The story of agricultural markets today is very similar to A Tale of Two Cities or, if you are willing to forgive the campiness, "a tale of two farm economies."

Fall began today, or tomorrow. I can’t be sure unless I check a calendar. It’s the autumnal equinox – the point at which the sun shines equally on both hemispheres of a tilted Earth.

The Jersey cow was the topic of a particularly inane conversation I was having at a casual work dinner. Then, it turned a little more interesting. I should say, it turned on me, and that’s what made it more interesting.

My oldest daughter, Cora, is 12 and is a solid cowgirl. She was invited to her first branding a few weeks ago – a rite of passage for any young cowgirl who doesn’t grow up on a ranch.

They say that any two people are six or fewer social connections away from each other. In agriculture, I’d swear it’s two.

A refrain I’ve heard often from temperate climate dwellers is that they wish they lived in a place with seasons. I suppose we often yearn for what we don’t have, as I also dream of the continual warmth of mild days in San Diego.

Working hard works, well, until it doesn’t. And it doesn’t always work when my girls enter the show ring for the market judging class during the county fair.

“Sis, the horses are saddled. Get your boots on and meet me outside.” They are going to check the cows.

We are in the market for a new horse – a new horse for a just-turned-8-year-old girl. An outsider, one somewhat unfamiliar with our world, might believe that this horse is her first horse, her beginner horse, you might say. If one believes that, one would be wrong.

Every year, my husband is as anxious as a new father – monitoring his baby girls, fussing over them and ready to assist if they show signs of distress.