She came barreling into the house, breathless. “Call Daddy right away. Bud is running up the lane.” Taking a gulp of air, she continues, “His saddle’s still on and is bleeding really bad and, and I think he is hurt really bad. Please hurry, call Daddy.”

He stayed up past midnight to fertilize the pastures because according to the AccuWeather app, rain was supposed to start by 8 a.m. Perfect timing to dissolve the pellets. My iPhone weather app didn’t show any rain expected until the next evening. But he claims the AccuWeather app is always more accurate. 

When I worked at Farm Credit, I’d categorize my ranching customers based on my perception of their potential profitability in an attempt to get a “feel” for the kind of finance relationship I could expect.

I didn’t marry a farmer, but I am married to one now. There is a difference, if ever so slight. When he chose to purchase that first cow, all I could do was shake my head and laugh. I knew he had some ambition to farm life, but I did not realize the depth of that ambition.

If someone were to ask what kind of farm I live on, after maybe a moment’s hesitation, I would have to answer a mud farm. I live on a mud farm.

Maybe it’s my Celtic ancestry; maybe it’s my naivety; or maybe it’s just human nature – but I have always put a lot of sway in luck. When it comes to those of us in agriculture, I am hardly unique in my little superstitions.

What is the difference between a farmer and a rancher? The answer may seem obvious – the farmer raises crops, and the rancher raises cattle. But here in southern Idaho, the line separating the two is pretty blurry.

In an earlier edition of Progressive Forage, we featured an article that compared a football team to the basics of farm finance. In that analogy, the safety position on a football team was compared to your farm’s equity.

Despite all my pretenses to the opposite, I wasn’t a real “farm kid” growing up. My parents brought home the bacon, but it didn’t come from the farm. I never milked a cow, but my brother told me to not have a cow when he got my goat. As a kid, I didn’t feed chickens, but I was prone to counting my eggs before they hatched and rarely had my ducks in a row. And, if you asked my mom, my room was always a pigsty.

It’s a new year and ’tis the season for resolution making. Even us ranch folk should take a chance to set some personal goals. Our whole lives shouldn’t be just about cattle prices and pasture growth. Take a chance to make some resolutions. And, despite what seems like chasms of difference between a rancher and the average human, our resolutions are surprisingly similar … or are they?