We all know farming is a gamble. We roll the dice every day. We try to count cards and figure the odds on seed prices to butterfat, or fuel prices to pork bellies, and everything in between.

Answer me this: Why at “retirement parties” do they give the retiree a new watch? At this point in their lives, do they really need a watch? If there were such a thing as a retirement party for a farmer, and he received a watch, chances are he would shoot the rooster the next day. The rooster didn’t retire, but the hand of the watch terminated his job.

I felt like my cholesterol was getting too low, so I went to the county fair. Ahh, the smell of cotton candy, corn dogs and port-o-lets. There is nothing like walking down the midway and saying to yourself, “Wow! I don’t look that bad after all.”

They say a dog is man’s best friend. They say in time a dog starts to resemble his owner. That being said, my dog George isn’t much to look at.

People, we need to talk. Now, I don’t want to be controversial or start any protests; however, I feel we need to, as a farming society, talk about this. Out there, there is an entire class of people being misunderstood and picked on because their culture is different.

There are many types of strange things farmers grow and raise, but we will talk about that another time. Right now, I would like to talk about my neighbor Arlie. He has decided to be a fish farmer – and he doesn’t even know how to swim.

There was a recent scientific study which stated that living in the city is much safer than living in the country. Apparently, they looked at all the relevant statistics from hospital records. That’s simply not fair – because country people simply do not go to hospitals. My uncle’s philosophy was you only go to the hospital if, as he said, “You need to put it back on or pull it back out.”

Lesson learned. If you think you can skip just one farm-related meeting, you are wrong. Whether it is a co-op, local FFA, fundraiser or church business meeting – you have to be there. I missed one last month, and much to my dismay I was voted director of events for the Farm and Quilt Fest.

What is it about a dairy farm that no matter how much you plan ahead, everything breaks at 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve? I’ve got 15 5-gallon buckets of spare parts, extra motors, a good hammer and a brand new roll of airplane duct tape but don’t have the one dang piece I need to get the cows milked. Hunker down, my friend.

Why must they have elections two weeks before Thanksgiving? It’s what I like to call the fuse that starts the argument at Thanksgiving dinner. One rule about voting: Do it. That’s it. You have now received Tim Moffett’s entire political wisdom.