, early in the morning and other times you get back really, late at night, but it is always worth the time and effort. Each fair I judge I am reminded of why I do it and often come away with a good story. I thought I would share a couple of my favorite memories.

Often, it’s the little moments. I remember one fair I was judging the swine show and specifically junior showmanship. I like to pull the kids aside and ask them questions about their project like what they are feeding their hogs. I asked one young man that question and he told me to wait right there. He then ran over to the fence and yelled to his dad to bring a bag of feed over to him because the judge wanted some feed.

One time while judging a bucket calf show I asked one young man if there was anything else he wanted to tell me about his project. Keep in mind this was over the microphone so the whole crowd could hear it. He looked kind of sheepish and said that since this was in public it might be a good time for a confession. That got the crowd’s attention.

He went on to tell us about how he was practicing with his calf and his dad was helping. Somehow, they got a little close to his mother’s new car and the calf kicked it making a small dent in the fender. His dad told him not to tell anyone and his mother would never know. However, it had bothered him, and he needed to confess. He thought since it was in front of everyone his mother would not be as mad.

For many years I was an Extension Agent and I was sympathetic toward the plight of my fellow agents and the number of judges they had to find and for some of the most unusual projects. I was judging other projects when the agent asked me to judge the emu show. Yes, the big flightless bird kind of emu show. I told her I was not qualified but she insisted that I would be and said it was a brother, sister and cousin showing.

I went to the pens, looked the birds up and down and acted like I knew what I was doing. My FFA poultry judging was coming in handy but on a much bigger scale. After serious contemplation I could not decide which bird was the best, so I called the three together for a conference. The brother and sister told me that they had been champion the last two years and it was their cousin’s turn. I made the cousin’s bird champion emu (although I did not walk into the pen and slap it). I have often thought that was the only show I have ever judged where everyone showing walked away completely happy with my decision, that is why I am officially retired from judging emus.

There are times when the memory is funnier later than it is immediately following the show. One time while judging a beef show I walked up to a steer to feel if it had adequate finish on its ribs. It seemed a little jumpy, so I asked the young man on the halter if his steer kicked. He said no, so I went in to handle it and the steer immediately kicked me in the knee. Not wanting to show pain or cry in front of the packed grandstands I gritted my teeth and stood there for a second until the pain subsided. I then looked at the showman mentioned that he said the steer didn’t kick. That was when he explained that his steer did not kick, and this was his cousin’s and he was showing it because it was ornery.

My favorite moments judging fairs are not slapping the champion although that can be a great moment when you know the youth has spent a lot of time and effort on their entry and it means a lot to them. My favorite moments and the reason I still judge shows are the kids and parents who come up afterward to tell me more about their projects. The people are the reason I love judging shows and I am sure this year’s fairs will give me more memories and probably more great stories so stay tuned in.

Making Hay and Rain

I don’t know if you have noticed but it is hot and dry outside. It seems like every chance of rain we have builds up and comes our way and just as it gets close enough to hear the thunder and smell the rain, it evaporates.  I read that my immediate area is over eleven inches of rain behind the average for the twelve-month period and that is the third driest ever ranking ahead of all the “Dirty Thirty” years. That, folks, is historically dry and is officially a drought.

I have been amazed at how long the crops have hung on, it has just been this week when some of the fields have past the point of no return, but for the most part, the crops have hung on. All in all, the fact that we have not had another Dust Bowl is a testament to the technology we have in agriculture and points toward how we care for the soil and environment around us. Without advances like no-till, gmo crops and soil conservation, we would be seeing large clouds of dust and enduring a year with no crops.

If you want to know just how bad this drought is I can give you a personal example. Last Thursday, the weatherman had predicted a “good” chance of rain. We had baled up all the hay we had mowed down and were trying to decide what to do next. Normally, mowing hay with a “good” chance of rain would not be something we would even think about, but this is not a normal year.

While we pondered what to do, I went about changing a few sections on the sickle mower. It was a, most unbearably hot when I started, the sun was beating down on my back (why I did not think about moving it to the shade defies all logic), and soon I was covered in sweat. Suddenly I noticed a cool breeze and then I heard the faint rumblings of thunder. When I turned around I saw big black clouds all around me. A quick check of the radar showed a good area of thunderstorms on three sides and closing in fast and more storms lined up in the same path. I picked up the pace and felt a few stray drops hit the back of my neck.

Soon the new sections were installed and the mower was in working order. That was when I noticed that; first, it was not raining and second, the horizon was starting to lighten up. Honestly, after this year, I am not sure why I expected anything different. It was then and there something snapped in me and I decided I was not going to care about what the weatherman had forecasted or what the radar said was coming. I was going to do what I wanted to do.

I needed the stock trailer for the next day and it was parked at the bottom of a hill in a grassy area that gets muddy with even the littlest of sprinkles. I had planned on running home and hooking up to the trailer and pulling it up on the grass to make sure I could get to it the next morning. Instead I took off with the tractor and mower, leaving my pickup with both windows down and feed on the back. The radio crackled with lightening and black clouds could still be seen on the horizon.

I was not going to roll my windows up, put the feed under cover or do the smart thing by getting the trailer and not mowing hay. Rain be darned, I was going to mow hay no matter what. No amount of rain, lightening or even hail would deter me from doing what I had planned on doing. I mowed without even looking at the western horizon. I made round after round and soon I noticed that the crackles on the radio got fewer and fewer, then the sun popped out through the clouds. That was when I realized just how bad this drought had gotten.

I had never seen a drought that could not be broken by challenging it with newly mowed hay, windows that were down and most of all exposed feed. I must admit that this has sent me in a tail spin, I am not sure what to do, I have tried all my best tricks and gone for broke. Which, by the way, is where we are headed without some rain. I guess we are down to rain dances and paying some snake oil salesman to make it rain.

I know some of you reading this have had enough rain and for that I am sure you are counting your blessings. However, for the rest of us time is of the essence and we must do everything in our power this is not time for humility. So, I will take one for the team and I will go outside right away and start a rain dance immediately. Will it work? Probably not, but all I am risking is my dignity and I lost that a long time ago.

Trade and Prosperity

It never ceases to amaze me how different those of us in agriculture are from other people and most importantly other occupations. I guess if you are not involved in the day to day nuances of agriculture you really don’t understand what it is like to farm and ranch. I am not directing this as a criticism and I certainly am not bragging, I am merely making an observation.

Over the past couple of months, I have gotten to do several interviews over a wide variety of topics ranging from trade to over regulation by the government. The reporters have been from different media outlets and sources, but the most common thread is that often, they have little or no background or understanding of agriculture. Sometimes that can make one feel like they are talking in a foreign language, but it underscores the need to talk to the media and set the story straight about agriculture.

The interview starts out with them asking questions about the trade policies of the current administration and how they affect agriculture. When I explain that a large portion of what we grow is exported and that any disruption in those exports can cause a great decrease in our income. They follow along pretty good. However, when the discussion turns to farm income that is when I see the most surprising response.

I explain to the reporters that farm income is at its lowest level in many years and has been so for several years already. That is why the disruption in trade hurts so much, this could potentially lower our income even more. Usually the follow up question is about if we plan to keep planting crops. That is when my answer absolutely stuns the non-farm reporter.

Yes, the thought of not planting a crop has never crossed my mind. Why? Because we plant crops, we grow grain and that grain is needed for food and feed. The idea of not planting a crop because the prices are too low does not even cross my mind. I know that in other industries when the profit margin gets too low production is cut but in agriculture that is not an option until we produce more food than the world can consume.

I am aware that from a purely economic standpoint the whole idea of producing when the chances of making a profit is slim is ludicrous but in agriculture our mindset is different. My family has been farming and ranching for more than five generations and I can never remember a story of a year when we did not plant our fields and especially a story about not planting because prices were too low. I suppose this is because farming and ranching is about a way of life and not purely about money.

I know that there have been times things looked bleak. The dirty thirties come to mind and I cannot imagine how desperate the situation must have felt. Not only was the economy in the tank but we were in an extended drought. Even then I never remember Grandpa or Grandma telling me a story about how they did not put seed in the ground. Since then there have been times of poor markets, incredibly high interest rates and horrendous weather and never once did we consider packing it in.

It can all be summed up in a simple sentence. A hungry world must eat, and the farmer must plant. Most of us consider it our duty, our calling to grow the food everyone needs. I guess there is a point when you can no longer go on, but those fields will be planted by someone the next year. We can live without cars, TVs and other stuff if the economics don’t support their production, but we cannot live without food. That is when I have the reporters convinced about how important agriculture and trade is to them personally.

As to why we plant? I guess as farmers and ranchers we are eternal optimists and we understand that the cycle will change, and good times will come back. We just don’t know when. That cycle of good and bad times makes sense when it is causes by weather and out of our control but is frustrating when it is manmade. However, even then we know better days are ahead if we just keep our heads down, our backs bowed to the load and push ahead.

I am not sure I have ever fully made a reporter understand agriculture and our mindset. I am sure that I have helped them understand our love of the land and the passion for what we do. I guess that is the difference between those of us in agriculture and many other occupations. It is a lot more fun and a whole lot easier when we are making money, but that is not why we do what we do. We farm and ranch because of a connection to the past and a hope for the future. I hope we get this trade issue figured out and the sooner the better, but I assure you that I am already looking at next years crop no m

Celebrate Democracy

I am writing this column shortly before July the Fourth. The day we celebrate the birthday of the greatest nation the world has ever seen. The great experiment in democracy that has changed the course of earth forever. A nation that values freedom and grants rights to each one of us regardless of background, race or religion.

I truly believe that each one of us are blessed to live where we do and to enjoy the rights and freedoms that we have been given. I believe we are here because of the hard work, sacrifice and dedication of our ancestors. We are safe and protected because of those who have served and sacrificed and for that I am humbled. We truly have much to be thankful for and we should celebrate that on our nation’s birthday.

Lately, I have seen things that have given me pause and caused concern for the future of our democracy. While we are the greatest and we are the leaders of the world, we need to be vigilant and protect the very things that make us unique and successful. I fear those things are under attack and we, as citizens, should fight against the forces that would divide us and allow our nation to crumble.

It appears we have fallen into a pattern of not being allowed to disagree. We cannot have a healthy debate where we value the opinions that are different from our own. I am not saying we need to change our values to meet others, but we need to listen to all points of view and consider them. We can be polite, listen and understand even when we disagree. That was one of the principals that helped us grow as a nation.

Instead we have fallen into a pattern of being ruled by the extremes with no middle ground. The art of the compromise seems to be a lost art and one that is sorely needed from the town hall level right up to our nation’s capital. Neither extreme is absolutely right, and no one is absolutely wrong and that is hard for some to understand. It appears we cannot talk about our differences without trying to shout the other side down.

Let me be clear, I am not asking you to disregard your values and your ideals. We should all have core values and ideas that guide us and to those we should always be loyal. However, that does not mean that we should not try to understand different points of view, even those that are diametrically opposed to ours. It has been proven that a debate can be had civilly and politely even between two people who do not agree on very much.

We have reached a dangerous tipping point in this country, one that could threaten our very fabric if it is left unchecked. We need to understand that this great nation was built on the idea that everyone is welcome, and all points of view can be shared but none are more important than others. We are ruled by the will of the people and I truly believe that the majority of those people live in the middle between the two extremes.

I am equally sure that to fix this problem we need to return to our roots and not allow the very ends of the spectrum to divide us. We need to make sure we voice our opinions and listen to the thoughts of our neighbors and do so without yelling or belittling the other side. We must understand that our forefathers understood compromise when they formed our nation, the art of working together is what has maintained our strength for so long and getting back to those roots is what will sustain our future. Without this we will continue to crumble and grow apart.

I hope I don’t sound to dire, but it is time to sound the alarm. We need the average citizen to wake up and take action. I truly believe that our nation is great, it can be saved, and we can do it, but the time has come for action. It is something that will have to start in our neighborhoods and at a local level. We need to teach our children civility and understanding. We need to model those traits and seek to understand all points of view.

Civility and compromise can work their way up to the very top of our government if we demand it. I am proud of this great nation and I will do everything in my powers to protect it both from outside attacks and from division within. I hope we will all display the flag on the Fourth and beyond no matter what our political leanings or station in life. That flag and this nation can and will remain the world’s leader if we all do our part and understand what makes us great.

No Excuses, Get Involved

It really appears to me that there is a growing disconnect between much of the population and those who make decisions in our government. Call it an apathy but more and more I am hearing people make the comment that they just don’t want to get involved any more because they don’t like what is going on or don’t have time in their busy schedules. This past week I heard both arguments and I find either one equally disturbing.

Don’t get me wrong, I know politics and civics are not everyone’s cup of tea. In fact, I would say it is an acquired taste and one that we certainly don’t want everyone acquiring. However, politics and our government are the one thing that sets this country apart and makes us great. Sure, I would agree that, especially lately, there are a lot of things that aren’t so great and maybe even embarrass us. That is even more reason to not turn a blind eye and to get involved.

With two relatively new adults in my house the phrase “adulting is tough” is spoken quite often. Yes, they are finding out that with the freedom and opportunity of becoming an adult there are also many parts that are not so great and even border on a real bummer. Things like paying taxes, bills and other unpleasant chores they have been shielded from. Sometimes civic involvement falls into that category.

As an adult citizen of the United States there are a few duties and responsibilities that, while not mandatory, should be considered for the good of our nation and the health of our democracy. Often, I hear people say they don’t have time to get involved. I agree, we are all strapped for time and taking the time to become informed on the issues takes time.

These are the same people that complain about the taxes, roads and the schools. They are permanent victims and instead of getting involved and trying to affect a change, it is easier to whine and complain about the system. That is the easy way out and just an excuse to not practice your civic duty. I remember my parents telling me that you can’t complain if you don’t plan on doing your part. For most of us doing our part is nothing more than becoming informed and voting. I find it embarrassing just how few people eligible to vote take part. There are people in other countries who literally die for something most of us take for granted.

That brings me to the second type of people who don’t participate in our self-governance. The people who don’t get involved because they don’t like politics. While I can understand that point of view, it is also an excuse and a poor one at that. We should all take the time to at least meet the people elected to represent us. It is easy to complain about someone you have never met. I urge everyone to take any opportunity you must meet the people who represent you. You may or may not like them. If you do not and they do not represent you, find someone who does and help them get elected. That is how this system is supposed to work.

Please don’t base that like or dislike on a few minutes or seconds. We live in a sound bite world and think in fifteen-second clips. Take the time to see how the person thinks, what they believe in and how they have voted and then decide. It is a lot more work and, yes, I know you have a very busy life. However, deciding who represents us in our county seat, Topeka and Washington D.C. is a big deal and one that should not be taken lightly.

If we feel the people in elected positions don’t represent us, then we need to work toward a change. Apathy is the worst enemy of a democracy, doing nothing harms it more than making a bad choice. Bad decisions can be corrected in the next election cycle, apathy only gets worse. If the voter pool gets shallow only the extremes will be represented and that is not what any of us want.

I am sorry if I am getting too preachy and standing on a soapbox, this is one of the areas I feel passionate about. If we are not going to get involved, we cannot complain about the outcome or who makes those decisions. Your lack of action and excuses did as much to cause the situation as those who voted directly for that person.

This was not directed at any one elected official or party. Merely, I have noticed more and more people who make excuses about why they chose not to get involved. Rather, I would encourage you, no matter what you political leaning, to become informed and involved. That is how this wonderful, imperfect system is supposed to work.

A Pitiful Rain Column

I have to say that the dust on my dashboard is thick.  To be honest the dust on just about everything is thick these days. Then there are the cracks in the ground. A good friend told me the cracks in his fields were wide enough for a family of four to take a vacation in. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I fell asleep and slept through the whole month of June and woke up in July. I am not sure what happened, but it sure seems like we went right from March to July with no moderate weather in between.

Even the weatherman on tv started hoping for rain, even on the weekend. That means this dry spell is serious when even the town people would give up a weekend for a little precipitation. It really hit home for me when I mowed down hay on a night when storms were predicted and sure enough they built up in the western sky, the wind picked up, lightening started flashing and then nothing, absolutely nothing. You know it is bad when even having hay down doesn’t bring a decent rain.

In all this watching the radar, the horizon and clinging to every twenty percent chance of rain in the forecast I have noticed something that is kind of amusing. After each rain, nearly half of the friends I have on social media will post that the rain clouds mysteriously split and the rain went around them. Either I have the unluckiest friends or it that is a farmer or rancher’s way of expressing disappointment about not getting the rain they had hoped for.

I get it and last night I was the one who was telling everyone that once again the rain clouds split and went around my farm. Oh, I know how this works and I know that soon it will be my turn and those clouds will come right over my farm and bring the much-needed rain. Still, I fall into the same trap that all my friends do and lament the fact that once again the rain did not fall where I wanted it to adding to my anxiety about my crops.

Its funny how we stew and worry over something like the weather that we have absolutely no control over. I am not quite sure why I listen to the forecast like I do. Last week rain was forecast, and I decided not to lay any hay down and missed out on a couple of good haying days all because I listened to the weatherman. Kind of makes me wonder why I go through all the time and effort to listen to so many forecasts if not even one is going to be right.

The night before the forecasted rain I was talking to a neighbor who had gone ahead and mowed hay down. We discussed the chances of rain and he reminded me that a thirty percent chance of rain also meant a seventy percent chance of dry weather. The next morning, I awoke to dark clouds and thunder, the radar showed a line of showers heading toward me. Just as they got closer, you guessed it. The clouds started to dry up and the rain disappeared. That morning my social media feed was filled with friends who had similar experiences of the rain disappearing before it reached their thirsty fields, funny how that works.

I am not sure how to do a rain dance, but I am quite sure that I can look it up on the internet and learn how to do it myself. Who knows, YouTube probably has a whole channel on how to do a rain dance, I would look it up, but I am afraid of what I might see. A wise man once told me that timing has a lot to do with the success of a rain dance. In any case, I am about to resort to a rain dance, after all what do I have to lose? Certainly not my dignity, I lost that when I started whining about how dry it is.

The bottom line is that my father is right (yes, I have reached the age where I can admit that my father is right), many times he has told me that there is no point in worrying about the weather because there is nothing we can do to change it. That is probably a good thing. Think about all the problems we would have if we could control the weather. You think there is a lot of strife and conflict in the world now, wait until someone has the power to control when, how much and more importantly where it rains.

Does complaining and whining about the lack of rain do any good? No, not really. Does it make me feel any better? I thought it would, but I don’t really feel any better. Finally, will I feel guilty if by the time you read this whiny, pitiful column we have rain? Absolutely not and you can thank me later, unless of course, the rain split and went around your farm.

 

The Never Ending Thistle Battle

This past week we had all the planting done and the cows were all settled into their summer pasture. Things were quiet and for the first time in a while I felt almost, not quite, but nearly caught up and I could focus on some tasks that needed to be done. One of those was thistles. Chopping thistles was one of those jobs I had as a kid that I really hated. It was nearly as bad as picking up rocks but close at least you could tell where you had been at the end of the day.

One thing about being adult is that I get to decide how I am going to control the thistles. Digging is for the birds, or rather teenagers, since I am not a teenager and I currently have no teenagers at home during the day, digging was not an option that was seriously considered. Chemical control seemed like the most prudent means.

I called the Noxious Weed Department to check on the use of one of their sprayers and to get some chemical. Apparently, everyone else in Pottawatomie County had the same idea I did and there was a long list of people waiting on the sprayers and I was at the bottom. Some day I really need to work on that procrastination problem of mine, but that will have to wait until later.

I decided to put a reservation in and to start working on them with our atv and its 25-gallon sprayer. After all, how many could there be? Turns out there is a healthy population of thistles in the pasture I was working on and they seemed to be calling for reinforcements. Feeling optimistic I headed out with the hand nozzle, a full tank of gas and an adequate amount of spray.

I was only a few feet inside the gate when I sudden realized how Don Quixote felt. Funny, I drive by the pasture every day and drive through that gate often and it did not seem like that many. Maybe the atv puts you at a different level and you see more, maybe I drive too fast or quite possibly, and most likely, I have a super strain of thistles that in a day can grow to maturity and produce a flower.

In any case, there were thistles every where I looked and squirting them with the hand nozzle was like fighting a forest fire with a garden hose, but that was all I had so I bravely set off driving and spraying and soon had almost perfected my one-handed driving and spraying technique. In my mind I was driving in a straight line and not missing a single thistle. In reality, I was getting about fifty percent and driving like a drunk of Saturday night. It didn’t take long to realize that I needed larger artillery to fight this war.

That is why it was such a relief to get the call that a sprayer had become available if I was still interested. I assured them I was still very much interested and would be up as soon as possible to pick it up and please set me up with the most lethal thistle spray possible. I retreated to the house but like General McArthur I assured the thistles I would return.

Return I did, armed with a much larger sprayer and a much greater range I waged a renewed war with the thistles. They must have called in back up too or my theory of super thistles is true. As I started to spray I found thistles in places I didn’t think I had them and in numbers much higher than I remembered.

I gleefully filled the sprayer time and time again. Each time I returned I smiled as I turned the valve on and let the thistles have it. It also didn’t hurt that there were plenty of dogwood, locust, hedge, buckbrush and various other invading species in the way. Anything that was not grass was fair game in my eyes. It seems like I get an advertisement about pasture spray once a week and they all have lush green pastures on the cover, I assure you that picture was in my mind’s eye as I circled the pasture time and time again.

By the end of the day I had exhausted my supply of spray which had exhausted my budget for spray earlier. As the sun set, I stood over the empty jugs and looked out upon the horizon at the pasture I had just sprayed with kind of a satisfied feeling. I say kind of because there were areas of the pasture I did not get to and I am sure that much like my hand spraying experience, skippers would become apparent.

However, maybe I had knocked it down to where I could had spray the rest, digging was still a distant option. It might take a lifetime of work but someday I am going to have that pasture look like the cover of the advertisement for the spray I used. Yes, reality will set in but for a moment just let me dream, even Don Quixote had a goal.

Success From the Jaws of Disaster

Did you ever have one of those days that despite your best efforts to screw it up and make it a disaster, some how things work out and everything turns out OK? Me either, but today looks like it might turn out to be a good day, wrestling success away from the jaws of disaster. All because my smart phone is a whole lot smarter than the operator.

The success of today actually started with some good fortune yesterday. Well maybe I ought to give you a little background first. I thought I was supposed to deliver my first load of fat lambs to the locker plant on Thursday of this week. This meant that I either needed to deliver them early on Thursday or in the afternoon on Wednesday. Wednesday afternoon and evening were completely booked for me, so I was going to have to deliver early Thursday morning and because I could not be home the night before we decided to get as much ready on Tuesday night as I could. That turned out to be fortunate.

Tuesday night Jennifer, Tatum and I sorted lambs, picked out our replacement ewes and moved the six lambs I wanted to deliver Thursday morning into a smaller pen closer to the loading alley. I lamented about moving the six lambs away from their usual pen and causing them stress. Jennifer and Tatum reminded me that our stress level would be even higher if we had to do all this early Thursday morning.

Doing all of this on Tuesday meant that all I had to do Thursday morning was to hook up the trailer, run the lambs into the alley, load the trailer and I could be gone in a matter of minutes preserving as much beauty sleep for everyone as possible. We came in about dark Tuesday night as the rain was starting to move in feeling pretty good about getting things done early.

Wednesday morning, I woke up and started with my usual morning routine of brewing coffee and watching the news. Because of the work we had done the night before Wednesday was going to be a little more leisurely, all I had to do were my chores and then I could get ready for a full afternoon and evening of meetings away from the farm without worrying about preparing for lamb delivery Thursday morning (or so I thought).

Just as I was preparing to watch the weather and drink my first cup of coffee my smarter than me phone gave the appointed calendar reminder sound. I was puzzled, it was too early to give me the reminder for my afternoon meeting, I wondered what that stupid phone could be doing. It didn’t take me long to figure out what that stupid phone was doing. My smart phone was reminding the stupid human that May 30 was a Wednesday and not a Thursday and that I needed to be leaving now to make it on time. That was when the chaos erupted.

I hollered at Jennifer and Tatum that I needed to get the lambs delivered this morning and not tomorrow. For some reason they did not seem surprised that I would make a mistake like that and pointed out that I merely needed to hook up the trailer and load the lambs. Like a tornado I rushed out of the house and down to hook up the trailer, which I had conveniently parked on the lowest, muddiest part of the farm. After a few minutes of slinging mud that would make any teenage boy excited I got the trailer around and backed up to the loading alley where Tatum had the lambs pushed up and ready to load.

Somehow, I was in the truck, loaded with lambs and on the road in less than a half of an hour. This put me exactly on schedule to get the lambs to the locker plant at the latest possible time of delivery. I had planned on delivering the lambs at 7:00 or earlier not 8:00 but in all fairness I was twenty-three hours earlier than I had planned which would have been a new record had we went off my calendar and not the real official one. In any case, I made the delivery and at the locker plant they seemed to have been expecting me at 8:00 and not earlier, imagine that.

My 8:00 delivery made it, so I returned home just in time to clean up, change clothes and leave for my afternoon meetings, nothing damaged except my anxiety level and self-esteem. As I got ready for the meeting I marveled about how I had gotten everything done I had planned to along with an unplanned trip to the locker plant, I wonder how that happened.

I know how it happened. I was fortunate enough to have married a woman who does not procrastinate and does things early if they can be done early. I am also lucky enough to be just enough tech savvy that I put everything on my smarter than me phone with a built-in reminder. All of this worked together to save me from a total disaster of a day and make things go relatively smoothly.

Rock Picking Up

There are many pieces of great advice that I got from my mother. One of which was to really think about saying that you hate something or someone. She went on to say the word hate is a powerful one and not something one should throw around without a moment’s pause. Well, I have thought about it and I can say without a moment’s hesitation that I completely and unequivocally hate picking up rocks out of my fields. I can also say without remorse that I hate fixing equipment broken by rocks not picked up, so I guess picking up rocks is a necessary evil.

When I was a kid picking up rocks was the worse form of punishment my parents could hand out. I would have rather received a beating than to be forced to pick up rocks for a day. I learned at a very young age that you never told Mom or Dad that you were bored and there was nothing to do. There were always rocks to pick up.

It always amazed me just how many rocks there were in our fields. Every time Dad worked the ground another crop popped right up out of the same ground I had just went over. Back in those days Dad would work the ground two or three times before planting and each time meant another round of rock picking up.  Sometimes we would look back on the ground we had just went over and it looked like we had never been there. Rock picking up is a frustrating job. If only I had a dime for each rock I picked up in those days.

Back then it seemed like a pointless job. One that was never done and one that seemed to have no point. Now that I must pay for the equipment broken by those rocks the job does at least have a purpose. That does not mean that it is any less torture, but I am pretty sure I am a lot more thorough and do a much better job of removing the rocks.

Rock picking up is not the job it used to be either. Thankfully we have gone to complete no-till farming and we bring up many fewer rocks than we used to. This year we had to rebuild a few terraces and a whole new crop of rocks came to the surface. I am pretty sure they were making up for lost time and punishing me for not tilling the soil and turning them loose sooner.

I asked Jennifer if she wanted to help me collect the rocks on the new terraces. That approach worked when we were first married. She is a good western Kansas girl and had never experience picking up rocks. One year and she had experienced enough rock picking up to tell me that no where in our vows did it say anything about picking up rocks. She flatly refused my offer of a romantic rock picking up date.

I then offered it to my kids. They were both young when we started no-tilling and really had never experienced rock picking up. Isaac suddenly had his calendar fill up on one day and conveniently forgot to show up the next day. He claimed to be busy and forgot. Tatum didn’t play any games and told me that she just wasn’t going to help me. I blame the internet for tipping the kids off about the horrors of rock picking up.

I offered to run the planter, so Dad could pick up rocks and he reminded me that he was the senior partner and I was the junior partner and as such he was pulling rank. He reminded me that someday I might get to be senior partner and I could assert seniority then. Suddenly I understood how Prince Charles feels. I also would guess that the whole seniority ploy won’t work when it is my turn.

One of our neighbors stopped and I asked if he was going to help. He picked up a rock, tossed it in the bucket and instantly became the most helpful person so far. He then laughed and told me that was the extent of his help. He mentioned that they made a bucket for a skid loader that would go through the ground, sift the soil and the rocks were picked up. Since the planter and the senior partner were in the next field over that was also not an option.

To make a long story just a little bit shorter, after a grueling three hours of loathing, cussing and sweating I got most of the bigger rocks picked up and deposited in a ditch near the field. It was a good reminder of just why I hated picking up rocks and that reminder lasted for days each time I tried to straighten my back out. It did give me an idea. I am going to advertise a “U-Pick Granite Countertop Patch (some assembly required)” on the internet, who knows maybe that will work there are a lot of gullible people out there.

 

Sports, Life and Grace

This past year has been a year of transition. Our youngest graduated from high school and it has been a year of lasts. For the most part I think I have handled it well, there is a time for everything and I am looking forward to our next phase in life. However, some of the lasts have bothered me and the things that have made me sad are a little surprising.

Two weeks ago, Tatum played her last softball game. The end of her softball career was unexpected, and I won’t get into the details, but I was not prepared. I had thought about this being the first summer in fifteen years that I did not have a child playing summer baseball or softball. I guess I had pushed it out of my mind with the thought that I still had a couple more weeks to watch one of my kids in an athletic competition. Maybe the sudden end was good, kind of like pulling a band-aid off.

I have probably put more emphasis on sports with my kids than I should have. However, I am also not going to say that the time we spent on road trips, in motels and at ball parks was not enjoyable. Sure, there were times that it was tough, but for the most part, nothing gave me greater joy than to watch my kids enjoying the sports they loved. That was especially true with Tatum and softball.

She played the game with a full steam ahead, reckless abandon that often left her with dirt on her uniform, holes in her pants and socks that never returned to their intended color. For the record, that was also how she played basketball which led her to only play about half of any game. From t-ball to traveling softball I got great enjoyment out of watching her play and enjoy the game.

Oh, I knew someday it would end but for years we told ourselves that the end would come on a college softball field. While I truly believe that could have been the case, injuries and circumstances led her down a different path. One that she chose, and Dad had trouble accepting even though I know it was the best choice. I find it funny how often she sees things so much clearer than I do. In any case, I was selfish, and I was not ready for softball to end.

I must also say that when the sudden end came, she took it much better than I did. I am so thankful that I attended her last game. We were planting corn and I left the field early not wanting to miss any of the final games, not knowing it would be the final game. What a game the final one was, in four plate appearances she went two for three with a walk, a home run and a single that just barely missed being another home run. It was a great way to end a great career. It just wasn’t when I thought it would be.

I was reminded of how much I was going to miss it all when we started going through old pictures in preparation for her graduation party. The pictures of her swinging for the fences, diving for balls and lined up with her teammates with trophies and medals. However, it was the pictures of her hanging out with her friends, being silly and acting like kids that were the best.

Maybe we put too much emphasis on them, we for sure spent too much money in pursuit of that elusive championship or scholarship. If you look at it in terms of success and games won, it was a waste of time and money. There were a lot of lessons learned from sports, if you put it terms of learning to deal with success and learning how to be part of a team and lessons in leadership, it was worth every single penny.

I suppose as time goes by I will also be able to handle softball and sports being over as gracefully as both of my kids handled it. I know I will get my sports fix this summer, but something will be missing. I am also sure that I will find things to fill the void, maybe I can carry a garden out full-term this year. But I suspect it will be a little sad each time I walk past the bat bags and the bleacher chairs hanging up on the wall.

There is one saving grace to all of this, while sports maybe over for me as a parent, I am not going cold turkey. We do have this summer of 4-H livestock, one more county fair and the state fair to lean on the fence and watch her show her cattle and sheep.  But it is also a warning to you, if I was this kind of a mess over sports, just imagine what I will be like by the end of the show season.

Life Advice to a Graduate

This week is one that I have been both dreading and looking forward to for a long time. It seemed like it was a long way out even up to this fall. Yes, this week, my daughter, my youngest child will graduate from high school. Last year I was talking to the parent of young children and she said it would be forever before her youngest graduated from high school. It isn’t forever and, it happens in a flash so forgive me if I am a little melancholy.

Yes, this week we will celebrate Tatum graduating from high school. Please allow me a proud dad moment. I am so proud of the young adult Tatum has become and all that she has accomplished in her four years of high school. While I am excited about what she has done in high school I am even more excited about what is to come.

Her journey through high school took several twists and turns that none of us saw coming. Some of them were good and took her places she could not have imagined, and others were challenges. I am so proud of what she accomplished whether that was serving as a District FFA Officer or being part of an FFA livestock judging team that won the state championship. Tatum had a pretty good run through high school.

The challenges were also important. Injuries that slowed or sidelined her athletic career led her to new paths that ultimately will help her the rest of her life. Other challenges made her a tougher, more self-assured leader who is not afraid to speak her mind and share her opinion. She became unwavering in her beliefs even when sticking by them was not the easiest thing to do. These challenges and set backs were important to help mold the successful, confident young leader that will be moving on to college.

As Tatum moves on to the next chapter in her life I thought about things I have learned through challenges and successes since high school that I should share with her and with every high school graduate. I am often reminded of the old saying, “we learn through experience and much of it bad experiences.”

My first piece of advice is that relationships with other people are the most important part of life. Our entire lives are formed and molded around those relationships. Not all of them will be good, the trick in life is learning how to deal with difficult people. The joy in life is learning how to appreciate the positive, good relationships and to make sure and nurture them and allow them to grow. Life is all about the people around you and the relationships you cultivate.

Enjoy the journey. Too many people see life as getting from point A to point B in a straight line and as quickly as possible. Its not. Life is a crooked trail of unexpected experiences, unintended detours and times you are broken down alongside the road. Enjoy the journey and don’t look past the unexpected detours and stops, many times they are the best experiences.

Take time to enjoy the journey too. Life is a distance race and not a sprint. Too often we get in sprint mode and only end up exhausted. Find out what makes you happy and spend time with those who are a part of that happiness and do what makes you happy. Also remember that down time is OK, in fact, it is needed. Always make time for yourself and make time to relax. What good is life if we spend it running and working all the time.

Finally, and most importantly, take time to get recharged spiritually. College is a place where your beliefs will be tested. Sometimes overtly, sometimes subtly, but rest assured your faith will be tested. When you are tested, and life becomes difficult always remember to turn back to God, nothing is too big or too hard for him. It is easy to allow your faith to take a backseat and slip away during college, faith is like a muscle and it must be exercised daily.

I know all of this is much to sappy but what I would give to go back and start over knowing then what I know now. No, I would not. I have enjoyed this crazy ride since high school. Some of it I am glad not to relive while most I can only categorize as I am incredibly blessed. The journey Tatum is about to embark will include some of the best yeas of her life and will transform her in ways that none of us can predict.

Yes, this next week will be bittersweet, this entire year has been. All I know for sure is that I am incredibly proud of the confident, smart, poised adult she has become. Jennifer and I could not be more excited about what she will do, where she will go and the person she will become. Congrats to Tatum and all of the graduates out there, the best is yet to come.

 

The First Hardest Acre

We are finally planting corn. Or at least we were until the rains came along last night and stopped us. Don’t get me wrong, by no means am I complaining about the rain, yet. It was nice to see that it can rain and to start to see water in some of the ponds. For those of you who did not get the heavy rains, I am sorry, and I am not trying to rub it in. Corn planting season 2018 has not been a seamless, effortless process.

For quite a while I felt like Goldie Locks when it came to getting the corn in the ground. At first it was too dry, then it was too cold, and it was never just right. For some reason I kept waiting for just right and now it is too wet. Further proof that we farmers are never happy, and the conditions are never right. In any case, this messed up spring weather had me days behind where I really wanted to be when it came to planting corn.

Finally, everything came together this week and Dad and I decided it was time to start planting. We had gotten the planter in the shop a week before that and had fixed what we knew to be broken from the season before. We checked out all the hoses, tubes, disks and chains and made the necessary replacements. The seeding rate and depth were set, and I thought we were ready to hit the ground running. I don’t know why I kid myself like that, maybe I am delusional.

Monday was the anointed day to start corn planting 2018 and I was ready. That morning I got out and started chores early with the anticipation of finally being in the field. It felt good. Finally, we were going to start on that long list of springtime tasks.

We finished chores and I started to load the seed while Dad serviced the tractor and got ready to go. Nothing was going to stop us, the birds were singing, the sun was shining, it was warm, and life was good. Right up to when my phone rang. Dad was on the other end and told me not to load seed and to come over, we had a problem with the planter. My mood went from bright and sunny to dark and stormy in an instant. This was not in the plans.

When I got over to Dad’s the problem was obvious. So obvious that I kicked myself over and over and over for not seeing it.  The frame on one of the row units was cracked and the metal was too thin weld. The only solution was to completely change the unit out, hopefully the salvage place had something. A quick look over revealed that the dismantling would not be too hard, four bolts, a bearing, the planter tube and row monitor wiring and it would be off.  It was too hard for one man to hold up while the bolts came off, so we used the loader and went to work on the bolts.

They still had the factory paint on them and took a lot of cussing, grunting and a layer of knuckle to come off, but the did come off. After that the dismantling was a breeze and we soon had the unit off and were headed to the salvage yard. That is when our luck turned back to the good. A unit was available, already torn off and ready to go. Within a few minutes we were headed for home with the new unit. It was decided to go with new bolts and spacers since the unit was already off. One of our neighbors stopped by at either the right time or the wrong time depending on your point of view and three hands made for an easy attachment.

What I had planned on taking at least a day had only taken about four hours and that was with an hour or more on the road. By mid afternoon we were back in the field and the planter was working almost perfectly. Life was good, the birds were once again singing, and the sun was shining. All was right with the world. We didn’t get nearly as much done on the first day as I would have liked but at least we got something planted and that felt like progress.

That evening I was chatting with a friend about the progress of our corn planting. I mentioned our trouble and we both agreed the first acre you plant or harvest is the hardest. Usually after that first acre things kind of fall into a routine and life gets a lot easier. That was the case right up to the rain and once again the weather has sidelined corn planting 2018. I guess that means it is time for cattle working 2018. That first cow is a whole lot like that first acre.

Transistions In Life

Its amazing how time marches on and I often wonder why instead of a slow steady march, time seems to have decided to pick it up to double time. It seems as though we just started April and it is already May. Part of this might be because we were stuck in February or March for the past three months. In any case we are into May and I am not at all ready. Time, however, does not seem to care about my feelings and is moving on at a rapid pace.

Because of the rotten weather I am so far behind on my farm work that I might not ever catch up. The corn should be in the ground., fences should be fixed, and the pastures should eagerly be waiting on the cows. None of that is anywhere near done. I had my time completely scheduled and I don’t have time or room in that schedule for changes. It is like time does not know this is Tatum’s senior year.

Ah yes, Tatum’s senior year. Another example of how time does not work on my schedule. My kids should not be old enough to be in college, I wasn’t done enjoying their time in sports, 4-H and FFA, again it seems like my schedule and my sense of time were not consulted. At very least we should not be looking at the last couple of weeks of Tatum’s high school career. This is all going by way too fast, I just wish I could stick a foot out and slow the merry-go-round of life down just a little bit.

It’s funny how our perspective on life changes as time goes by. I remember Isaac’s senior year and I don’t remember being quite this melancholy and I feel bad about that. I guess it was because I knew I still had a kid in high school and all the last moments were not the total last moments. Down deep inside I knew that I still had a couple of years of transition left. Then I blinked and all the sudden we are looking at the last few moments as parents of a high school student.

I guess life is about transition. I barely remember the transition of graduating high school and becoming a college student. Then graduating college and moving out into the real world. The next big transition was from being single to married. Along came kids and another transition, then the kids were in school and now we are staring at the transition to being empty nesters. During each of these monumental life changes I promised myself to enjoy the moment and the transition, so I could remember what that point in my life felt like.

I must admit that I am a pretty conflicted person right now. The farmer in me is screaming that I have no time for anything but trying to catch up with the never-ending list of what needs to be done. Crops must be planted, cows must go to pasture and the sheep need to be worked. Those tasks can’t be ignored and really shouldn’t be put off. I need to keep my nose to the grindstone and stay home.

Then the Dad part kicks in. Last night we attended Tatum’s last District FFA Banquet and watched her retire as a District FFA officer. I rode with her on the way home and she mentioned to me that the only current leadership position she held was student body president and that election was next week. Only a handful of softball games, a couple of state FFA contests, a few spring livestock shows, and graduation remained on the calendar. Suddenly the pull of work did not seem so important.

I look at my calendar and I realize that the final home stretch of high school is right here. Sure, it has been a long, tiring race but who wants to walk across the line? A couple of weeks and it will all be over. I want to go to each event, savor the moment and enjoy the last couple of hours of being the parent of a high school student. I know the work I need to get done is important, but I am also just as sure that it will get done in time and, God willing, I will have plenty more crops to plant and springs to get cows worked and out to grass.

Right now, it seems like it is more important to be there for all the last times and soak up all the memories. I don’t want to look back in a couple of months and wish I had not missed those moments. That is the struggle. After all, I keep telling myself, there will be plenty of time to rest next year when we transition into empty nesters. Right?