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The first time I remember singing the hymn of Thanksgiving, “Come Ye Thankful People Come,” written by Henry Alford, was at our eighth-grade Thanksgiving program for our parents back in 1963, the year President Kennedy was assassinated.
In the opening scene of Death and Nightingales, Beth is awoken by the bawling of a distressed animal. While in some ways it may be the call of the beast inside her, it is also, in actual terms, a cow with bloat. She slips the trocar in her dress, finds the cow in the brush and pierces its side to give it relief.
I got roped into having a farm tour for my niece’s third-grade class. I’m not complaining about trying to educate these young minds on agriculture. I’m not venting about the “helicopter” moms wiping my entire farm down with Clorox wipes.
In college, finding the perfect Halloween costume meant heading to the clearance section of the local big box store about an hour before leaving the house to see what we could find for a couple of bucks. As a parent, the conversations start months in advance and involve complicated negotiations.
“Come heck or high water, I will go to World Dairy Expo this year!” That’s what I said when Progressive Dairyman asked me to write this article. I’ll write it from the perspective of a newbie attending for the first time. My husband, Farmer John, and I have never attended, but this was to be our year.
Editor’s note: Read on for new comments online at Progressive Dairman. Visit the site today to ask a question on any article or leave a comment for the author.
A few Sundays ago, I spent some time in the nursery at our church with my two granddaughters, Hazel and Darcy. Hazel is 1, and Darcy is 2. Like the other six or seven children in the nursery, their eyes shone with delight as they milled through the toys and played with each other.
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