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Poliomyelitis (polio) was mostly associated with childhood in summer
months. While humans produce natural antibodies to the virus, a
compromised immune system or poor nutrition provided an environment that
encouraged virus development through the bloodstream and central
nervous system (through contaminated water and/or food).
What’s the common thread between food producers (you), grocery consumers
and me (based on a poll)? Answer: Our impatience is increasing. (This
isn’t particularly surprising information, but popular press acted like
it was.)
Dave keeps a shoebox on his closet shelf. He uses it to put his odds
and ends in, things he empties out of or puts back into his pockets
whenever he changes. Every so once in a while, when I get a
spring-cleaning burr under my saddle, I’ll muck out the closet – and
with it, the shoebox.
I employ an organizational method I call “creative layering.” An
example of my technique can be seen on my bookshelves. Where the books
are low-profile, I have them double shelved – or rather, I have two rows
of books per shelf.
I’ve been told that some couples go on dates. At least I’ve heard
rumors about a weekly date night ritual. I guess making time for each
other is supposed to be good for a marriage, helps you bond or
something.
Some people spend their summers at the beach or on a lake. With
second or third crop in by now, you’re probably thinking you’ve spent
some significant time in a hayfield.
At some point in our lives, someone has reminded us to choose our words wisely. Every single one of us has probably said something we wish we could take back. I know I have.
It’s been one year since the COVID-19 pandemic changed the way in which we live and work each day. Like many other moments in history, the “where were you when” will be forever engrained in my memory. I, and several hundred other people, was at the Western Canadian Dairy Seminar in Red Deer, Alberta.
As my parents work on retiring from the daily demands of dairying, I like to invite them south (by about 40 minutes) to my hobby farm where things naturally operate at a slower pace.
I was raised in the country, in a red brick Victorian on 2 acres. I was not, however, raised on a farm. To now be a third-generation dairy and cash crop farmer is far beyond, as a girl, what I thought my life would be like.
Growing up, I had multiple pen pals. There was my cousin in Quebec, the daughter of family friends, a goat farmer and various exchange partners. Nothing could beat the thrill of a personal letter arriving in the mail.
I am not a farm girl by nature. Although I was raised in the country, I did not live on a farm. I certainly had friends who were farmers, was a member of the local 4-H horse club and even helped our neighbours milk their cows a few times.
‘Tis the harvest season and that means farmers on tractors for hours and hours. If your farmer is like mine, he appreciates food once or twice a day. Yes, some might think bringing my husband food is an act that dates us back to the ’60s or a time when a woman’s time wasn’t valued.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock recently, you’ll know that in
most places, for most folks, times are tough. According to the national
drought monitor as of Aug. 2, 2022, 43.16% of the U.S. and 51.39% of the
lower 48 states are experiencing drought.
The list of events that I’ve predicted accurately in my life wouldn’t make me a Las Vegas sage. But in my humble opinion, I’ve got a solid track record.
Every 15 years or so, it happens in this country. A gas shortage or price-gouging event that presses every American with a vehicle into fits of depression, anger and an occasional primal scream.
In life, it seems like there is always something. Maybe you’re in the middle of a drought year and it decides to rain only after you cut your hay. Maybe you left the gate open and now your cows are in the neighbor’s yard.
Snow was falling, and I had planned a day of repairs in the shop. I wandered back to the ditch with the old machinery to look for a piece of metal for a welding project.
My little sister, Sadey, was my go-to. Not sure what to wear? Overthinking a situation? Frustrated over something? Stumped with writer’s block? Stuck in my own stubborn way? Sadey was always there. But, did she just listen? Oh no, she brought what I often needed, what I like to call, “fresh eyes” to each of my scenarios.
For the first blog of the year, I thought I should include a few jokes – you know, for kits and gaggles. It’s been a tough year, and I think we could all use a few “calfs” (I warned you – watch those puns). I’ve been hearing a lot of jokes about sheep I thought I could share. I started telling them to my dog to test them out, but she’s “herd” them all. I tried telling them to the cows next, but they were just “laughing stock.”
My wife, Andrea, and I have been married for 35 years now; we’ve been blessed to have a nice home and family. Like many couples, we have had our ups and downs, but fortunately the ups covered up the few downs nicely. Like many of you, 2020 has been an unusual year to say the least; however, our most challenging year by far was 1998. That was the year we both reinvented ourselves.
At the beginning of September, I had the opportunity to participate in an agricultural tour in Idaho, my home state. When I’ve done these tours in the past, it’s been when I was visiting a new place. I’ve seen megaranches in Florida, carrot farms in Arizona, dairies in Washington and pistachio orchards in California.
For the last few months, I’ve written about what it is like to return to my hometown. This month, I had another bout of déjà vu that pulled me even more tightly into the cocoon of our family farm.
I had to spell-check myself before I wrote that title. I didn't know how to spell corrugates, and once I had spelled it, it still didn't look right to me. Corrugates, what an incorrigible word. Do you know folks who hate the word "moist?" I feel that way about the word corrugates. I don't think I always have, but I do now.
Earlier this week, I returned from a weeklong excursion to Puerto Rico. My husband and I framed it as a celebration of our 10-year anniversary, which occurred two years ago in the grips of COVID-19. It was a fantastic trip, but the next time we are on the island, we are taking a day to visit the farms.
“I wasn’t sure whether Mary had got home yet,” a perplexed Leo said, then went on with, “I was down in my basement tinkering with one of my firearms and experienced the ultimate embarrassment of having an accidental discharge. I sat in silence, and when no sounds came from upstairs, I deduced that Mary wasn’t home yet."
Parma, Idaho – 1955. The first year since we’d moved there in 1952 that the spring frosts had missed our huge old apricot tree. It was so loaded Dad thought it might break down.
“Unflappable” is one of those words like “defunct.” You hear things described as defunct, meaning broken or not working, but you never hear of something in good working order described as being “funct,” just as you never hear of a person being “flappable.”
Couple or three years back, I needed a small, cheap heater for the shop. Just to take the edge of cold off in one spot. Shopping in the heaters section of Wally World, I’d made my selection and was about to take it and leave when …
“A” is for apple – remember learning the letters primer? How’s about an age-appropriate alphabet, starting with each letter’s relevance first to a very young person, then older, then full blown adult, then “second childhood”?
When Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden of Eden for eating the
forbidden fruit, the Lord told Adam that the earth would be cursed for
his sake.
As a grandmother, you often look back on yesterdays and discover gems
that have influenced your thinking and shaped your life. It is often the
simple things that have the most impact.
Several years ago, after my aunt’s funeral, we were in the forest where she was buried. We were ambling along the dirt road, and one of the little girls flew past me, her golden hair tickling the wind. She must have been about four years old dressed up in her Sunday best. “Where are you going so fast,” I asked. She looked back over her shoulder and grinned, “I am having a race!”
I am always dismayed when I see professional team players kneel for the flag. I wonder if they really understand how much they are dishonoring themselves and the fallen heroes of our county.
I’ll be honest, if it wasn’t for telemarketers my phone would never
ring. Apparently, my student loan debt is due, my Amazon account needs
attention, I’m part of a class-action law suit that needs my
information, and I won a cruise to the Bahamas.
Most of us remember Mr. Whipple telling us, “Don’t squeeze the Charmin.” In recent years, Mr. Whipple has been replaced by a family of blue bears telling us how soft Charmin can be and to “Enjoy the go.”
If you smell something, it’s probably too late. Just ponder on that
deep thought for a moment. You have to admit that, even for a C student
like myself, that phrase alone should get me nominated for farmer of the
year.
I was at the state fair with my cousin, and we were walking down the midway. He noticed a rather large woman eating a fried Snickers bar and said to me, “If that woman had a beard, she could be in a circus.” I just wanted to know where she got the fried Snickers.
In July, I had an event with Leslie Danks Burke, a state senate candidate for the 52nd District in New York state. Held in Ithaca, New York, we discussed agriculture, climate change and literature in front of an engaged crowd. Before we were about to take our last question from the audience, Leslie leans over and whispers into my ear.
The efforts of five organizations suggest that American agriculture is at a crossroads. These organizations decided to do something about it. If you agree with what any of them are doing, you may want to take a closer look and consider getting involved.
I spent most of my life talking to farmers. If it wasn’t my parents, then it was our neighbors or other families we ran into at shows, auctions or feed stores.
The other day on the internet, I saw an old commercial of a semi truck that had these words painted on the side: Jonny Kat, Kitty Litter. For some reason, that had a profound affect on me.
A while back, I was asked who has had the greatest influence on my life. I hadn’t ever given it much thought, like most folks, I guess. After considerin’ for a while, I came up with six people that I could say actually affected the direction of my thinkin’.
ATTN: This is addressed to teenagers, tuba players and grown-ups in the news media who have gotten great giggles out of the story that cow flatulence is a danger to mankind.
“So, how’d yer dad git that big dent on the door?” I asked Dave. Truth is, it was quite an accomplishment for one single dent to stand out from all the other wear and tear, deterioration and assorted damage that covered his 1983 Ford Ranger diesel pickup truck like elephant tracks on a Styrofoam cooler.
As a young female farmer in her late 20s with a bachelor's degree in biology, public speaking seems like it is just part of who I am. Growing up in the era that I did, and as a student in the science field, it seemed as if multiple times throughout the year, I was speaking in one of my classes or giving a talk on a science project.
On average, it seems that most newborn dairy calves weigh in the 70- to
80-pound range, with breed and the dam’s size and age playing a role.
One would think that an animal this size would hit the ground ready to
go, and be sturdy and healthy.
Have you ever heard of a book or movie with Sacred Cow in the title? When you hear that, what do you think? Personally, I had heard of this a few times but never looked into it – and for a while ignored it. I even had a secret suspicion it would wind up as an anti-ag or anti-meat book.
We can all use a helping hand from time to time, especially if you’re a farmer. Things come up where you really need another person’s help. It’s nice when you have good friends you can call on in such situations.
The one phrase that has stuck in my mind from all the industry meetings
I’ve attended this summer was one I heard while moderating the
first-ever Data and Innovation Summit held in conjunction with the
National Holstein Convention in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
It’s a threat every dairy producer is familiar with. One so familiar it doesn’t have much meaning after the 4 millionth time it rolls off your tongue. Usually, this phrase is brought to life by a particular animal that doesn’t want to cooperate, broken-down equipment or employees whose work ethic is less than efficient.
