Confessions of a Farm Wife

Waiting to Be Hysterical

2012-01-25T14:55:00.001-08:00

Just a little over a week ago we had our first calf, and I thought of a country song's lyrics that say, "There goes my life." While Kenny Chesney is actually talking about his kid, in our busy seasons, I use this song as my mantra in the beginning phases of the craziness.

However, we're still waiting on calf #2.

Joe checks and checks and checks and checks and talks and stews and wonders and frets and is listless and is restless and...

Well, you get the point.

But, we're still waiting.

Waiting for that beloved second calf to come, waiting for the third and fourth and fifth to "drop," waiting for the hysteria to commence.

I'm experiencing deja-vu here, as I was crazily impatient with the births of all of my little ones. Joe, however, refused to panic, and kept telling me in a slightly condescending but always loving tone, "Just be patient. Babies come when they want."

Oh how the tables have turned.

I am the one who's telling him to knock off the craziness and just get in for dinner already. On the mornings when I work out at the crack of dawn, I'm generally greeted with silence and darkness when I ease into the house after my 5AM run or class. Now, I'm met with my guy in Carhartts, ready to bound out the door to do his first check of the day, but not the first in the dark. Joe is a great herdsman, and although he came in just a minute ago defending that he's not just waiting, he is working (well, duh) all the time in preparation for the calves, but while he's working hard outside, readying, checking, hauling grain in the free time, I know he is holding his breath, nervous about the pending births.

Like childbirth, in a blink of an eye, something could go horribly wrong. These lives are not just helping our bottom line and our deep freeze. We consider these beings, well, beings, living, breathing creatures. While there are a lot of folks who will tell you that beef producers and other folks who have livestock as a livelihood are just using these animals as commodities, but I will tell you Joe is a great dad and that translates into an excellent herdsman. There are a lot of things I would do when I was working as a teacher, but getting up in the middle of the night, multiple times, to check on something (anything) for work was never anything I had or desired to do. There is no question what Joe's doing at 11:00 PM and 3:00 AM and then again at 6:00 AM. He's out there, doing what a good cattleman does.

So, we wait. We have plans for this and that, but everything is always pending during this time. There's no tarrying when we do go anywhere...no time for chatting at coffee time at church when there's calves, or the impending birth of said calves to check.

So, I'll drink my coffee at home and wait to be hysterical.

Oh, and By the Way...

2012-01-22T07:55:00.000-08:00

Did you know that having an agriculture major is one of the most "useless" majors one could have?

According to this yahoo article, the writer cites an agriculture major as one who gets "up with the sun and working till it sets as an agricultural manager." Now, I'm not a College of Agriculture Career Services expert, but I do know that most of my friends, and Joe's friends who are ag majors did not walk out of college, degree in hand and purchase land (because as a new grad, could you fork out close to 10,000 dollars an acre? I couldn't buy a tshirt at Target, and I had an education degree...one that was considered "useful!). However, those who are actively farming and those who are employed in the agricultural sector are mostly very successful. I also know that most of them are not agricultural managers, because WHAT THE HECK IS AN AGRICULTURAL MANAGER?

Now, while I spew information about my life and all that without being censored or edited, so I understand the freedom of the press, however, this dude is PAID, on YAHOO, and now has a TON of ag people ticked off.

And if there's one thing I have noted in my time married to an ag dude, don't mess with them...it's one big fraternity of people who stand upon their convictions, so you should see the reaction to this! (read the poor soul's Facebook page, covered with ag majors citing their success here, and then see the Facebook page, I Studied Agriculture, and I Have a Job for more ticked off aggies!).

Anyway, this just proves again all that you read, see and hear through the media is never exactly correct.

Except, of course, when you're reading what I write!! Ha!

The Art of Being Real

2012-01-22T07:40:00.000-08:00

I have some gigs in the next few weeks.
No, this post is not a shameless self-promotion...but if you're a member of either the Knox County Farm Bureau or McLean County Chamber of Commerce, look out!!

Anyway, my focus is a little different this time. I've gained a lot of confidence in my ability to speak about agriculture, and it's not because I have been out choring in the snow with Joe. It's because I have decided to keep my focus on being real, being who I am, talking about what I live.

I am trying to master the Art of Being Real.

I know, funny concept, huh?

Anyway, in the next few weeks, I'm hopeful that my openness about my life as a farm wife, experiences as a "rep" for farm moms out there, and my limited knowledge about agriculture will come across as real, as I will be speaking to folks who are already in the biz, farming the land, have studied ag econ and held positions in agricultural organizations.

I'm not super nervous about this, surprisingly, and that is thanks to the transparency I hope to convey about our life.

In the first segment of my life as a farm wife, I worried about fitting in, figuring out where or with whom I should align myself. After all, I wasn't a "real" farm kid, "real" farm wife, or anything like that. However, how can one pinpoint what is "real?" What is the definition of a "real" farm wife? Is it one that drives and operates machinery? Is it one that keeps the house together and everyone fed? Is it one that works off the farm and keeps her nose out of the business? There are so many definitions, so I refuse to worry about which one I fall under.

Instead, in my (again) limited training in being a small-time spokesperson, as well as through my ramblings (which this post is a doosey of a rambler, have I mentioned I'm home alone with a sick kid and three others who have been cooped up in the house for a week? Bear with me.), I have found that by just spouting off what is going on and how I have reacted to it, I have found my voice. I have seen my kids become farm kids, but even within our family, each child has her (and soon to be his) own relationship with the farm. Anna is our doer (so far), Josie is cautiously interested, and Amelia is two...she just goes along with whatever she's told. Jack will hopefully be a doer, as that is the knee-jerk reaction I have about having a boy around here, but if he's not, oh well. We have to let him call the shots.

My parents did.

Joe's parents did.

And one farm kid and one non-farm kid have combined to become a family who just wants to do right to the land and put food on the table and kids through college.

So, in my next few weeks, my quest will be to perfect my different presentations with the hope that I can convey my message in a way that I can be interpreted as real.

That, and finding the perfect pair of black platform pumps to wear with my dress.

And So It Begins

2012-01-16T11:58:00.000-08:00

I have been hearing the rumblings that calving season is upon us, but have been trying to ignore them. Well, not trying to ignore them, just choosing to ignore them. I mean, it's not February, when calving should begin, so I have time to continue on my merry way, right?

Wrong.

Today is no school, thanks to MLK day, and in honor of this day, my school aged kiddo was up at dawn and dressed for chores. The morning chores began as usual, but as the rest of the kid clan and I were still pajama-clad and enjoying waffles, my farm girl and Farmer Joe were pulling the first calf.

We really know how to start a season, don't we? One cannot just walk out to the calving barn, or check the heifer that Joe thought would calve first and have an easy delivery. Nah. We out here like to do things the hard way from the get-go.

Ugh.

However, Anna was unphazed by the calf pulling, rather, was super excited because this heifer calf is hers. This is an exciting time, no doubt, but the feelings of ownership, responsibility and excitement that accompany just the sheer miracle of life that will be occurring at a high rate around here trumps the difficult first delivery.

Anna is in heaven.

She has her calving record book safely tucked in her purple chore coat pocket, recording the number of her new charge in the first line. She has already been down to check to see if the little calf had nursed, explaining to me at lunch today how Dad taught the little girl how to suck using his finger, and even correctly used the noun, "teat."

(My hope is that she continues to be no-nonsense about the word teat, and doesn't become "that kid" on the playground!)

Anyway, life is exciting around here. Joe will now join me in the up-all-night club, as he will need to step out and check mamas and babies every couple of hours, regardless of the time of day. Even though this is a labor intensive (literally and figuratively) time, this is the culmination of carefully calculated breeding matches. This is harvest, beef cattle style.

I just hope that we have knocked out the difficult births with this first one, and the rest are smooth sailing!

Late to the Party

2012-01-12T07:58:00.000-08:00

I'm going to have to claim "Mom of Small Children, and Therefore, Watching Dora Over the News and Reading Madeline Instead of the Paper" on this issue, but from the my husband's grumblings, a handful of shared articles on Facebook, and a comment on a picture I posted of my kids on hay bales, I am somewhat opinionated, although somewhat uninformed.

I'm talking about the new Child Labor Regulations that are in the works for kids specifically in the agricultural world.

I have been blissfully unaware (do you notice a pattern in my life...blissful ignorance???) of the affects and the postings I have skimmed over the Christmas holidays. However, upon completing Christmas break, one where Anna spent nearly every day, all day with her dad, outside, having a ball (translation: working on age-appropriate chores), our first grader, who loves and thrives at school, cried the night before she had to go back, because she wondered who would help her dad and do her jobs. Now, the little bits of cash she is receiving for completing some of her chores helped along the tears, I'm sure, but how in the WORLD would someone, specifically a cabinet member from LOS ANGELES know the valuable lessons my daughter is learning working alongside her dad.

I will embarrassingly admit this, my husband has a better relationship with money, thanks to his days working on the farm...I, on the other hand...well, you know my resolutions.

Anyway, I am completely late to this party, and need to do some more digging. I am, however, present on my farm, and know that I rarely see a government official on it, and thus, wonder how these regulations will be enforced for us. However, I would love to see the citation and how it would be worded. Would it go something like this:

"Six year old and 36 year old cited for spending time together, outside, exerting energy and breathing in fresh air, all while using muscles and brain power to climb up and down off of equipment, through fences and over green pastures."

Yeah, that sounds pretty bad (note the sarcasm). I think we all should just continue to "fight the battle against childhood obesity" by promoting such activities as exer-gaming and running on treadmills. That would be great, Washington (please note smartiness, again).

I implore you to help me out here, give me your opinions, your actions, and your experiences with this. I am interested in how this will all play out, and hopeful that my lateness to this topic doesn't mean I'm too late to give folks in Washington a piece of my mind!

We Need It To Freeze

2012-01-07T05:36:00.000-08:00

So I know I'm being cursed by most of you, and judging from most of the Facebook status updates, we all have been enjoying the warmer (read: freaky) Illinois weather (I had three kids sleeping at once yesterday...can I get a high five??), however, right now, Joe kind of needs it to freeze up a bit.

I'm wincing just writing that.

I heard your groans. I felt your confused looks.

So, here's why:
Joe is in the midst of getting ready for calving season. Just a few more weeks and we'll have babies, babies, babies all over the place. That requires a lot of work...big shock. It requires him to move cattle around, prepping areas for them that will be out of the elements in case someone goes early (Elements, what elements? It was 60 degrees and sunny yesterday!). And, if you were ever an expectant mother, you will remember that towards the end, you require a little more sustenance for you and your unborn child. No, he's not delivering ice cream and pickles, or in my case, Peanut M&Ms and Diet Coke (it's amazing my kids came out without M&M stamped on their foreheads), he's feeding hay he baled this summer, along with a little feed, carefully measured and mixed to the cows out on stalks. Both of these tasks require using the chore tractor, and if it's frozen, when one needs to get out onto the rough corn stalk ground, it's a little bumpy, but there's no damage of sinking into the ground.

However, if it's 60 degrees during the day, and then frosty and not frozen the next morning, things can get a little sticky.

So, as much as I have loved having warmer weather, and have even browsed through the new spring arrivals (but not purchased...remember, I'm SAVING) on nordstrom.com, we kind of need it to freeze.

I'll eat my words and be complaining about the 75 feet of snow we'll get because of this post.

Regardless of whether you need it to freeze, or if this lovely weather is helping your January mood, know that there is always some one who needs something different than what is currently on the literal radar screen. Ahhh...fickle farming!!

Happy Saturday!

When a Resolution Really Takes

2012-01-01T19:02:00.001-08:00

Okay, so it’s New Year’s Day, and instead of working out,clipping coupons, cleaning out my closet and donating all the unwanteds to theneedy, we spent our day with another family Christmas, eating gluttonously(thanks to my mom and southern cookin’ aunt), and putting up shelves to houseour embarrassing amount of toys received this Christmas.

Sigh.

So, there’s always tomorrow to start my resolutions, right?Well, not really. You see, I’m not a big resolution kind of gal. I’m already anexerciser, already an organizer, already a pretty decent eater…sounds like I’mpretty awesome, huh? Well, I’m not…I stink at saving money, lose my patienceway too much, and worry about what other people are doing more than the averageJoe…or my Farmer Joe.

I’m digressing.

Anyway, one year, ten years ago, I made a resolution. I wasno where near where I am today: geographically, emotionally, spiritually. I wasexhausted, frustrated, emotionally spent and basically unhappy with mydecisions. I had a good job, but was unsettled. I felt like I needed somethingbigger, and had already sent resumes and applications to schools in Chicago,hoping that a move to the city would make me feel bigger in a place where Ifelt really small.

In short, I was grasping at straws.

So, in one last effort to figure out who I was as Emily theAdult, I made a resolution: to go to a church, because, that’s what you do whenyou’re feeling lost, right? I wasbabysitting on New Year’s Day (see how pathetic my social life was?) and pickeda church out of the phone book that had a later in the morning Sunday service(really high criteria, huh?).

That next Sunday, I took a deep breath, got in my car andwent to this place that was billed as a contemporary, comfortable environment.I didn’t care if they charmed snakes at that point, I needed to be fed throughmy heart and needed to hear some good music and a message that made me think.

The Resolution Stars must have aligned that day, because Ireally did hear good music and a great message, but ironically walked indirectly behind Joe and his friend, who invited me to sit with them (even thoughI had already gone out with Joe a few times and had not done a really great jobof calling him back…oops.). The guys even invited me to the church’s Newcomer’sLunch that day, and sitting at that table, I could feel myself loosening up,relaxing, trusting that this was a place where I could fit in. Joe and I hit itoff and from then on, the rest is history, ourhistory: we found our faith strengthened there, and consequently were marriedin that church, baptized our first baby there, and cried when we left to movehere. I miss it every New Year’s Day.

Talk about a resolution that took!

Resolutions are chances, however, and I despise the way thatour culture places so much emphasis on how you should make a resolution basedon what our culture deems important at that second. Nobody in the marketingworld will tell you that what you’re making is the wrong one. I believe thatresolutions are all about timing, and because I haven’t made one in ten years,I think I’m about due for a good one. That, and I have ridden the success trainof 2002’s resolution a little bit too long.

Bummer.

My point of this post is to wish you all a happy new year,in a roundabout way, but to let you know that I have gotten back on theresolution bandwagon, and would like kept accountable for them by you, my dearstalkers…I mean, readers. Like my one 10 years ago, I was held accountable, bythe guy whom I eventually married, and to God…so those are big shoes to fill.

So, friends, please hold me to these. I resolve in 2012 tocoupon….I know, I know… GROAN!!!! But, I have to. I have to learn to value ourdollar, as we come closer to our financial goals, as well as closer every yearto a kid in college (no, Anna is not some freaky kid genius, but it’s coming, Ineed to get more interested in saving for Anna than Ann Taylor). I am theshopper of the family, and I might as well be a good one, a saving one, onethat can be savvy as well as sophisticated.

Secondly, I resolve to make this blog more user friendly,prettier, and more interactive. I’m not sure how…but that’s why I have a year,right? That, and a new iPad!!! I realize I’m late to that iParty, but that’sokay…I’m a country folk, right? Aren’t we supposed to pull out Polaroids fromour bib overall pockets instead of Instagram photos on our iPads??

Anyway, thanks. Thanks for reading. Thanks for responding,and thanks in advance for keeping me on track.

Happy 2012.

Questionable Mud

2011-12-28T12:37:00.000-08:00

So I have a question:

Do you ever wonder what's on the seam of your husband's jeans? Do you ever ponder what you're putting into the washing machine? Do you ever tell your daughter not to walk on the carpet for fear that cow manure will come off of her coveralls?

I do.

I know, I know...I'm one of the lucky ones!

Seriously, though, I have a lot of questionable dirt that comes through my house. A LOT. From the front entryway floor, where various sizes of Northerners are housed with various amounts of mucky, muddy stuff on them, to the to top of the entryway's benches (the ones I bought because Better Homes and Gardens said so) where there are random yellow chore gloves, the flannel ones with red cuffs, which are lying in the sun, baking because this entryway is mostly glass, and emitting a lovely, warm, poop-ish smell.

Nice, huh?

Then there's the back entryway, the "mudroom" as the Bible...I mean BHG would call it. Atop an antique dresser (read: found in a shed, used as a changing table 21 years ago for my cousin, and now in my back entryway and the dog chewed the legs...I call it "distressed."), you will find various clothing covered, smeared, speckled, or just splattered with what looks like mud, but could be something else. Joe believes that work clothes have multiple wears, regardless of where he's been (that's not true...sometimes they do from his back directly to the washing machine), because he'll just get them dirty anyway.

True, and those preaching to conserve the earth's water are applauding Joe's conservation efforts. However, they smell.

The great thing about my questionable mud is that 1) I do not ever question it, and always consider it dirty and throw it in the laundry and 2) it truly makes my mud room a mud room. In this month's issue of Better Homes and Gardens, there are several glossy pictures of different family's mudrooms. They are complete with white built-in cabinetry, farmhouse style sinks, cubbies and nooks and hooks and baskets for all the gear you could think of. Folding stations house glass urns of laundry soap. Hampers are pieces of art, woven baskets that match the trim color to perfection. Words like "Laundry" and "Wash" are sculpted out of wood and hung atop the drying station. Even Fido the dog has a built-in doggie dish and pull out bed.

This is awesome.

However, this is completely ridiculous for me to even ever consider having in my house,with my life, and my family's occupation.

While I would love to have a larger, spacious, cubbie-fied mud room, for now, I would love to send in a picture of a true mud room, sans the doggie dish and sculpted words, but with the mud and the dog hair and soiled jeans. Words like "Wash" and "Laundry" need not be hung atop my washing machine. Duh. The clothes and their smell, piled usually not in the hamper tell me just by their looks that they need to be laundered.

I do have a hard working back porch, the problem...well, not the problem, the good thing, is that I have a hardworking family that helps put the mud room on the map. The mud isn't a source of annoyance, but a badge of honor. Anna earned her mud today by working all day, complete with aiding during a cattle emergency while she worked alongside her dad. Joe's chore gloves are dirty from feeding the heifers that will soon give birth, giving them strength during the last weeks of their pregnancy. The dog hair is from the dog that, although she barks all night, is a loyal companion and will scare away any UPS man who tries to deliver ANYTHING to us. Ugh.

So, BHG, come out to my house if you want a "before," or just a picture of a real mud room...and while you're at it, could you take a look at my questionable mud on Joe's pants? You probably have a remedy for that stain in your archives.

The Power of Marketing

2011-12-19T09:27:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been awhile, my friends.

Gotta love the Christmas Craziness that has been ensuing and sucking up all my free minutes. Is anyone else out there momentarily hysterical here and there? I have moments when I think I have it all together, and then I start to freak out.

I'm digressing.

So, here's the deal for today: marketing. Now, we are a society of information overload, over-stimulation, instant gratification and excess...and I fall into those traps a lot, but I try to be somewhat savvy when I'm being marketed a product that I am going to consume into my body, read: food.

So, on our last trip to Chicago, Joe and I were out to lunch for a high dollar hamburger. We enjoy a high dollar hamburger. I love that something I whip up for a quick meal is deemed fancy. I love that ketchup at these joints comes in a little pot...it's so cute.

I'm digressing again.

Here's the deal with the high dollar hamburger, while it's delicious and on a fancy bun, the marketing is what makes it "the meal of the minute." Our burgers were supposedly from beef that was locally grown. I like that phrase, but I was in downtown Chicago. Where is beef locally grown on State Street? Where are the steers grazing in a lovely pasture on the Eisenhower Expressway?

So, this almost seemed like false marketing. Well, not false, but the wording was incorrect. While it was promoting a great thing, and something I believe in, the phrase, "locally grown," was not necessarily correct. I consider locally grown as something like the salsa I received from our church's Christian Education Coordinator. The only thing in there that wasn't from her garden was the salt.

That's locally grown as well as impressive.

So, I guess I'm being picky, and that's okay, because I'm entitled. Anyway, my suggestion to this bistro as well as the world is to be careful with what they word and market. Locally grown is going to become a white noise phrase, just as sustainable has become. Do we really, really know what sustainable means, and why is it truly important, again? I guess my beef (pardon the pun) with this is that, yet again, folks are relying on buzz words, rather than the truth. Maybe there's a beef farm just minutes from the Palmer House Hilton, and I will apologize profusely for this rant, but I just wish that restaurants, grocery stores, and the like would focus more on putting a face and a name to a product rather than just a buzz word.

So, when you're out having a high dollar hamburger, and they are bragging about their beef, please ask another question. Ask from WHOM the beef was acquired. Ask if those farmers ever come in and enjoy the fruits of their labor at this restaurant, because if the Palmer House Bistro (or whatever it's called) wants to use some Webel Beef for its fancy schmancy hamburger, I will 1) remember the name of the establishment and 2) will gladly put our picture on the menu.

I do have cute kids.

Hiccups in Plans

2011-12-10T08:40:00.001-08:00

So it's Saturday, and we've got an action packed few days ahead of us. Birthday parties near and far, church duties, basketball games, and the regular chores to always be completed. Like non-farm families, we have to plan and plan again, and some times there are hiccups to deal with.

However, unlike non-farm families, not only did the rescheduling of the first grade basketball game cause a snafu in our timing of birthday party appearances, it also created timing issues for chores.

I realize other families have parents that work during the weekends, so I'm not asking for sympathy, however, because farming, like parenting, is a 24/7, 365 day-a-year gig, we can't just be willy-nilly with our plans. Thankfully, I'm a planner, so this works, but it becomes a source of frustration, as we cannot just show up at events with a moment's notice. There are plans to be made, chores to be completed for the survival of animals and, in the planting and harvesting seasons, positive outcome of the life of our crops.

Thus, our participation in extra-curricular activities is limited. Joe is not around to help shuttle kids here and there, and I hardly have the energy to make dinner at night, let alone four kids in the car to go to a basketball practice in town. Did I mention this practice is for SIX YEAR OLDS??? It's not that important to us, I guess, to make sure that our kids are in everything, all the time.

Don't get me wrong, I, of course, want my daughters and son to be talented, well-rounded kids, but participation in an extensive program at the age of six is not necessary to their survival or future careers. This parenting philosophy is backed up by the fact that our life is one big extra-curricular activity. Rarely are my kids left with nothing to do around here. Joe's job provides them chores, learning opportunities, fresh air, and exercise. That is awesome.

However, we like our kids to be involved (at an age appropriate rate) and deem it important to fulfill our commitments when we're in an activity.

But, we're not able to shuffle around when the game is cancelled and rescheduled...we have too many kids, cattle and crops to make our life as flexible as a 9 to 5er family.

Sigh.

So, we're here, on a Saturday morning, with a tearful child who is unable to participate in her basketball game, as it overlaps with a more important activity, a husband who could have stayed out and completed his chores, instead of just completing the necessary ones, and three other kids who are blissfully oblivious to how life on the farm complicates their future participation in activities.

But, really, who cares? What's more important? A first grade basketball time or bonus time spent together, all in the house, together on a cold Saturday morning?

In my Norman Rockwell picture, I would say the latter of the two, but by hearing the current bickering between the kids, I vote for the activity! Oh well...maybe next Saturday!!

Picture Perfect

2011-12-06T16:10:00.001-08:00

Tis the season for Christmas cards! Joe and I love to get them, and even some times argue over who gets to open the cards that day.

Anyway, since having the kids, we have tried to have a picture of them every year. Joe is the master of Christmas letters (even sending one when he was a single dude!), but I always loved picture Christmas cards. So, if you're one of the lucky ones on our list...you get BOTH!!

Lucky you.

Anyway, I am so fortunate to have a very dear friend who also happens to be a photographer and who my kids also happen to LOVE! Kara (of Kara Kamienski Photography) and I go way back...she knows stories from sorority functions that shouldn't be uttered and together went on to a road trip to a bowl game in Florida that included lost luggage, laryngitis, and lots and lots of ...fun? If you call not finding a hotel for hours and nearly dying in a plane crash fun. Anyway, she takes our pictures...she is the genius behind my blog's photography...she is my SAVIOR. However, upon having four children and a farmer husband, getting a picture perfect Christmas card picture is like expecting an uneventful, low-stress harvest.

Doesn't happen.

So, when I told her I needed a picture of us for the blog (since a lot of you have requested Jack to be on the mast head now...sheesh...details, details.) as well as a Christmas picture, she was happy to oblige. She lugs her kids and her stuff 35 minutes to my house after school and squeezes us in between bridal consultations and dinner. I love her.

It is a trick to get us all in a frame...let alone look good. It's even more of a trick to get us outside on a "farmy" scene for the blog.

So, we don't have a new blog picture yet, because while all of you fancy folks are out frolicking in the fall foliage, my husband is nowhere to be found, and unless I want to photoshop Joe into the picture, I don't get my fall background.

Kara came to us...God bless her, and we got a few really good ones.

Don't we look rested, un-stressed, and happy???

Anna, the farm girl

Amelia, our ham

Josie, our princess

Sweet Jack...not feeling so sweet.

And some funny ones.

She does a mean "sprinkler."

And some that were just pathetic.

He's done.

So, during this season of writing your best letters to talk about your amazing lives and showcasing your beautiful families through the magic of modern photography (and photoshop), remember my family's wacky photo shoot...in our living room, at 5:00 at night, with four kids under six.

Merry Christmas!

Harvest Is Over, So Where ARE YOU???

2011-12-02T13:52:00.001-08:00

I find myself asking this question at least twice a day.

Weeks ago, we made the announcement that Joe and the guys have finished harvest. I did a small dance, enjoyed nights with my guy helping out with homework and baths and running around, and then ...

poof.

Where is he?

Honestly, I thought I would be footloose and fancy free to traipse around, picking up kids when I could, spending hours at the gym or getting manicures or shopping or lunching with friends because my partner was back.

What world was I living in?

When have I ever traipsed?

When have I ever lunched with friends sans kids, since I had kids?

When did I get manicures?

Answer: NEVER.

However, like the hormones that allow you to forget the pain of childbirth, the excitement of uttering the words, "We're done!" makes you forget what life is truly like once the combine is in the shed. Yes, we did make our pilgrimage to Bass Pro Shop, which lead me to make a lot of smarty comments about "those" people who shop there(you know, the ones that actually wear shirts that say "General Lee 01" on them and really are looking for rods and reels), but find a plethora of North Face fleeces that I would love for someone else to buy me. Yes, we are having more meals together as a family, around a real table, while they're still hot. And yes, Joe helped me out today as I ran around in town, picking up Josie from preschool ( I am trying to keep him from being aggravated with this post...it is the holiday season, and did I mention North Face?). However, why is it we're still falling asleep in a pair of heaps by 8:30? Why is it that he's still hustling and bustling, despite the colder temps and crops that are out?

Well, because there's colder temps and the crops are out, that's why. Because of these two factors, the cows are now out "on stalks" which means they're no longer on the pasture, rather tromping and eating around on the corn stalks. This also means that fence must be checked, and checked often because there's just a thin, "hot" wire between them and the neighbor's house. The change in season and flip of the calendar to December means we have about two months of honeymoon time until our calving season starts (oh joy). The mamas, new and old, have been preg-checked, which means checked if they are on track for the correct due dates or if they're "open," which means not pregnant, and off to the sale barn they go. Anyway, this checking has happened in three shifts with the vet, the vet tech, Joe, and a helper. So there goes my helper during nap time so I can sneak off to do x, y, or z...which are really not usually that important, but would be more fun/easy/convenient to do alone.

Anyway, harvest is done, so where is Farmer Joe? Thankfully, he's home at decent times, and is able this weekend to accompany me to another Field Mom event in Chicago. We might even have a dinner alone, since my mother in law and mom have come into help with babysitting...so what should I wear?

Maybe I should go shopping...

Now, where's Joe??

Get Over It, Already

2011-11-27T11:51:00.001-08:00

I used to be that girl.

I used to never miss a workout. Never.

Used to always wear the latest and greatest trends.

I used to be up and with it, technologically speaking.

I used to spend Saturday mornings, after my long run-obviously- cleaning and organizing to oblivion. You could have eaten off of myfloor, and all closets were straightened. Always.

All that has changed.

And that's okay, I just have to once in a while get over it, and quit being a freak about who I was and start being great at who I am.

Becoming a mother definitely changed a lot of my priorities, and becoming a mother of more than one child certainly changed what I considered to be acceptable. When we just had Anna, we were living in town. That in itself created a completely different atmosphere and set of expectations. When we had Josie (who is five today, by the way), we had moved to the country, but Joe wasn't farming. Life was still pretty similar to our life in town, just with one more kid and less sidewalks.

However, add two more kids and become a farmer's wife, and my life of a so-clean-you-could-eat-off-it floor and my never missed workouts completely changed.

But who cares, really?

Who's keeping tabs on my weekly mileage for running? Who is going to not ask for a plate at Josie's birthday party tonight and instead eat his/her cake off the floor? Do my kids care if I'm trendy and technologically savvy and showered and exercised?

No.

They want our life. They are pleased with the simplicity of it. They are excited about princess bikes, newly purchased gum, and watching Christmas movies on TV. They are excited to spend time with Joe and me.

Isn't that what we should all be focusing more upon?

I guess since today is the start of the Advent season, I have started to truly reflect on how I am viewing the holidays, which really shows how I view myself and my life as Emily the Mom and Farmwife. I need to get my picture of myself, and who I am, in clear focus, because my children are truly mirrors of me, from the good parts to all of my insecurities. They can sense when I start to lose sight of it. They know when I'm anxious about company coming, as they start to react to my tension.

However, they don't care how the stockings are hung and whether the bathroom is cleaned and the house is in order. They would rather just be with me even if I haven't done all that I need to do today because I'm their mom.

I need to remember that.

I used to be a closet freak show, hiding behind layers of perfection. I created an image of being together, which was really just a facade.

However, as of only recently, I have started to embrace Emily the Mom and Farmwife. I have tried to say, "oh well," to a lot of things, and tried to shut up about stuff in my life that isn't how it should be, because, how do I know how it should be? Emily the Mom and Farmwife is happy to fit in when I can long runs, whether it's by myself on a gravel road or pushing a double stroller full of kids. Emily the Farmwife is happy to see muddy Northerners leaving puddles on the porch floor because that means quality time spent with Daddy. Emily the Mom is happy to look nice, even if it's in an outfit I wore when I was still teaching ( guess I shouldn't worry too much about exercising, if it still fits, right? ).

Emily of today is still a freak show, just more willing to shed my layers and be okay with my imperfections, as they are a sign of who I truly am.

Can You Hear It?

2011-11-16T11:51:00.001-08:00

I can't either...and that's a GREAT thing!

The sound of silence: no grain carts rumbling, no semis revving, and no combines combining, means--dadadadaaaaaa!!! Harvest is over!!!

Whoo-hoo!

And you know what that means, right? It means that Farmer Joe and friends are booking their flights to Bermuda today as they sip cocktails in recliners.

No, on all accounts, and to Joe's dismay especially on the last one, as we do not own a recliner (although did own two at one time...one orange velour and one pink corduroy...don't ask).

Anyway, it means that I am currently watching Joe install and test an electric fenceline in the field across the road, the one that was just picked last night, the final one, for cows to go out on stalks in the next few days. It means that there was a red pickup truck convention at my house this morning, as Joe, Dad and my uncle were together, putting the combine into the shed, unhooking the big tractor from a grain cart only to rehook it onto the Turbo Chopper to start the fall tillage work. It means that even though I have a helper to run kids here and there, I still have to find my helper somewhere on the farm, as he needs to catch up on the cattle and pasture and other work that he's had to forgo because of harvest.

However, most importantly, it means a trip to the newly opened Bass Pro Shops for my kids, which is what they were dancing and singing about last night as their dad came in and made the "Harvest is over!" announcement.

Harvest has been long. It has been mentally and physically draining for all of us. We have had to endure downed corn that we knew was there as well as surprise downed corn in the middle of fields. The guys had to deal with breakdowns at inopportune times and even a root canal in the midst, but we made it. We did it. We all survived.

While a trip to Bass Pro and a hot fenceline does punctuate the end of a harvest season well, I would like to take this moment, when my little folks are sleeping and playing quietly, my husband is buzzing around the farm happily busy with his self-initiated to-do list, and my dad and uncle are off somewhere relishing in the "doneness," to just sit in silence.

Because as thankful as I am that we're done with harvest, I am especially thankful in this moment for silence.

Find It Friday

2011-11-11T09:55:00.001-08:00

ewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
Gross.
Ick.

I realize I live on a farm. I understand my house was built in 1871. I am aware that there is a field outside that is now just corn stalks. I am completely in the know that it is now cold.

However....

I am NOT OKAY with my Find It Friday find...as it was a MOUSE. Well, not really a mouse, more like the little droppings of a mouse, in my corner cabinet where I keep my small kitchen appliances.

Back to the shuddering.

I HATE mice. Not just hate: loathe, despise, detest, am completely and utterly freaked out by them and all they stand for. I hate the mice in Cinderella. Why would she welcome them in, even if they can sew? EW.

We (well, not really me, but my dad, Joe and the dudes who helped us tighten up our house when it was down to the studs) really did a great job making my house, which once rattled and whined and let in cold air, a really efficient old farmhouse. New windows, walls, insulation, the works make my old house seem new. I have taken the proper precautions by employing a quarterly exterminator, who happens to be a cousin, in order to keep all bugs and critters at bay. I love that. I will gladly pay for that service, and if Joe ever asks me to get rid of it...the Find It Friday that week would be his little buns on the couch!

Anyway, it's Veteran's Day, and by the way...thanks Dad, Rick, Grandpas, for your service...and all kiddos are home. We've had a lot of fun, cleaning out closets, breaking up fights, and explaining to Amelia why her big sister can go in the tractor first and not her, despite her boots which were on the wrong feet and her stocking cap. Find It Friday was going to be me, running down the road like a mad woman if Joe hadn't stepped in!

So, as I was packing lunches for two of my farmers, I FOUND THE EVIDENCE. Amelia and Anna were extremely interested, and Anna asked if we could keep it for a pet.

No.

Josie was nowhere to be found, as she is like me and would rather DIE than see a mouse. Jack, thankfully, was sleeping...however woke up to my scream!

Anyway, life out here on the farm is as glamorous as always, thanks to our little friend, whom I'm hopeful has met his or her maker or has found another family a little more like Cinderella and a little less like Billy the Exterminator.

Happy Friday!

Never Ignore an Omen

2011-11-09T05:24:00.000-08:00

Omens, people, omens. They are around us, all the time. I just haven't been that great at paying attention to them.

Nah, I'm not that crazy, nor am I taking up a new religion. However, because of watching the movie Troy last night, and then spending the wee hours of the morning thinking about the Greeks and the Trojans and all their "beware of the gods" business, I'm laughing at myself and my naivete nine years ago.

You see, nine years ago, today, I was following my boyfriend- at the time- up and down some hills, deep in a pasture on his parents' farm. I was in a foul mood that day, tired from a week of parent/teacher conferences only to then spend my precious day off chasing my babysitting kids around the Indianapolis Children's Museum(ironic, isn't it...I went on to have four kids. Sheesh.), plus I was slogging around a pasture in my new jeans. Why were we so dressed up to wade around cow poop?

Anyway, Joe and I were checking cows, and I was following him, annoyed again as I saw sweat beads on his brow. I was thinking the whole trek, "I have to get Joe running with me. He's sweating bullets!"

We made it to the spot where the cattle needed to be checked, only to see just a few cattle. That's it? Just a few cows? I had to admit, it was a really pretty view, but when Joe started talking about the cattle, I kind of tuned out. Then, he started in on the future, and then...

Will you marry me?

Screeching record sound inserted here.

Wait, WHAT???

And, HOLY MOLY...IS THAT THE RING I PICKED OUT...THE ONE THAT HE SAID WAS TOO EXPENSIVE?? (another omen to my saving, loving husband)

I said yes, obviously, and spent the rest of the weekend flashing around my ring to all who would see, blissfully unaware of the alignment of the stars that day that would ultimately make that pasture walk not just symbolic, but a reality.

So, here we are, nine years later, only I don't go on many pasture walks, but I have three little girls who do, and one little guy who will. I still flash my ring for all to see, and am still laughing at the "love is in the pasture" cards my students made me when I told them the story of our engagement location.

I guess I should pay closer attention to the omens around me, and should be thankful for the alignment of the stars that day. What a great adventure we have had so far, Farmer Joe!

More Opinions? Sure Thing!

2011-11-07T14:48:00.000-08:00

I was able to get away for a day this weekend with some girlfriends. The talk on the ride up to where we were going (to shop, of course) spanned a wide range of topics. All four of us are moms to young-ish children (early elementary to babies), and we all needed the time away.

While most of the topics centered around our kids, their schooling, their needs, their Christmas presents, it was the topic of food that made me want to sit down and get my thoughts on (cyber) paper.

"I need more opinions, Emily!" my friend advised me. Now that's something you don't hear every day, especially to some one like me!! Anyway, my friend Katie wanted to know my take on her baby food she was spooning into her sweet baby boy's mouth on our trek to IKEA. Baby food? My take? Ummm...give it to a baby?

No, she wasn't needing that basic of information, but she wanted to know my opinion on baby food that was 1) not organic and 2) not something she made herself. Now, as opinionated as I am about those who want to cram the organic is the best and only food you should feed your family nonsense down your throat, I am not opposed to organic food, per se. If I were to make a statement that all organic food or farmers are bad and not necessary in our world, that would be like me saying that the Catholic church is less Christian than a Methodist church. We're all on the same team, we just have a different way of getting there. I don't think Katie is less of a mother because she 1) does not feed her kids 100% organic food all the time and 2) doesn't make her own baby food. She's doing what she deems the best for her kids, and who am I to tell her how to do it?

That being said, I do believe that your choices for your food should be based on something bigger than pretty packaging or what Dr. Oz says (have I mentioned I like to roll my eyes at him now???). I myself succumb to prices, but, take today for example. Amelia and Jack and I were grocery shopping. Amelia wanted strawberries, which are absolutely not in season, therefore are pricey and probably from Mexico. However, when she's choosing strawberries over doughnuts or chips or ice cream...wouldn't you pay $6.00 for a pint? I did. I would rather err on the side of fruit that comes from somewhere else, that I will wash, than a processed snack any day.

Organic vs. nonorganic, fortunately, is not a fight I have to be prepared for very often, other than in casual conversation, but it is certainly a buzz in more urban areas. We around here have to hunt for grocery stores with a big organic food section. Selection is limited, and restaurants are not necessarily deeming themselves better because of their use of cage free chicken, grass fed beef, and/or organic produce. However, my friend Rachel's brother-in-law (is that right, Rach?) is opening a bar and grill in Chicago, and will be marketing himself as a granola cruncher, I mean, organic, cage free type of place.

Sigh.

Rachel, being the Midwestern farm girl she is, asked him if that was necessary, all that crazy organic marketing stuff. He answered yes, that it would help his business.

Seriously? Just putting those words in your menu or on your restaurant website or whatever would help you get more customers.

City folks, listen up...it is not IMPERATIVE that all of your chickens are cage free for you to survive or just enjoy a chicken sandwich. Folks, grass fed beef is stringy and not as flavorful as our corn and grass and some times feed-fed beef, but I know I'm biased. My point is, just because you have a cage free bar and grill, doesn't mean that it's food is better and more nutritious. It's just marketing, and if you eat it with fries and a beer, you're not going to be healthy anyway, so who cares if it's cage free?

I am going to form a more distinct opinion on this, thanks to Katie. I am going to do some researching on why my beef tastes better. Tonight, in fact, I'll get started by enjoying my chili soup, corn bread made with eggs that are not cage free, and my expensive strawberries.

Zen Farming

2011-11-07T05:45:00.000-08:00

It's raining.
We've had a breakdown.
We're not finished.
The combine head isn't even at our house...

You'd think we'd have a lot of stomping, sighing, and freaking out around my house, since it is November, and it seems as if we're the only ones with crops still standing. However, everyone seems to be looking at the bright side.

What's wrong with this picture?

Well, thankfully, nothing. Although there seems to have been a lightswitch flipped when the calendar turned to November, and the words, wintry mix, have been uttered by the weatherman (gasp), all the farmers around here are taking yesterday's snafu in stride.

Again, what's wrong with this picture? Since when did I live around a bunch of guys who are so calm, cool, collected, zen, if you will?

I guess since yesterday, and with that, I'll try to quit freaking out. Everyone seems to be looking at the bright side. It is raining, so there's no need to panic about the wasted "good day." The combine head has a major malfunction, but fortunately, it happened on a Sunday evening, and first thing today, the mechanics will get to it. And, we're one of a few operations still going around here, so the line at the shop is not too deep.

I should be taking this zen attitude and applying it to my own fears, but I tend to lean to the side of competitive, not calm, and seeing other farmer's combines in the shed and fields finished, and have them not be ours is driving me batty. Don't get me wrong, the guys aren't out in the driveway right now, legs crossed, meditating. There's a lot of hustle still in Joe's steps, even though it seems to just be a regular chore/cattle day, not a crop day. My dad and uncle, I'm certain, are still nervous, but no one is pacing on my front porch. Last night, after the breakdown, everyone got in their red pick up trucks, said good night out the window, and went home for dinner.

Huh...

Am I on the right farm? Is this the family I grew up a part of?

Why isn't anyone else FREAKING OUT???

Well, I think they're all mentally spent from this crazy, downed, slow, long, bountiful harvest. And, along those same lines, the guys need a break before this last push to finish. I should be happy for these blessings in disguise, right? I should try to be more zen and look on the bright side, right?

Sure...

Guest Blog

2011-11-03T13:13:00.000-07:00

Houston, we have a husband!! It's a lovely, crummy rain day here in Farmington, and the kids and I are happy to have Joe around for a day! He's nervous, as every day we're in the field means one day closer to done, but it's nice to have him in the house.

Anyway, there is a neat idea around the blogosphere, and that is "theming" blogs about family, thankfulness, etc. We're happy to have been a part of Prairie Farmer's 30 Days of Farms and Families series, as well as a guest blog post for Illinois Corn Growers blog, Corn Corps, in their Thankful for Farm Families series. It's fun to link up with these folks, as we have a lot to share, and some of the folks involved are good friends of ours!

So, on this dreary day, curl up and read up, and pray that it does STOP raining some time, so we can write the Thankful for Our Strong Finish post!!

Lists

2011-11-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

If you ask any of my college roommates, they would attest to my list making issues. I would cover my desk, usually tucked underneath our lofted beds, with color coded Post-Its, which listed the hour-by-hour details of my day, allotting a time for even a shower.

I know, I'm dorky.

Fast forward about 15 years, and I'm still making lists. However, they are more of the grocery-getting, who to call, and remember to pick up the extra child from preschool kind. It seems silly that I would have to make a list for these things, but I err on the side of organized, I guess.

Thus, it's only appropriate that I should just get it out in the open and list the reasons harvest is making me a crazy-woman. We are nearly finished, about 8 to 10 days, Joe says. However, he's said that for the past 8 to 10 days, and I am starting to think he's becoming the contractor on the 80s movie, The Money Pit ("two weeks..."). These 8 to 10 days are going to be over and done with soon, and I know I can make it, but in the meantime, while I'm in the public, I have lately looked like I'm about ready to crack.

So, here it is: the great list of Why I Am Becoming a Crazy Woman, Thanks to Harvest
Reason #1: I'm constantly thinking about food. Like constantly, all the time, obsessively.
Does Joe need a lunch? Does he want something hot? cold? sweet? salty? Would he be upset if I ate the last of the brownies? Would my dad need something, too? Should we wait? Should we not wait? Should I stop obsessing about this???
Answer: YES!!!
Joe is happy to have something to eat with someone at some time, and I need to quit worrying about it, and just feed the poor dude a sandwich.

Reason #2: I'm with my kids, constantly.
At the hair salon, at the PTO meeting (which is named Parent/Teacher Organization and not Parent/Kid/Teacher Organization for a reason...and I have four of them), at the grocery store, at the gym, at the church, at home...we're all together, all the time. Now, this probably doesn't seem too strange, as I am a stay-at-home mom, but seriously, a gal needs to get her eyebrows waxed without having a four year old ask later, "Mom, remember when LeAnne put that hot stuff on your face...that was gross." Thank you, and I'll meet you at the waxing chair in 10 years. Anyway, I love my kids, and love to be with them, but when Joe is around, there are precious few hours that I can take, all by myself, and just breathe, complete a sentence, and not listen to Get Your Sparkle On on the Barbie CD for the 100th time.

Reason #3: I can't complete a thought, and thus, cannot finish emails, phone calls or blogs without wanting to hang up, delete or cry. I have been suffering from serious writer's block this fall, which is okay as I know that there's a time for all writers to do so, but I think the fact that the time that I do my most "alone" writing is from 4:30 to 5:00 in the morning before my workouts could be part of the problem, as well as the fact that I don't want to sound like a whiny, crazy farm wife all the time. There are a lot worse situations. I don't have much to cry about, but when you're by yourself, it's easy to invite yourself to a pity-party, for yourself.

And finally, Reason #4: Joe's my bud. I married the dude for a reason, and it wasn't just that he could reach things that are too high for me to get, I like him. I like to have him around. I like how we parent our kids together. I like that he balances out my craziness with his lack thereof. I need to be reminded to not spend too much money, to keep the ice cream situation at full capacity, and I need to be reminded that I cannot do this alone, and, thus, in February, when I want him to get out of the house, I should read this post and remember.

Please bear with me in these next eight to ten days, I am trying to look on the bright side of the end of harvest. Perhaps I should make a list....

Harvest, Hurrying and Home Runs

2011-10-27T05:51:00.000-07:00

Are you close to done?

Are you done yet?

When do you think you’llbe done?

These are questions I have been fielding from friends and neighbors as well as asked myself. However, it’s still harvest around here. The guysare still rolling, putting in long days and nights to finish strong.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, and even in thebrief moments of conversation my husband and I have at the beginning and theend of the day, I can hear the glimmer of hope for a good finish in his voice.

It is interesting to me, and maybe it’s not just withfarmers, but harvest and its progress is a barometer to Joe’s mood. When thegoing is good, busy, no break downs, etc., his mood is awesome.

Life is grand.

Couple this with the hope that the Cardinals, my husband’sbeloved team, are in the World Series, and you’ve got the mood of the century.

Hustling around here is not only harvest related, butgame-time determined. I am the runner of the family, but I saw Joe literallysprint from the truck to the shed the other day. Sprint. Joe. Yes, you readthat right. However, you have never seen how much hustling around a guy can doin the dark when the satellite wires needed to be jiggled. Joe can leave alightbulb that has burnt out for weeks, but when our DirecTV was out the othernight, just minutes before the first pitch, Joe was out on our roof, wearinghis headlamp, cursing the Satellite Gods.

Don’t worry, the wiggling helped, and the game was on…onlyto be lost in the end.

Sigh.

However, as of today, the series is tied, and like the endof harvest, we can taste a victory. We have had “end of harvest” talks: “Whenharvest is finished we’ll (fill the blank) get away, get arecliner, get a haircut. I have a feeling that if (when) the Cardinals winthe series, I can ask for roughly anything, and at least have it considered…don’tworry, my Pottery Barn couch is circled like the girls have circled the entire Toys R Uscatalog.

They guys are demonstrating end of harvest superstitions as well. Just as the red Cardinal ball cap is worn now on game days byJoe, the word break down is not to beuttered, even in jest. Rain is welcome, but only to give the guys a littlerest, and possibly fall enough so that the game can be watched. We are not totalk about frost or snow or the possibility of such until the last load hasbeen brought in. I’m also not allowed to joke about Albert Pujols beinginjured, traded or whatever until the end of the series.

No wonder why I’m stressed out…

Anyway, we’re nearing the end, and that is great. I’mhopeful that the return of my husband will equal the return of my alone tripsto the grocery store. With each Redbird home run, win, whatever and a bountiful harvest, nothing canstop us, right?

That is, until next season.

Find It Friday!

2011-10-21T08:48:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Friday again...Whoo-hoo!! And it's time for another edition of Find It Friday! I feel like I should subtitle this post, "What dis?" as that is a question I am asked on a constant basis, and have been asked for about six years.

Anywhoo...here's today's find it:

Another fun find on my counter as I was cleaning up for Papa Dick and Grandma D'lo's visit this afternoon (Joe always gets after me for cleaning before his family comes, but I like to appear to be together.).

Do you know what it is?

Ignore the dust on the counter...I hadn't cleaned that part yet.

Is it an orange construction cone for an ant farm?

No.

Guess again...

Think monster truck rallies, nagging wives, and noise...

Give up?
Do you care?
Are you still reading?

It's....

Earplugs!!!!

Why? Have we been to a monster truck rally recently? Has Joe heard enough of my constant nagging about putting his stuff away?

Answer: A surprising no!

Another subtitle for this find it could be Farm Safety: Hearing Edition.

Ask around...but speak up, because a lot of farmers have hearing loss due to many hours spent on noisy tractors, near unloading augers and possibly nagging wives...but we won't go there. Joe is trying to prevent this by using these ear plugs as he unloads grain carts. My hope is that he's preventing this so he can hear me say clearly, "Put these away so Amelia does not EAT THEM!!"

Anyway, I hope this Friday finds you enjoying life, taking in the nice weather (at least nice, crisp weather around here) by wearing a fun sweater or watching football, and hearing well.

And if you're around a farmer and he/she is unloading grain and not answering...don't blame it on aloofness, hopefully you can blame it on ear plugs!

Laundry Detail

2011-10-19T15:22:00.000-07:00

As a mom of four young children, wife of a farmer, and sweaty runner myself, laundry is an issue that needs to be addressed at my house, and often.

So, as a writer on the BlogHer's Life Well Lived panel, I have been asked to answer the following questions:

What are the biggest issues you face in doing the laundry?

and

Do you have help from the family (why or why not)?

and

What are the best time saving tips you have for getting the laundry done and put away with ease?

I'm laughing at my weirdness right now. Laundry is something that is a stress in my life, and when I step away and watch how it overwhelms, upsets and irritates me, that makes me laugh. I was even talking to a friend today, a fellow at-home mom, about the funny side of laundry. This mundane, necessary chore is something that causes me great strife at this moment in my life.

This is funny and sad simultaneously.

Laundry makes me stressed. That's funny. In a world where there's hunger and poverty and death and strife, I'm stressed about whites and darks and folding and putting away. That's sad.

What a life I lead.

Back to the questions: as I go about my life, ignoring the world around me and its problems altogether, the biggest issue I have is trying to do this necessary chore without worrying too much about it. Once I start, I start worrying, fretting, fussing.

Will I be able to fold it all before it gets too wrinkly?
Will I switch loads in time for the wet stuff to not have to sit in the washer for too long?
Will I EVER have an empty basket?

I know, these are deep issues.

However, I must press on! While I do get a little help from my loving husband when he has icky farmy clothes (that is, only if the washer is empty, and if it's not...well, that's another source of stress and strife, but that's for the marriage portion of Live Well Lived), my girls and little guy are not as helpful as I should have them to be. They are good at wanting to sit down and fluff stuff out for me, but I'm Type A. I'm a freak. I like things folded my way, and I totally blame my parents for this. You see, my dad was in the military and was/is also completely a neatnik, so he had a certain way of folding his underwear and undershirts. Seriously. They fit a certain way in his upper drawer of his dresser, and I'm sure if I look in it today, the folding will be the same (right, Mom?).

Anyway, I should have the girls sort their clothes, and I should do a better job of having them not put things that are just sort-of dirty in the hamper, but I'm lazy, I guess. I just hamper it all up, sort it all out, and start my daily laundry pilgrimage. So, I guess my answer to the time saving tips is that I try to do it, switch it, fold it and put it away immediately. That is a trick, but it's something that has to be done. So, in my comment on BlogHer, I'm probably going to be fired because although I love to be organized, I have more time to be smarty...read my comment here, and feel free to rebut my weirdness!

Sigh.

However, I know that this is a season in my life, and one day, I'll be 65 and wondering when the last time I did a full load, right? So, in the meantime, I'll continue to stress about this daily chore because I'm lucky. My life is pretty charmed, and if laundry is the biggest issue I face today, then it's been a pretty great day.

Tell me, world hunger and poverty aside, what are your big laundry snafus? Leave me a comment, and I'll love you forever!

And...just for fun and money...click here to enter to win $250 in the Life Well Lived Moments contest!

Beans, Beans...

2011-10-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

They're good for your heart...

Okay, so don't finish that phrase.

We're currently in beans, meaning the guys are able to work at a reasonable pace. It also means that the tractor rides are more educational for Anna, as my dad (the former ag teacher) is manning the grain cart. She announced yesterday after riding with Papa Ted that she got to try one of the soybeans.

"You what?" I asked.
"I got to eat one of them, Mom." she explained.
"Huh." I didn't know how to respond. I guess I have been living under the assumption that all of our stuff is inedible in its raw form. I mean, that's what field corn is, right? But soybeans...duh, Emily...don't I eat roasted and salted soybeans because Women's Running Magazine tells me it will help build muscle? Isn't that what we're growing?

Answer: yes.

However, I have never been one to just mosey out to the field and chew on a soybean. I like them roasted, salted, and from our good friends at Good Sense Snacks.

So this got me to thinking...am I missing out on a Farmer's Market opportunity? Should I be picking a load of soybeans, roasting them in my oven, salting them and packaging them up as Emily's Salty Soy Snacks?

Um, no. I don't have time to even make our regular dinner.

I know what you're probably thinking, "But Emily, don't you preach how your family helps feed and fuel our country?" Yes...I guess, however, I thought that our food and fuel had to go some where first and then be a food and fuel product. I hate to use the word processed because it has such a bad reputation in our society right now, but I guess I thought we had to take our crop out, have a little (gasp) processing, and then there you go.

However, after a conversation with my mom about "do we really feed the world?" I guess we do! How exciting! I know to all you farmers out there who read this are either sighing at my lack of knowledge or shaking your heads at my use of the "p" word, but, hey, my learning curve is still steep.

I guess I should be the one in the tractor with Papa Ted...maybe I'd learn something.

Find It Friday...Saturday Morning Edition

2011-10-15T06:37:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I had really good intentions of having a picture to go with this post, but it didn't happen.

You won't believe what I found yesterday during my Find It Friday hunt: MY HUSBAND!!!

Yes, that's right, Farmer Joe is my Find It Friday subject.

Thankfully, we have slowed down for a spell, as the guys are harvesting beans, and that's a two(ish) man job. So, we were able to get away last night for dinner and a show (that show being Wicked, and although I know I'm truly behind the times this being my first time seeing it, I now see why everyone who does see it says how amazing it is. If you haven't seen it, GO!).

Anyway, I found my husband, despite still being busy and despite his beloved Cardinals playing in their hunt for the World Series bid while we were in the theater, in khakis and a good humor, sitting beside me, only checking the score during intermission.

My hope was to document this with a picture, however, I didn't, so take my word for it...we cleaned up nice for our night on the town. It's few and far between ( I just wrote "farm" for "far," is that Freudian or what?) with our life right now to be found alone, not asleep, out for the evening. However, tonight solidified that I married the right guy. I truly enjoy my husband, just as the person who he is, not just the provider, father, and butt of many of my jokes on this blog. I need to remember that when I wish he would put his stupid coffee cup in the sink instead of on the front porch.

I am hopeful that we continue to have a busy, bountiful, and not so hectic harvest that I will allow me to enjoy my husband, and not just his laundry at night.

Here's hoping!

A Better Home, With No Garden

2011-10-07T09:07:00.000-07:00

So I have been a fan of Better Homes and Gardens magazine ever since we remodeled our home. I loved to pore through the pages, dog-earing ones that I loved, laughing at the ones I didn't. I have even gone as far as written in to their "Save My Room" columns, entered to win a landscaping re-do, and even sent in our house story, as I tire of reading the "we bought this random house and demolished it, uncovered hardwoods, exposed beams, etc." We did that...and wouldn't people want to read about how this is my grandparents' house, too? Well...not so much, as I got a lovely, "no thank you" email from them.

Sigh.

Anyway, I still read it quite religiously, however, find myself during this season doing a lot of eyerolling as their harvest themed rooms and decor are quite un-harvesty. Harvest around BHG is lovely, white, crisp and apple-y. Harvest around here is dusty, dirty, cobwebby, and corny (not har, har corny, but actual corn-y). Their white slipcovered furniture would not withstand the grain dust that is currently blowing into my house as I type. The guys are rolling now, in the field behind my house, and as the corn is harvested, the little red bits of the plant are sprinkled everywhere...including through the screens of my windows and onto my dark furniture.

Better Homes and Gardens would suggest that harvest is a time for enjoying the fall foliage, and this year is truly spectacular, but as any mid-level botanist would know, the dry conditions have caused the abundance of lovely colors. Which, for me, means a nervous husband during the month of August, and a completely and utterly obnoxiously dusty gravel road (again, see my dark furniture...what was I thinking??).

Life during harvest for BHG folks is leisurely, spent by their spectacular fire pits, roasting organic s'mores and fresh pressed cider. We are lucky to get a sandwich around here on the go, as meal planning has revolved around questions such as "will this heat up well?" and "could I stand to make this again at 9:00?"

Apples and pumpkins adorn tables and Better Homes and Gardens families frolic in the orchards showcased in the glossy pages of the magazine. My harvest attempts, not harvest activities, have included heading to the apple orchard with the four kids to only sweat through my clothes as I chased them down the U-Pick aisles. And then there's playing in the yard for us...which is nearly life threatening thanks to the grain carts and combine just feet from the girls' swingset.

You're probably noticing a theme...just as Virginia is for Lovers, Harvest is for Whining, and if you're a farm kid or a farm wife or a farmer, you'll know that this is a truly beautiful and bountiful time, full of worry, stress and sleep deprivation.

Don't let BHG fool you!

Harvest Realizations

2011-10-03T15:27:00.000-07:00

I have had the pleasure of staying at home with all of my children for the past six years. I quit a job that I loved to care for little people whom I love even more. I am not saying that there are days...nor am I belittling those who have chosen to stay at work (there are times I want to be you), however, I have had a little bit of an easy road as a SAHM.

You see, Joe has been around. He worked from his office at home when we first had Anna and lived in town. He would travel a few days here and there, but that was do-able. Then, we moved to the farm, he quit that job, and became a farmer. His office is still on the first floor of our house (makes it sound like we live in a Taj Mahal, but really, just an old 2-story), and his "workplace" surrounds us. He's in and out through the day, allowing me to traipse around, grocery shopping alone on days when it's slow around here, as well as helping me get kids from here to there. I am lucky; I realize this. However, I am not saying that raising four kids under the age of six is cushy, it's just that we're a team.

However, harvest makes me realize how much I need my other teammate. I can't do this alone, all the time. I am not a good mom, and especially not a great wife during this busy season. My husband, after working all day, is greeted every evening by my exhausted heap of a self on the couch. I know, romantic, huh? I'm surviving, not thriving during this time, and to those of you who do this on a regular basis...KUDOS. This stinks.

The first few nights, even a week, are fun. The kids and I eat pancakes with chocolate chips, like Daddy hates, snuggle for stories on my bed, and I get to watch my fill of primetime HGTV. However, once reality sets in and I am the one who is giving all the baths, doing all the homework, and refereeing all the fights do I wish I would have gotten my truck driver's license. I wish I could escape to watch the combine do its thing, bringing in the crop that will pay for the online shopping I do because I can't take all four kids to the Old Navy Baby Sale (heaven forbid I miss it!!).

Anyway, I sound whiny, and I don't intend to, but harvest is wearing on me, and we are still in the same field we've been in since Friday. Yes, Friday. It's not that big, it's that down.

We are blessed with a bountiful yield average, even though the corn is going to be tricky to get out, so I need to keep that in mind as I grumble giving the fourth bath of the night. I need to remember how lucky I am, in February, when I don't have to wake everyone up, bundle everyone up, and go meet the bus. I'm not alone, I'm just lonely at the moment.

However, everything is temporary. This feeling of loneliness is as temporary as the pumpkin display I have on my front porch and the Illini's 5 and 0 record. Just as the pumpkins will be eaten by my dog and the Illini will soon lose, my loneliness will wane, giving way to wanting Joe to just get out of the house for an hour so I can watch HGTV without commentary.

This is all temporary. I can do this.

Find It Friday!

2011-09-30T05:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's that time of the week again! Find it Friday!!

We had a crazy wind yesterday and into the night, so strong that it took down a toddler or two as we were trying to play outside! Not really, but the wind was strong enough that as we played, I watched the still standing corn sway and fight its way to stay still standing. Luckily, it's upright still. Here's hoping it stays.

Anyway, as I was readying my first grader for the bus this morning, I looked out the window to see my latest Friday Find! Can you tell what it is?

It's a feed sack. These lovely little ditties are here and there after a wind storm, as I think they are emptied and then put in the back of Joe's farm truck until there are so many they have to be removed for more feed sacks. I'm not sure.

Either way, it was blowing around in my yard, beyond the electric fence for our dog, and driving her NUTS because she couldn't get to it...and she loves to bark at inanimate objects.

There was another find this morning, and I couldn't resist posting. Here's what I found right after I took a picture of my feed sack find:

And yes, if you were wondering...he is a Major Cutie!

So, there you have it...another chapter in the Find It Friday book.

Happy Friday!

Farm King Fabulous

2011-09-28T05:53:00.000-07:00

Joe and I lead a rather parallel farmer to farm wife relationship. Because of my lack of experience and knowledge, there are very few things that I have to do that are farm related. Don't get me wrong, I am directly affected by what is going on at our farm, but I am not a combine driver, or a cattle woman, and rarely am I entrusted to be a part getter. We have enough people and vehicles to get what needs to be gotten by the getter who actually knows what he or she should be getting. Do you get?

Anyway, there are times that I do have to run to the Farm King for little things. No, they do not carry the fabulous purple Hunter rubber boots that I am thinking I need to get...not to go wading out in the muck to sort calves, but to have the potential to do so, and still look awesome.

I'm digressing.

Back to Farm King.

Now, it is no secret that I am comfortable shopping. I can waltz into Neiman Marcus or Saks on Michigan Avenue and browse the racks without skipping a beat. However, why is it that when I am requested to make a stop at the Canton, IL Farm King, I get a little uneasy? Is it the store's layout that makes me nervous: having to wade through the camouflage recliners, past the cake decorating and greeting cards to get to the snow tires? Not really. I love the hunt. Is it the fact that my 6 year old could tell me where to find chore gloves amidst the Columbia fleecewear and dog toys? Maybe a little. But really, it's mostly because, yet again, I stick out like a pair of white pants on a gravel road. My walk has no purposeful stride when I get to Farm King because this is foreign ground to me.

However, I have decided to make myself Farm King Fabulous. I will not be intimidated by the seven kinds of yellow flannel chore gloves, all with red elastic wrist bands. I will not be scared off by Carhartts and Dickies and Berne (Verne? I can't remember.) outerwear. It will all become a second language to me.

I will conquer you, Farm King.

I will navigate your crazy store layout, no longer meandering aimlessly through the Vespa scooters (yes, they sell those there), paint and greeting cards. I will walk with a purpose to my correct section of the store, and I will get what I need to get for Joe and have it be the correct thing.

Maybe.

And if not, I'll know where to return said item, and do so with ease.

Maybe then, the guys will trust me to go to get parts...

Find It Friday!

2011-09-23T05:54:00.000-07:00

Just a quicky today...

I have friends out in the blogosphere who write really cute, quick posts for "Work It Wednesday," or "What I Wore Wednesday," etc.

So, in honor of this trend in blogging...I would like to start up, "Find It Friday."

Today's edition is what I found in the washer and dryer today.

This is from the washer:

That's right. It's an Exacto Knife. I heard a lot of excessive banging around while my washing machine was going, but I figured it was the buttons on the bibs I was washing or something.

Only to be greeted with a KNIFE as I unloaded these work clothes.

Then, there's the ever present bits of harvested corn in my dryer vent, but I didn't figure that warranted a picture.

So, when you're extracting change from the dryer, remember me, and my farmer husband, with no need for change in his pocket, the one who wields a knife!

Happy Friday!

Fourth Meal

2011-09-21T18:45:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not talking Taco Bell here. Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately, I haven't eaten that since a bad run-in with a taco salad after the ACT exam Junior year of high school.

I'm talking harvest dining.

I'm talking making breakfast, lunch, dinner for the kids and myself and then dinner again for my loving, hardworking husband, the one who doesn't think that Peanut M&Ms and Diet Coke make a good evening meal.
Sigh.
I wish I were more like my 97 year old grandma, who, until about last year, cooked herself silly during harvest, wrapping meals and sides and drinks with fresh ice in foil and drove them to the field. I wish I had the gumption. I wish I had the drive. I wish I had TIN FOIL! Joe is lucky if I wave at him as he comes into the drive, dropping off his load of grain or just getting a drink of water.

I have failed in this department of farm-wifery. Recently, this failure has slapped me dead in the face as I have read on Facebook status updates and seen pictures of cute little farm kids delivering hot meals to dads on the tailgate of a truck. I have sighed as I realized what I cooked that day might not reheat well, and cringed at the thought of frying up a hamburger or some bacon at nine o'clock, and then cringed at the thought that I am not excited about providing a meal for my husband.

I realize that this is indeed 2011, and this meal preparation/delivery may sound a bit June Cleaver-ish, but Joe appreciates a hot meal when he comes home. It is 2011, I realize this. The microwave has been invented, and cardboard pizzas are actually pretty good. However, shouldn't I at least have something available for my hardworking husband when he comes home? Shouldn't I know something that either warms up well or whips up easy when Joe is late coming home? Shouldn't I be better at this, considering it's my fourth harvest season?

Answer: No.

I'm terrible at this. I would throw the kid card out, because it's easy and true, but that's not the whole story. I am organized. I love to sort and schedule. However, I hate to organize meals. I know it's better for my psyche and better for my budget to be more organized, but I can't seem to get it together. If I'm not good at prepping for three meals a day, how am I supposed to be organized enough to prepare an extra meal at this time of the year. Isn't popcorn a grain? Throw some peanut butter on crackers and call it a day, right?

Wrong.

However, I'm trying. I'm hoping that with the help of my mom (thank you for the meatloaf), the Pioneer Woman (have you tried her potato skins...they are AMAZING), I can overcoming this shortcoming as a farm wife. I'm hoping that when more than 50% of my kids can buckle themselves in their car seats, I will be more willing to set out at the hairy hour of 6:00, armed with a fresh meal for my guy.

But, for the time being, I emplore all you seasoned farm wives, wives of husbands who work late, or just people who know anything to make that is easy, please, please, please send your ideas my way!

My marriage and husband's nutritional balance depends on it!

Combines and Control Freaks

2011-09-20T09:49:00.001-07:00

I hear it.

I can smell it.

I can see the grain dust.

The control freak in me wants to run around my house and shut all the windows to keep the dust out from the field to the south of us, but I am not going to. I am going to listen. I am going to rejoice.

Harvest has begun...

...and it couldn't have come soon enough. The guys have been chomping at the bit for about a week now, as they have had a few moments that have tested their patience.

You see, we had some downed corn. If you can recall, we had a wind storm that I so poetically and gratefully posted about, stating that we were fine, our corn was fine, only to be greeted one hour later with rather grim details. It really turned out to not be so bad, but bad enough that we knew once we started harvesting it, we would be in for a long, long haul.

Thus, a new piece of equipment was purchased. Retail therapy-farmer style.

Anyway, this new part of our corn head is to help pick up the downed corn. It's pretty fancy looking, not so scary as the reel we have that you have to take on and off (I think), and looks like a spider. This is more sleek, spikey looking, and stays on the whole time the corn head is on, whether the corn we're harvesting is up or down. Pretty neat, huh?

However, with this new piece of shiny stuff comes a whole package of technology, all of which must work perfectly in harmony for the new attachment to work properly.

However, we were missing a piece of said technology.

And, as of yesterday, a day that followed a rain--a rain that was nice, and not too much to keep everyone out of the field--, it was en route fro Minneapolis to Peoria to the dealership in Brimfield, and, if we were lucky, would be hand delivered by the mechanic in the morning.

Thus, out of the farmer's control.

Thus, a lot of sighing.

Thus, the combine is running a field where there isn't much downed corn because they cannot stand it anymore!!!

I am a control freak, so I feel like I can completely relate. The guys are excited, they're ready, it's the Big Dance of farming, and they're left on a beautiful September day to sit and wait on the UPS truck. They cannot stand it, and so they found other things that they could control to work on to keep their minds and hands busy. The mower was used around the buildings yesterday, as my dad couldn't stand to not be on something mechanical. Bookwork was completed by Joe, and he hates to do that on a nice day. My uncle, unfortunately, took the day to take his son to the doctor's for a football related injury, thankfully having the day to do so, but I know that he would have rather been in a combine cab...for obvious reasons.

They have spent the past week waiting on this part, trying to be patient, telling themselves that things needed to be greased (which they did), and that it's still pretty early in the season (which it is), but all the while, I know that all this tinkering and fidgeting is because the real thing they want to do, to harvest, is out of their control until that lovely white Kliene's truck comes up the road.

Well, I think the starting in the field across the road is a "take that, stupid part!" reaction. They are not starting where they would like to, but a control freak can only take so much. Kind of like me dusting when it's a dry day and my windows are open. You have to feel that sense of accomplishment some where, some time.

I'm excited that they're starting. It means a shift in my lifestyle at the moment, but Joe is always in a better mood when he's using heavy equipment. My dad is always in a better humor when he's busy, and my uncle is always happy when he's in the combine's cab.

Life is how it should be.

For now.

Real Simple's Got Nothin' on Freezer Beef

2011-09-13T16:15:00.000-07:00

I love the magazine, Real Simple. It has generally do-able ideas to make my life seemingly more organized, has fun fashion tips, and lots of well written, tug-at-your-heartstrings articles.

However, I always seem to skip the "meals in minutes" segments. Once, as a young, naive, newlywed, I scoured my magazine, trying to find easy recipes for two lovebirds, one being a tried and true red-meat lover. However, I tried a chicken dish with shredded yams and arugula, and was kindly asked to never make it again.

Sigh.

I'm not saying that the recipes are not good, nor are they not simple, but Real Simple, you've got nothing on my freezer full of beef. Take tonight's meal, for example. At 5:00, I assumed my family would want to eat, as they tend to do every night. So, as we were playing outside, I sauntered over to our freezer, pulled out a package of ribeyes and set them in the microwave to defrost (I know this is not ideal, and Real Simple folks would have had me defrost them sooner, but I forgot about dinner.). Anyway, after we had come in from playing, Joe took to the grill, I took to the stove and in 15 minutes, we had steak, garlic mashed potatoes, Texas toast, broccoli, and homemade applesauce (from my mom).

Seriously.

15 minutes.

Take that, Rachael Ray!

Now, I know that some of you do not have the luxury of a) a freezer full of beef or b) a husband who will grill happily all the time and/or c) stay at home and can saunter around defrosting meat at 5:00. However, I urge you to try to stock your freezer with beef. Pounds of hamburger. Packages of ribeyes, sirloin, and round steak. Roasts of the Chuck and Arm varieties.

These will get you a lot more praise and a lot more longevity than a recipe calling for a bunch of freshly shredded yams and arugula.

Not that I don't like either...it's just that when you have a good base, like really good meat, you can go a looooooong way with just a potato.

So, for those of you who are saying, "I don't know where to get good beef!! How do I get this wonderful time saving, nutritious and happy meat?"

Ask around.

Someone has a cousin, dad, cousin's husband's dad, mother-in-law's neighbor or whatever who is a beef producer. Ask if they sell beef in quarters or halves. If you have limited freezer space, ask a friend to share a quarter with you. You will curse the fact that you won't be able to wedge in ice cream and Lean Cuisine, but you will thank me later...as you will not need either the ice cream or the Lean Cuisine....you'll be skinny from not eating the ice cream and ugh...who wouldn't choose a lean hamburger over a cardboard Thai dish by our friends at Stouffers?

If all else fails, go back to Real Simple and buy your groceries for the week from their list, make their fancy multi-step meals.

I'll be at my house...dining on a ribeye.

Remington, My Running Buddy

2011-09-12T05:09:00.000-07:00

I started running this morning, and, as usual, started making a list of all the reasons I hated running in the country: the skunk that met me at the edge of our yard, the deer that made me turn into Russell from the Disney movie Up, clapping three times to get them out of my way, the garbage truck that kicked up dust as it passed.

However, once I hit the hard road, I was back to liking being out here, running alone in the early morning light.

Alone, until I passed my cousins' house and their beloved chocolate lab joined me.

Sigh.

"Go HOME, Remington."

Remington is part of the pair of labs my cousins got around the time we had our first dog. They were a pair. They would disappear for days, spending one Christmas in Doggie Jail (i.e., the pound). They were often trucked home by friends as far as five miles away, and were always frolicking with each other...just not in their own yard. They're friendly, not jumpy, not barky, but not homebodies.

Unfortunately, Gunnar, the yellow lab of the pair, was killed on one of their adventures. Remington can be found out and about, but not as adventurous as when she had her buddy.

However, this morning, she was up for a run. So, she trotted alongside me up to the next neighbor's house, and when I turned around and she didn't, I thought I was safe to go on my way.

Not so fast.

She sprinted ahead of me, blazing past, stopping just long enough to poop, and then started again. We passed her house, and even though I called for her to go home, she kept going with me.

As we neared the corner where our road meets the hard road, I knew she would go home, as this was the corner where she can sometimes be found hanging out with the other neighbor's dogs. I thought now I was free to trudge back. I went a little farther and a little faster today, and was hurting. Remington turned the corner with me, and by my side, she kept me going, all the way to my yard, where she promptly set up shop on our deck and snacked on Sadie's (our dog) dog food.

As Joe hauled Remington back to my cousin's house, I realized how nice it was to have a canine companion this morning. I wasn't as skittish as I neared the corner where I sighted the skunk, and when the corn rustled, obviously not from the wind, Remington headed towards it and scared whatever it was away. I just kept going.

Maybe I could make this running with Remington a new thing.

Maybe it would keep her out of doggie jail!

One With Nature

2011-09-09T05:26:00.001-07:00

Do you ever feel one with the world? One with nature? At peace with all that surrounds you, almost as if you could step out onto the porch, reach your arms out, have a few little birds perch on them, squirrels nuzzle at your ankles and maybe even understand what the rabbits are saying?

Nah, me either. That's only in Disney movies, right?

However, today, I felt sympathetic with our mama cows. Joe is weaning the calves, as they are big enough to be solely fed by pasture and hay. Just as a mother weans her baby, these calves need to be on their own, will be fine, but the mamas, I'm not so sure about.

The weaning process is a little different from what I read when I was expecting our first child. In the Breastfeeding Resource Handbook (otherwise known as a book to make you feel inadequate if you a) didn't nurse your children or b)wanted to ever wean ever), the authors suggested a joint decision with your child about weaning. No date, no age, no time line...just let it happen. Well, if you've ever nursed a one-year old...it's kind of hard to have an honest, open discussion about nursing.

I'm digressing.

Anyway, so weaning calves is a little bit science and a lot of just separation, from the way I see it...rather, hear it from my window. Joe notes the size, age, etc. of the calves, and by the sign of the moon and the Farmer's Almanac, he then decides which days each set of calves will be weaned.

Seems easy enough, right?

Except for the fact that you have to move the cows, separating them from the calves, or vice versa, to a completely separate pasture, and then keep each set of cattle from looking for one another.

And what does a mom do when she can't see her child?

She yells.

She hollers.

She BELLOWS.

So, this is what we have been listening to since last night. Our mama cows across the road are looking for their babies, feeling the pain of sore udders, and wondering what the heck is going on.

I feel so sorry for them. I'm so lame, I know, but I can't help but wonder what those mamas are thinking. They can't find their babies. They are in pain. I want to go over there and tell them the calves are just a little ways away, but, unlike my Disney-fied nature girl version of myself, I don't speak cow.

The beauty of cattle, however, is that after a day or so, they'll all be fine. The calves will continue to frolic in the pasture, now growing bigger and stronger on grass and hay. The mamas will be reunited, sort of, with the babies in a while, but will not have reuniting like a movie, running through the pasture to their long lost babies...more like a "Hey! Where you been?" moment, and then move on to their next patch of grass.

For now, I'll listen to the mamas and feel sorry for them. I wonder when I will get used to and quit feeling sorry for the cattle at this time of year. Maybe never. However, in a few days, like the cattle, I'll note the silence and shoo away the birds, squirrels and rabbits on my way out the door!

Overwhelmed?

2011-09-07T05:58:00.000-07:00

I can see the eyes rolling...I'm a stay-at-home mom, why in the world should I be overwhelmed? Why should I feel any type of stress when my big daily decisions consist of snack and wardrobe choices and whether or not the beds are made?

Well, I know my deadlines are generally self-imposed, I'm not working on curing cancer with my decisions, but a girl is allowed to feel stressed, right?

Last week was rough around here, and I couldn't put my finger on it until this morning as I was driving (yes, I get up at 5:00 AM to exercise. Yes, I know that's crazy, but that's the only time I have to myself!). As I drove down the blacktop, the sun was starting to rise, peeking up over the tassels of the maturing corn. It gave off an almost strobe light effect, and was pretty cool, but when I reached the corner where our field with the downed corn is, it stopped. The light was no longer a rhythmic shadow and shine on my windows, but had a choppy discorded rhythm. Upon realizing that it wasn't the clouds, but the up and down and all around of the corn that was causing this effect, all I could think of was dread. Fear. Nervousness. Anxiety.

Harvest is coming, and it's going to be a bumpy road.

Talk about foreshadowing.

The guys have been working on installing the reel, an attachment to the corn head of the combine that will help pick up the twisted and downed corn in our fields. While we do not have a lot that is on the ground, a little can go a long way. My hope is that we'll get to those fields first, get it done, be pleasantly surprised with the results, and have smooth sailing from there.

Yeah, right.

This is already a stressful time in our family, even though Joe is a good pre-marketer of his grain. Meaning, he works with a trading advisor to sell his grain at a price that is hopefully the best, but also the safest bet for our family. Many farmers sit on bins of grain and wait for the markets to go up and up, waiting to sell when the price is at its highest. They can spread out their grain checks throughout the year as the market waxes and wanes. Need some cash? Sell a little gain. This is a gamble, and while it works for some farmers, for us, a family of six depending upon this income for the entire year, we cannot make that bet. So, we sell our grain with the safe bet, spread out our income with careful budgeting until the fall when our loads of grain are sent to the elevator. Now, we don't go out the next day and book a trip to Disney or buy a new vehicle or whatever. I would love to do that...don't get me wrong, but there are operating costs and bills and that little guy who we welcomed in May (but cancelled our maternity coverage the year before...oops) that we need to pay for!

So I guess my stress about the house and the kids and whether or not I'll be able to put the laundry away is really a substituted stress. I am substituting the stress of harvest and being a single parent for a few weeks for the stress of daily life. I am displacing my worries about finances and bills and instead focusing on why my curly hair is now back to the "white trash wave," as I fondly call it when my hormones are off. I'm stressing about the state of the front porch and our shoe system that isn't being utilized because I don't want to have to worry about whether or not the grain will yield its maximum.

I can't process that, because, I don't fully understand the process still, but I do understand the implications a difficult harvest will have upon my family and my life.

So, I sit here this morning, worrying about taking all the kids to my haircut (Hopefully the white trash wave will be remedied with a fresh cut...because that's important! Note the sarcasm.), because I would rather worry about things that I can control, and talk about that to Joe, and sweep the downed corn and dry August under the rug.

Hopefully my weird overwhelmed feeling with subside when that combine fires up and the results won't be as dire as I am making them out to be. My hope is that I am just adopting the pessimistic attitude that most farmers get right before big farming events.

Hopefully.

A Breath of City Air

2011-08-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

Oh I am a city girl at heart.

I have accepted, enjoyed, and (as of today) love my life as a country mouse, but plunk me down in the heart of Chicago, and I suddenly become Emily, the city girl.

Give me your traffic! Give me the El! Give me the SHOPPING!!!

I'll take it.

However, I was in the city for another event as a part of the Illinois Farm Families campaign, so it wasn't all Crate and Barrel, Anthropologie, and Nordstrom shoes...even though there was A LOT of that!!

Anyway, on Thursday, I rolled out of my posh, downtown hotel room, coffee in hand and headed to the Daley Plaza Farmer's Market (for you movie folks...it's the plaza where The Blues Brothers ended). I met up with my other farmer allies and was briefed on what to do.

"Emily, go out in the market, pass out some literature, and talk to some folks."

Easy enough.

Or so I thought.

I started my endeavor to educate the business class of Chicago with, "Would you like to win free groceries for a year?"

I was met with a lot of ignoring, texting, and looks of, "Are you a scam artist?"

Seriously.

Plan B: Change my pitch to start with, "Interested in recipes?" (thank you Pork Producers for the free cookbooks) or "Are you interested in learning more about the farmers in your state?"

Answer to most questions: "No..."

Sigh.

However, I did have a few folks who were really friendly, and once again, were shocked to hear that I was a farmer's wife. Honestly people...it's the most bizarre compliment. Yes, I was wearing a cute dress (a casual one, but a dress that was trendy-ish nonetheless), and yes, I do speak in complete sentences, but I WILL NOT show up to an event in the plaza in the heart of the Loop in Chicago wearing bib overalls or an embroidered, collared sweatshirt (sorry, Grandma Mary).

Maybe if I would have, they would have trusted me more?

Hmmm...

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'll leave that outfit to the goofy looking grower from Michigan who had awesome peaches by the bushel.

Anyway, again, what I have learned from this opportunity is this was not the best way to connect with consumers.

I was comfortable there, and that made me strange in the eyes of the city folks. From the body language and distrustful and wary glances, these folks wanted me to probably be in muddy boots and coveralls. When I was happy to talk and explain our operation, they didn't have time to listen. These folks wanted to get their corn-syrupless truffles (note the eye rolling), gladiolas, and Amish made bread and be on their way. They weren't interested in talking to this Citified Emily...the one in fabulous shoes and big sunglasses...I was obviously pretending to be a farm wife. The other farm wives, the ones in the Amish tent, were the ones that they were questioning, not me. They had little bonnets. I had Ann Taylor.

Ugh.

So, I guess I was the one who was not necessarily discriminated against, but not trusted. I am just a frustrated city-girl-wannabe who desperately wants good PR for my husband's line of work. I'm not a scam artist who wants your social security number or your email address to send you some spam messages by the thousands!

This will not phaze me, however. I will press on! I will continue my pursuit to break through the stereotypical persona that precedes me. I will not wear a bonnet, however, will maybe not work so hard to fit in with the crowd in an event like this. I am a city-lover, but a country-liver, so I need to personify a balance in my style for times such as these.

But don't worry...no bonnets are in my future.

Guest Blog

2011-08-26T09:42:00.000-07:00

Hey! This week has been an active one! We're back from another adventure in Chicago as a part of Illinois Farm Families, and in the meantime, I got to guest blog at the Illinois Farm Families site! You can read my post here, and I promise to catch up with my writing when my laundry's done!!

Happy Friday!

There's Always a Chance

2011-08-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

We've been watching the weather with great interest. Every night, our lovely weatherman predicts the weather with intense emotion and excellent description, "Great day for being outside! Sun, sun, sun! Low humidity! There's a chance of maybe a shower or two popping up, but for the most part...a great day!"

Always a chance.

Never definite.

If you're wanting to run outside, get a tan, swim, or wash your car, this weather is awesome. If you're a farmer where we are, as well as a great deal of the state of Texas and into the Plains, you're dying for a rain.

There was a chance today. The sky has blued up three times today, complete with lightning, thunder, the whole works.

Not even the pavement got wet.

Joe is trying to keep optimistic, but whenever there's a chance, he'll say, "Do you know what a tenth, two-tenths, half inch (whatever) could do for our crop? Do you know how much we're losing every time it doesn't rain."

Sigh.

There goes my dreams of the denim couch in the Pottery Barn catalogue...not that I would ever really go and buy it after the fall, but with cash in hand, a girl can dream, right?

We're starting to worry around here, and that is never fun. Decisions are second guessed, dirt is kicked without conversation when the farmers gather, and worried faces scan the radar for just a sliver of green to pass our way.

We could be worse off, I know, but this month of August is already rough with summer ending, school starting, and with harvest just a breath away, and if we could just get a good soak, we'd be ready for the crop to finish its maturing process.

It's sunny now, and when Anna gets off the bus and the girls (and boy...even though he just sits in the stroller), and some friends will go outside and enjoy this lovely day, complete with low humidity, a light breeze and sun, sun, sun. I'm going to stay hopeful that a rain will come, so we'll go out and enjoy this nice afternoon because tomorrow, there is always a chance.

First Grade Motorcade

2011-08-18T07:57:00.001-07:00

Well, it has come and gone. The day was here, and now it's gone. The excitement, the anticipation, the planning...all for a great, smooth, seamless event.

No, I'm not talking about President Obama's visit to our area yesterday (which you can read about here, in great detail thanks to my fancy friend, Holly, who had the supreme honor of attending a town hall meeting with Obama.)! I'm talking about Anna's first day of school! Duh.

While we didn't require as much security as Obama's visit required, there was quite a bit of preparation, a lot of planning, and some fanfare in the past 12 hours. She packed her bag with the school supplies carefully chosen on a special shopping trip (sans the Prang watercolors, which we cannot find!). She set her alarm, laid out her clothes, and discussed the procedures that would take place in the morning. Just like the Wyffels family in Atkinson, IL, where Obama made a stop, we prepared ourselves for everything. We had a last minute bus time check from my aunt last night. We had a dry-run with our district open house yesterday, where the classrooms were found, questions were answered, bags were unpacked, paperwork gathered, and even a little bit of campaigning occurred (don't get too excited...but I'm running for secretary of the Farmington PTO.). Anyway, like any big event, a lot of care was taken in getting our little girl ready for the big day.

Then came the First Grade Motorcade. Between our car, my cousin's truck, aunt's SUV, and the actual bus, Anna had quite the group of cars taking off from the same point this morning. So exciting. The traffic on the road was blocked momentarily while the stop sign on the arm of the bus allowed for our precious cargo to load up. And then, just like that, she was off. Off for another big year at the "big" school.

Okay, enough with the Obama comparisons (my conservative, Republican husband is HORRIFIED and now thankful). While it is a big deal to send off any kid to school, I have to laugh at the reactions of some of the folks around where we live. We live very close to two districts, but, thanks to the lack of a logical consolidation years and years ago (my grandmother is still rolling her eyes about this one from beyond the grave), our kids go to the "bigger" district. This "big" school is geographically large, spanning three counties and five towns, but in the grand scheme of schools, is it really that big? I had a very nice woman ask me the other day how I felt sending Anna to such a "big school." I nearly laughed. Where am I sending her? Chicago? New York? No...just a school with five sections of first grade.

But this size is not the norm around the countryside. One or two sections of about 20 kids is considered a good size class in some districts. And while small class sizes and accountability of teachers (i.e., sitting next to them in church) is desirable, isn't it okay to be a small fish in a big pond? In my little world, small town America, where people know who's coming and going at all times, isn't it okay for Anna to not know and/or be related to everyone in her class? Shouldn't I be happy with the opportunities that come with a bigger district? In my small town, country world, it is nice to have something considered "big," other than a planter or a combine!

We might not have been big enough to be a stop on the Presidental motorcade, but our little first grader will have a taste of something bigger as she presses on in her schooling. And for that, I am proud.

You Can Eat Chicken, Emily...

2011-08-14T18:14:00.000-07:00

...and it won't offend me."

My father-in-law stated this as we sat down to a dinner out at the Mom and Pop restaurant in town last night.

Wait, what?

I can, what?

You see, my dear father-in-law is a life long pork producer. One of those guys who has weathered the storms of bad prices and bad press. He is an innovator of sorts in the pork world, moving the family's operation from outside pigs in the 80s to a successful and safe confinement (dare I write that word???) operation today. He rebuilt after a devastating tornado that flattened most of his buildings, but amazingly hardly harmed any animals.

He's a good guy.

However, he's a little bit opinionated where a menu is concerned. When I first started dating Joe, he used to scan the menus whenever we were out to dinner for all the "pork options," honoring his father's profession. When we were married, we served the best pork tenderloin one could serve to nearly 300 guests, in honor of his family's livelihood.

Therefore, when I was granted permission to order Amelia chicken strips, I nearly fell over.

I, however, ordered an awesome deep fried, ginormous pork tenderloin...which is what you absolutely should order at any mom and pop restaurant in Illinois. Seriously. Thank heavens I ran that morning.

Anyway, pork producers have been the target of so much bad press, but really, what is the honest to goodness truth is that they are usually the most careful, cutting edge, and meticulous farmers of the bunch. They have to be. In order to follow most EPA regulations, pork producers must keep buildings up to par. It takes an act of God to get my father in law off the farm for more than a few days because of the insane amount of work it takes to feed the pigs twice a day, make sure water lines are working properly and temperatures are kept comfortable for each little piggy.

It's a thankless job, thanks to all the crummy videos on YouTube and the people who don't understand the profession.

I don't understand the profession completely, nor do I enjoy it (who takes a whiff of a hog building and says, "yum?"), but I absolutely respect it, and in my father's presence, will always order pork to make him proud.

However, I did serve chicken enchiladas for dinner tonight, but we won't mention that.

But You Don't Look Like a Farmer!

2011-08-10T05:14:00.001-07:00

This was Farmer Image 101.

As I sat with a group of moms, city moms...moms who were attorneys and PR reps and television producers...I was met with shocked looks when I explained where I lived and what we did.

But you don't look like a farmer!

What do you wear?

You look...trendy!

Thank goodness! My belt and stacked wedges paid off!!!

Fashion aside, these moms were in this little cafe in Chicago to learn more about people like me, and were absolutely floored that I didn't show up in bib overalls and a goofy straw hat.

This is Farmer Image 101.

What a great opportunity. Along with Deb Moore (a fellow beef and corn and soybean producer's wife), Donna Jeschke (our friend Stephen's mom and a true farm wife...like, drives the combine farm wife!!), and Holly Spangler (my partner in crime on this road trip! Read her blog here...she's amazing), we stood in front of nearly 40 city moms, sat with them in a round table discussion, and listened to them in a comfy, mom and kid-friendly environment. Even though we had to put out fires and preconceived notions that they had gathered from watching movies such as King Corn and Food, Inc., had to explain to them why we use seeds that have been modified to withstand the elements, and laughed as we took compliments about how nice and trendy and fun we were, these moms were here to learn. They were hungry for information on the producers who help produce their food and fuel. They had legitimate concerns about what they purchased as groceries because they didn't have freezers full of beef and pork and sweetcorn. How could they? One woman commented that her groceries were delivered for the simple fact that she couldn't carry them up the three flights of steps, all the while toting her young son.

I never thought of that.

And I thought a detached garage was inconvenient.

Regardless of how we tote our groceries, where we raise our kids, and whether we hop into a taxi cab or a tractor cab to head to work, we all were hoping for the same thing that night: to understand each other. As moms, our language was the same, but after that night, I left with the perspective that our lives, although seemingly different, are intertwined. I, along with the three other ladies there that night, hope that when they think of grain farmers or beef producers or American/Illinois agriculture they see my face instead of what they see online or on television.

My hope is that we're not reinforcing the stereotype they already have formed, just as my stereotype of city moms who weren't going to hear what I had to say, already had opinions, and didn't want anything to do with me came crashing down that night. Now, there were moments when comments were made and questions were asked that were way off base, but my hope is that we answered them in a way that didn't make them feel ignorant or silly. My hope is that we were able to find common ground and explain why we do what we do.

My hope is that we were able to convey that what we do is all for the good of the land, as well as for the ability to send our kids to college.

My hope is that we were good ambassadors of agriculture to these fine women.

Ambassadors in great shoes!

What Ifs

2011-08-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

In anyone's life, there are a lot of what ifs, I realize. I just happened to encounter a lot of my what if situations in the past 48 hours.

We are back from a little getaway that included a trip to the Indianapolis Children's Museum along with some major pool time, family time, and car time. Most importantly, however, it included a trip through Champaign, site of our college days (ironically not spent together...Joe's OLD), and then our life as a couple, growing our family together with a family of people who were not related to us by blood, but close enough to be. As I sat in our church (I still call it ours even though we have been gone from it for nearly 5 years), I only cried three times during the service. It was a really great one, don't get me wrong, but when you're sitting in the church where you met your husband, had your wedding, and had your first child baptized, you get a little nostalgic. Anyway, I found myself what-ifing...

What if we would have never left?
What if we never became farmers?
What if we still lived here?

As we pulled away from the town where we called home first, I found myself questioning every decision I had made in the past six years. Should I have quit a job that I loved? Should I have put Joe in the position to move closer to my family? What if? What if? What if?

Well, what if?

Isn't that what life is all about? Isn't it supposed to be full of questions and re-examinations and moments where you say, "Well, that was a mistake"?

Well, I don't believe that we made a mistake moving here. However, I do miss my friends and family and proximity to a great place to live and learn, but it's not like I'm unable to visit or to make the best of what I have here. My college days were amazing and challenging and life changing. My life as a young professional was satisfying and difficult and incredible. My church life in Champaign was life-altering, and our life as a young couple and then family surrounded by this great community of people made us the parents and the spouses we are today. But it was the experience of all of this that helped us make the decision to leave and try this out. It was knowing that even though we're gone, our friends there are still rooting us on and running up to us when we come back to visit. I should be grateful for the opportunities I had while we were there, not questioning whether I should go back and try to do it again.

It's been done.

As we drove into our driveway and walked into the familiar home, our home, I felt a calm. This is right. This is where we belong. We aren't becoming bizillionaires as farmers, nor are we doing everything right as parents or husband and wife or whatever, but I only have a few times when I think "WHAT DID WE DO?" now that we live out here.

I'm allowed to freak out once in awhile, right?

Anyway, there are always going to be times when I wonder about whether or not this life is right for us, but I will always remember that where I am now is and was our decision, one that we made as a family, and that we have made the right one.

Besides, what would I write about if I lived in town????

By the Book

2011-07-30T17:36:00.001-07:00

I was just checking Facebook, and a friend of mine was commenting on how she was on Day One of "eating clean." After reading a few of the comments, I read it aloud to Joe, asking what he thought it meant.

His response: "We eat clean all the time."

Really? How do I know what's clean and what's not if I don't have this book that this woman is using? How can I do it, if I don't have the recipes, grocery lists, whathaveyou right in front of me?

Answer: We eat clean all the time.

Our dinner tonight consisted of a ham roast, from my father-in-law's hogs, sweet corn from our sweet corn patch, picked today by Anna and her cousin, grapes (which were from California), and whole wheat bread. Last night, same story: burgers from our family's beef cattle, tomatoes from the garden.

Did I need a book? No.
Did I eat relatively "clean?" I hope so. I don't have the book, and haven't done much past a google search on this topic, but I think I probably have a decent idea of what is clean and what isn't. At least, I hope so, as I think you can't get any cleaner and more fresh than this!

I know I'm lucky. I'm fortunate to have this fresh meat, produce, etc. at my fingertips, but it's not that hard to find someone somewhere who can help you to eat this way. Believe me, I'm no foodie, nor am I anything but a person who wants to eat well myself, have my kids eat nutritiously, to have all of us live a long healthy life, all the while having food taste good.

So do I need a book to eat clean? Probably not. I'm sure I'm not doing it exactly the way it's probably prescribed, but my point is I'm no food rocket scientist, and if I didn't have my own beef and own produce, I would have to search a little harder. However, my quest for you, dear readers, is HUNT(not literally, figuratively). Gather. Look around. Ask questions. To quote John Belushi in The Blues Brothers, "Bring me your children (actually I think it was sell me your children, but that freaks me out.)." Find a beef producer you know, or even one who you don't, and enjoy a hamburger from them before you proclaim that you hate red meat.

If all else fails, call me. Joe claims he can turn any vegetarian into a carnivore with one of his ribeyes.

I dare you.

Update

2011-07-30T17:11:00.000-07:00

Well, I spoke too soon.

Just a quick update on yesterday's "we dodged another bullet" post.

We have downed corn, but not so disastrous as it could have been, but frustrating nonetheless. Thankfully, we have a good strong "stand" on the plant (meaning, it was literally standing well before the wind came), so we're hopeful it will bounce up a little. Also, we have good crop insurance...in case it doesn't bounce up as much as we need it to and there is a loss to report.

The interesting thing about this event, however, is that it brings out a lot of interesting character traits.

Observation #1: My husband, who is generally laid back and focused, is a mess about this. He logically knows there's nothing he could have done to prevent this wind, but it is eating him up, and that is bizarre and unfamiliar to me. I'm the one who is supposed to freak out.

Observation #2: My dad, who is pretty high strung (see my personality) is very "it is what it is" about this whole thing. That
is something that I am not used to. He and my uncle, however, are a good team for Joe to work with. They do not freak out about the weather. They are absolutely not in control of it, so they will not stew about it. It's strange.

Anyway, I spoke too soon yesterday morning, but fortunately, again, we are okay. Just another bump in the road.

Lucky me.

ohpleaseohpleaseohplease

2011-07-29T04:59:00.000-07:00

I was up super early this morning for many reasons: newborn(ish) baby, quiet time without anyone needing anything, the potential (notice I said potential)of an early run to beat the heat. However, I decided to catch a bit of the news...and fell back asleep.

I was awoken by rain, glorious rain, but leaped out of my slumber to go and shut the windows on our entryway porch...the one where we keep most of our shoes. Aurgh. As I soaked myself, shutting the windows and laying down our pool towels (which are kept out there as well), I heard Joe get up, too, and begin to pace.

This rain, this glorious, soaking rain, was coming down in sheets, but was also accompanied by wind.

Scary, strong, nasty wind.

I could read Joe's mind as he stood in front of our big kitchen window:

"Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease...not wind."

Wind sometimes equals downed corn, which at this point, could be disastrous. Later in the growing season, it would also be terrible, but the corn could at least be mature enough to be harvested. Our corn is still forming its kernels, and if it were to snap and flatten, that would be bad, bad news.

But, it didn't. We got some rain, and some relief, and once again, I am contemplating going to monster.com and finding Joe a desk job.

However, as I write, in my soaked running clothes, I am reminded again that we are okay. We may be on edge 97% of the time, but we have yet to fall off this cliff called farming. I might be slightly annoyed with farming some times in my life, but I am not living in a place where my safety is compromised on a daily basis. My children are healthy, and we are blessed to have them healthy. All the things that I find around my house that need a little tweak and a brushstroke of paint are cosmetic; they are things. I'm not standing in a rubble heap after a tornado like those unfortunate folks in Joplin, Missouri (thanks to my mom for her Facebook status to remind me of that, again!).

I'm trying to remember that. Our ohpleaseohpleaseohplease moments are so small in comparison to what others go through, and I need to remember that. My pool towels can be dried, our corn crop still looks good, and all these things are miniscule in the grand scheme of life.

Remind me of that, please? Possibly tomorrow.. and the next day, and the next?

Worse Than a Curse Word

2011-07-24T09:45:00.000-07:00

"Rain, rain, go away, come again another day..." our four year old sweetheart sang as she ate her breakfast this morning.

I stopped my cereal pouring. Joe halted in his tracks.

"WHAT?" we asked simultaneously.

We were probably a little harsh in our tone, stopping this sweet girl in her song, but after weeks of no rain and a terribly, even dangerously, hot week, we are desperate for rain.

Remember those bullets I thought we had dodged earlier this summer? Well, that thought is coming back to haunt me.

So this conversation and a few tears from my darling daughter, got me to think. In a farmer's life, what's worse than a curse word from a farm kid's 's mouth? The wish for no rain.

This is new for me. I was baptized (literally and figuratively) by fire with a huge rain storm on my wedding day. As I looked out the windows of our church, praying that it would stop raining for the grand exit, hoping that I would be showered with rose petals, not rain drops, I was told by my mom, a late in life farm wife..."Never, ever curse an August rainshower."

Great.

So, it poured on our wedding day...so loudly that people still talk about the fact that they couldn't hear the pastor's message or our vows during the ceremony. And our video, shot from the rafters of the metal and steel building --sigh-- it's a beautiful picture, but the sound is something to remember...or forget.

But I digress. Here we are, nearly eight years after that day, and I'm just now getting the message. We need rain. And we need all the good rain vibes we can get. So we have put the stop to all nursery rhymes that ask for rain to go away. When Anna had a t-ball game cancelled due to rain, we didn't pout. Tonight's Vacation Bible School at our church would probably go off a lot smoother if it was not raining, but we are not worrying about that.

We need rain. I will do a rain dance if I have to in order to keep it going.

Because what's important at this moment in our farm life is rain, and no one better cuss it today!

Separating the Men from the Boys

2011-07-23T11:02:00.000-07:00

In all professions, there is a certain speak, a verbage, a set of acronyms, phrases, whathaveyou that set apart those who are in that particular field from those who aren't. From a doctor to an engineer to a coach to a teacher, heck even a truck driver, when each of these folks are in the biz, they speak the dialect.

The same goes with farming, and there are times now that I have to catch myself for becoming snobby when some one uses the "wrong" term for something "farmy." For example, this is the time of year we process steers for beef. We did this last summer, too, and every time I heard one of our satisfied customers comment on the "cow," I caught myself snickering. COW??? How's the cow? Silly, silly city-folks, this is not a cow (which is actually a female), it's a steer (which is a male), and most correctly, it's a beef that is being processed, not a cow. After ten minutes at the locker plant, this steer becomes a beef, no longer living, but now being processed for our enjoyment and nourishment.

However, why should I be snickering? Wasn't I just the one not knowing the difference a mere month or two ago?

Answer: YES!

But where does that leave me? Am I an expert now? Have I crossed over from being a young padiwon learner to a Jedi Farmer of sorts?

Answer: NO!

Although I know the difference between a cow and a steer and a beef, I still have so, so much to learn. And that's why, I'm kind of freaking out about my month of August.

As a part of the Illinois Farm Families campaign, I am helping out at a few events. One for just moms with questions about agriculture in a quiet, kid-friendly (maybe that's an oxymoron) coffee bar in Chicago, and another is at the Daley Plaza Farmer's Market, also in Chicago. Thankfully, the moms having coffee and those unsuspecting farmer's market patrons will- hopefully- not be fluent in farm-speak, but the other agricultural representatives will. GASP!!! Another moment for me of, "WHY AM I HERE?"

I'm practicing, however. I'm brushing up on my new language, and will try not to sound like a moron when asked a question. I'm also planning my outfits, so as to look like I'm not too "downstate," but not so fancy that I look like I'm trying too hard. Black pants, it is!

Anyway, my point is, any one can learn to talk the talk, it's figuring out how to talk it in a way that people understand and care about what you're saying is what is most important.

That, and what shoes to be wearing while you're talking!

The Pilot's Wink

2011-07-21T09:47:00.000-07:00

Okay, so have you ever been close enough to a plane's cockpit to see the pilot wink at you?

Not while it's on the ground, but in mid-air? Potentially above your child's swing set?

If you have, you're probably a farm kid, wife or farmer, as crop dusters get close enough to the ground in order to apply fungicide (in our case) that you can see him wink. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration, but I do know that the pilot is a guy, and I'm sure he knows my shirt is purple and that we need to water our flowers, as he has been buzzing just feet above our house from north to south, covering the corn fields on either side of us.

This is a fascinating, albeit frightening, aspect of farming. This application must be done at the precise time, as in a teeny tiny window of time when the plant will take the fungicide and use it to fight off any and all diseases and pests. This application must also be applied close, but not too close, to the plants, mere feet above the fragile tassel of the corn plant. It is amazing to me, especially when the plane looks like it could come crashing through our family room windows.

My kids, however, are a little less excited once the crop duster's first pass is over. Crop dusting, like any other farming practice, is a bit of a "season," and we're now in week two of application. The first day we were buzzed by the yellow and blue aircraft, my two older girls raced from one end of the upstairs to the other, announcing the arrival and departure, as any miniature air traffic controller would. Amelia woke up in distress from her nap the first day after hearing the plane as it whizzed past our house.

Now, they're watching Barbie and the Fashion Fairytale, and not batting an eye. Even the dog is no longer hysterical, and she barks at the corn at night.

We've become as jaded as city folks who live near an airport or busy expressway. Just another day...one that includes a plane a mere 6 feet from your house!

Anyway, I'm still infatuated with the crop duster planes. As I stepped out onto the deck to wave at the pilot the first year we lived here, I wondered how we would ever live here, with all of this stuff being applied around us. However, this is all a false worry, and something that folks should just marvel at, not worry about. This fungicide would not hurt you, your kids or your plants. The only person who can get hurt from a crop duster's application is the pilot himself. But, even a wreck may not be deadly, as last year, right after spraying one of our fields, a pilot crashed, but walked away from the accident, completely unscathed from his wrecked plane.

That in itself is amazing.

So, if you ever get the chance to step out and watch a crop duster, do, and do without any worry of sprouting an 11th toe, third eye, or hair in weird places. Look at how low they go. Marvel at their precision, and if you're lucky look for the pilot's wink.

Weekend Woes

2011-07-16T15:01:00.000-07:00

We messed up last night. Well, actually, I messed up. Apparently, at the last t-ball game, amidst the chaos that is t-ball itself and t-ball pictures, there was a schedule change. So, when Anna and Joe showed up at the ball diamond, they were there, for the last batter, as our game had changed times.

I was supposed to know that.

It's now Saturday, the day when families are supposed to be fishing, swimming, grocery shopping, and the like, and it's 5:00, and Joe has just stepped into our "little porch," drenched in sweat from square baling hay in this crazy heat.

Thankfully, I'm not the one baling hay...I made a cake, but seriously. I have a love/hate relationship with the weekend. I know that this is supposed to be family time. Time to relax, time to regroup, time to spend together, but it is just another day for us. It's just another time when things have to be done. There's no grocery shopping together. There's no Saturday laziness. It's another day.

It's becoming obnoxious.

Sorry farmers, I'm a little annoyed right now. I'm sure that this is the life that we want. I'm certain that this is the profession Joe loves, but I'm also certain that there are aspects of this life that I cannot stand. While Joe takes care of all things farming, my job is to take care of most things kid (I say most because he does do a lot with the kids), but there are times when I cannot cram any more into my little brain, and I need a 9 to 5 dad with weekends off to step in sometimes and help me figure this life out. I'm blaming this t-ball incident on farming...can you tell?

Another weekend preconceived notion I have is playing around with the kids, doing yard work together, and generally hanging out on Saturdays. However, when Joe works all day outside, even on the hottest of days, even on a Saturday, when we are enjoying the slip-n-slide, why would he want to run around with the girls outside when he could and should be cooling off in the air-conditioning? Why would golf or fishing or hunting appeal to him, when he's out in the elements at all times?

The summer is getting to me. I'm feeling like we are just treading water...literally and figuratively, if you count the pool time we've had. I feel like our cup is running over with blessings, but we barely have time to enjoy said blessings because of hay and cows and wheat and the weather and a newborn and a toddler and our two active big girls and playdates and the like. When do we slow down?

More like, how do we slow down?

The simple answer is, "do less." Thank you, Mr. or Mrs. Obvious, but then we would be bored, right?

Honestly, I wish that Anna didn't miss last night's game because I wish I would have heard or written down or listened more carefully to the schedule change. I wish Joe could be around at 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon instead of after 5:00 because then maybe we could do something as a family, other than what we do nearly every night...however, with a newborn, a 2 year old and two other big girls, what can you do?

My expectations for what my family picture looks like and how and when we do things are high, I know, and farming is cramping my style! My hope is that I'll look back at these days and think, "wow, was I tired, busy and INSANE, but happy."

So let me vent for a bit, and then I will choose to be happy. Take that, farmer's schedule!

It's Always Something

2011-07-16T04:43:00.001-07:00

In the fall of 2000 (loooong before I ever even dreamed about being a farm wife), it was downed corn, corn plants knocked over late in their life (thank goodness...because there were some kernels to harvest). I rode with my dad, since that was the only time we could see him that fall, in the cab of the combine. We drove roughly 2 mph, crawling through the field, picking up corn kernels with a contraption hooked on to the corn head of the combine that looked like a spider's legs. That was the year of my brother's wedding, where the guys leaped off the combine to come to the festivities, and then leaped back on, frantic in their pace.

In 2009, it was the rain, and rain, and rain. We probably should have considered an ark instead of whether or not we needed more dry storage that year.

Now, in a year that we have felt that we have dodged major bullets, the farmers are starting to get a little nervous. I have actually heard the sentence, "We could use a little shower," uttered a few times too many for me to know that now, we could really use a shower. After watching the radar this spring, and early this summer, and hoping beyond hope that the red and even pink blotches would not hit us or our family a little south of here. After seeing pictures of our friends' field (yeah, it's you, Andy...you made it again!), damaged by hail, although we wouldn't take something so extreme, the rain that accompanied that devastating hail would be welcome.

Our ground is in pretty good shape, thanks to some really good soakers this spring. However, the forecast is calling for extremely hot temperatures and no rain this week and even into the next.

Good for the pool. Bad for the farm.

It's always something.

Even last night, as Joe was wrapping up paperwork for his "other job," he mentioned that some of his clients were concerned about Japanese beetles. These are potentially devastating to a field.

Great.

So, this morning, as I'm writing, I am looking out at my grandpa's field. The one that looks really good. The one that's now taller than Joe, complete with tassels and little yellowish silks on the ears. The one that Joe used as a little agronomy lesson for me: if you notice that a corn field has ears and silks that are at a uniform height, that means that it has the potential to be good. There's some more to that explanation, but I forgot it. However, what I noticed was the semantics he used (because I am, in fact, a huge word nerd). What he said was the potential.

Always the optimist.

Today, even though my girls are psyched about breaking out the slip-n-slide, and we're looking forward to slathering on the sunscreen for the library's swim party, I will also be looking to the sky, hoping that these hot, hot temperatures will brew a pop up shower now and then during this week.

However, it can't have wind.

Or hail.

Or too much rain.

Because...it is always something.

World's Largest Wienie Roast

2011-07-09T14:44:00.001-07:00

Isn't that what straw bales are for? Sitting fireside on a fall night, roasting a hot dog with 1000 of your closest friends? Well, we have the straw bales for you! I'm not sure if it's really 1000...or if it's more or less...I'll get back to you, but judging from the straw that has come out of Joe's pockets and the sweaty shirt that is draped over my deck railing, we have baled a lot of square straw bales yesterday and even more today.

Not hay bales, mind you...straw bales.

There's a difference, didn't you know? The agricultural readers out there will probably correct me or laugh at me, but from my limited knowledge, when Joe mows hay, he mows it, rakes it (which is like combing it), and then bales it up in large, round bales, which we use as feed for the cattle. This is done multiple times of the year, and is a constant source of stress and weather related swearing.

Straw, on the other hand, is done once a year, with a crew of people, and is baled up in square bales, racked on a hay rack (think homecoming floats or hay rack rides at the apple orchard), and stored to also be to bed down barns in the winter for the cattle, among other things. My dad, our employee, and a couple of his friends/relatives are out there working alongside Joe to get this task completed. Part of the fun of this job is that it always, without question, has to be done on one of the most hot, humid and sticky days of the summer. Didn't you know that, too? Well, that's not entirely true, but if you were to ask around the countryside, the majority of those who have dealt with straw baling would agree...it's hot, it's sweaty, and it's backbreaking work. Talk about awesome cardio...maybe I should have gone out today!

Anyway, no, we are prepping to host the world's largest wienie roast this year, but we do have a heck of a lot of straw bales en route to the barn right now. My hope is that Joe will finish up this task in a timely manner, and try to remember to shake out his pockets before coming inside next time!

The Garage

2011-07-06T18:37:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, there lived a sweet couple. Not only were they newlyweds, they were also the proud new homeowners of a lovely gray ranch house on a shaded lot. The wife of this couple adored her little house, sans the duck-adorned wallpaper that came off even before the papers were signed. With great care this wife took to making this house a home.

The sweet husband was in dude heaven. He was not only the proud owner of a new John Deere lawnmower, and 3/4 of an acre to mow, he had a 3 car garage to store it in. The garage was not only huge; it was heated, had a full sized fridge/freezer combo, was full of cubbies and shelves and pegboards and hooks, and even had a pull down, walled attic above the third stall. It was bliss with a concrete floor. It was organized. It was a man's dream.

As the couple added to their family, the garage started to fill. A jog stroller as well as a baby travel system (fancy way of saying, another stroller) were covered with great care, blanketed in old sheets and unveiled when their precious baby girl arrived, only to be recovered to keep them in pristine condition. The third stall soon housed a neighbor's unused vehicle for a time being, since it was a wide expanse of unused space.

It still remained bliss on a concrete slab.

Alas, the couple moved from this sweet ranch, and left the lovely garage to another family. The couple moved to the country, and traded their three car garage for a detached, supposedly two car garage on a dirt/gravel road. They blissfully traded, do not get me wrong, but traded nonetheless. The strollers remained covered, but this country dust has a mind of it's own, creeping in through the old sheets.

Okay, enough weird story telling style. It's the dog days of summer; we're outside a ton; it hasn't rained in days, and I'm OVER my garage. We indeed did live in garage heaven, however, I wonder what it would have been like once the Little Tykes ride-on purchasing would have begun? I was never crazy about my garage in our old house, but what was there to be crazy about? There was a place for everything and everything had its place. However, we had ONE kid, who owned two strollers, one Cozy Coupe car and one Little Tykes boat. Now, it looks like a Little Tykes little stockholder and buying convention happened in my garage, as there is no more room in the inn for any other vehicle besides mine. I just went out to try to clear a path so that we could walk in, but it is futile.

Another exercise in futility is trying to keep this place clean. Between the grain dust and the road dusts, there's no point. My hope is some day to have a garage on the other side of the house, attached, not facing the road. Here's to hoping.

So, here's my question: is this normal? Am I living in a fantasy land, expecting my husband to help with the organization of our toys, balls, bikes and strollers (of which, we now have five...I know, it's sinful) amidst his chore boots, tools, and other supplies? Should I expect a guy who works all day, and some times into the night to give a rip about whether or not the bike helmet is on the right peg, and not resting atop a muddy and potentially cow-manure covered boot? Is is wrong to wish that some time, some day, someone else will notice my garage door is open, and close it before filling a semi, and subsequently a garage, full of pink grain dust? Yes, I love the color pink, no I do not like it all over everything.

Sigh.

This fairytale will not, however, have a tragic ending. The garage will not conquer me, as I will conquer it some day! I will continue my quest of sweeping, organizing, and sighing every time something is out of place. Do not fret, however, for this couple continues to be blissful homeowners, however, some day, some time, some where, they will live even more happily ever after, complete with an organized, clean, and lovely three car attached garage.

A Combine? In JULY?

2011-07-05T04:49:00.000-07:00

After finishing reading my news feed on Facebook this morning, I'm realizing once again the differences between living on a working livestock/grain farm and my townie friends. Even though Joe was able to come with us and enjoy fireworks in town last night, he was yawning incessantly due to the simple fact that it was later than we're usually out (we're usually snoozing on our respective couches the second the kids are in bed...is this normal?), but he was also exhausted after a day spent in the heat prepping the combine and wagons for our wheat harvesting today.

Yep, that's right. Wheat. We have wheat...did you know that? I knew that at one time we had wheat, but thanks to our busy fall, I must have missed the conversation about planting...excuse me sowing wheat. Oops.

Regardless, it's early, two of the four kids are up, it's basketball camp/library/t-ball day, and Joe's already out the door, hauling a load of corn to get the semi cleared out before the wheat needs to be put into the semi's hopper bottom (or trailer with a mechanized hole in the bottom, as I like to think of it).

The lack of Joe's participation in all of our Fourth of July activities is not what struck me this time, it's the combine! In JULY! I nearly had a panic attack when I saw it, feeling the nervousness and loneliness I tend to get when we're deep in the heart of harvest. I started to rifle through the pantry to make sure I had Nutty Bars, a harvest staple, and then caught myself:

IT'S JULY. And, it's WHEAT. Thus, this harvest is only a DAY or TWO!! Whew.

So, as my panic attack subsided, my questions started. Joe's not super thrilled to have wheat, as it's harvest time is not quite ideal. No, he's not lamenting the fact that the fourth of July was not spent camping or golfing or swimming. He always laughs that outdoor leisure activities are not his style, as his job is spent outside most of the time. What's the fun of nature when you're in nature already? Anyway, he's feeling the time crunch of hay mowing and baling as well as loads of grain that need to be hauled for July contract dates (grain contracts are like a deadline or a due date). He's also seeing the importance of being present in our kids' lives. A benefit of farming (and there are not many fringe benefits...sans a seed corn cap or two) is the ability to be present during the day, in and out of the house and yard with the kids. It's a blessing and curse, Joe will tell you, as I depend on him way too much for every day things, and when he's not free, I'm shocked. Anyway, being present is tricky when there's a crop that is time sensitive.

Thankfully, however, Joe's wheat harvesting is just a day or two, and he will be able to sit a kid or two on his lap as he drives (actually, the combine drives itself, but that's another post) the combine through the picturesque wheat field. With my panic of seeing the combine subsiding, I will gladly pack and Nutty Bar in honor and preparation of the season that causes me great strife.

I guess this is just a warm up.

Back in the Saddle

2011-07-01T05:17:00.000-07:00

I guess I should be careful with my title, as I am not literally back in the saddle. Living on a cattle farm, one could get confused. I am speaking in the figurative sense of the phrase, as I have been cleared for running.

This makes me happy. This makes me whole, and this is usually marked by a new pair of shoes, a new outfit, new route, and a renewed love of a sport that brings me balance.

I'm balanced, or as balanced as I can be, but with the USDA crop report (think the 1983 classic, shown weekly on USA Trading Places) out yesterday, with the market projections limit down (if you don't know what that means, I wouldn't suggest asking a grain farmer, unless you want a deep, frustrated sigh and a not-so-happy explanation), a new outfit and shoes were out for the time being. However, I am looking at the bright side of no new shoes, as running on gravel in new shoes would be foolish.

I'm digressing.

Anyway, back to being in the saddle, so to speak. As I put on my running shoes, I took off on my second run of the postpartum running season and noted a marked difference in my run, route, and thoughts between my first and fourth children. Instead of running the "country" trail at Lake of the Woods Park, ticking off my mileage by noting the spray painted mile markers along the paved, well manicured path, I took off from my gravel driveway to the gravel road, dodging a dead bird and then a live snake. Instead of meeting other runners, I met mama cows, who gave me inquisitive looks as I pep talked myself up the hill. Cars whizzed by me, but unlike city commuters, they looked, waved, and were potentially the t-ball coach, a cousin, or a neighbor off to work, chores, or to the coffee shop for some gossip. Instead of marking my turn-around point with a pit-stop at the public restroom, I made my turn around at the pile of raccoon poop.

Nice, huh?

Even though the differences between the settings are polar opposites, the run is the same. My feet still hit the ground, whether it's manicured asphalt or gravel. My sweat is still sweaty, whether I'm enjoying a cool off point at a water fountain on my route or being shaded by the timber. It's all the same.

This is why it's good for me to run. I am balanced, and through this, I can realize once again, that even though our summer is rough and the crops here look great-- even though there's always the markets, hail, or a random windstorm to put the farmers ill at ease at all times-- we are okay. We are thriving, not just surviving. We are healthy, the kids are happy, and I can run. Shouldn't I be grateful just for that?

Man, balance is clairvoyant, isn't it? Here's hoping I can keep this up, and keep out of the way of dead birds and snakes during my moments of clarity.

A Color Coded Holiday

2011-06-29T04:17:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to start putting little dots on holidays on the calendar. I'm extremely freakish about color coding things...if I had my way, our world would be color-coded. So, in celebration of this obsession, I am going to start to decorate my calendar with red, green or yellow dots. Red for holidays we will NOT be celebrating, green for definites, and yellow for maybes.

There used to be a time when I pictured myself planning family outings on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, a time when I thought we would raise our family in a subdivision, taking the kids trick or treating around their neighbor's houses, I never imagined that I would have to take the kids by myself or say, reschedule Mother's Day for a later date. There was never a picture in my city-raised family that I thought I would have to plan a holiday in the summer by considering the weather, not for the picnic tables I would be setting, but whether or not Joe would be "haying." I now consider whether or not we can have guests over based upon the proximity to a major farming event. Summer events and lack thereof are planned solely around Joe's availability thanks to the tasks at hand.

Ugh.

So, as of right now, we're maybe planning an outing on the second, with another farm family...if it doesn't rain, but only if our friend isn't replanting beans (so, again, if it has rained, but is dry enough to get in the field...do you see my frustration as a planner???), and possibly seeing some fireworks, that is, if Joe is not too exhausted (or me, for that matter...we can hardly make it to the 10 o'clock news) from mowing and baling hay.

Honestly.

Will I ever have lovely printed invitations for our yearly, "Let's Celebrate Some Holiday, Any Holiday?"

Answer: Yes...only if the invitations read, If it's raining, or has recently rained, please come and enjoy your time with us.

Confessions...Hit the Airwaves!

2011-06-23T15:01:00.000-07:00

I am benefiting from the phrase, it's not what you know, it's who you know, and thankfully, who I know wants to know what I know!

You know??

Anyway, I not only like to write, I also like to talk (see my cell phone bill). Fortunately, I was able to pair my two loves by getting hooked up with DeAnna Schertz. She was a fledgling radio personality; I was a newbie farm wife and writer, and we just clicked! She found me, followed the blog, and started her radio career and helped launch my life as a "personality" on RANDY radio.

Well, it was a good run, but DeAnna had to go and get another job, and so my life on the radio came to a screeching, actually, silent halt.

Fast forward nearly a year, add a wedding, a move closer to my part of the world and a new job, and DeAnna Schertz-Thomas wants to hear me talk again!! Anyway, we had a great first interview, pre-recorded (thankfully...since I always get my own web address wrong) as I sat in the library parking lot waiting for Anna to complete summer reading. I'm excited and nervous to hear my very nasal voice on the radio tomorrow. Don't you hate how you sound when you actually hear yourself talk?

Maybe this will help me shut up a little more.

So, if you're in the Peoria, IL area, tune into 1290 AM at noon tomorrow, and you'll hear a little bit of my blog's background as well as some agricultural-ish chat.

Let me know what you think!

Running Up the Road

2011-06-21T13:36:00.000-07:00

I had a few moments of panic this afternoon.

Picture this: two sweet little angel girls playing, nah...frolicking in their beautifully mowed and expertly landscaped yard (okay, so I'm creating a word picture...we are not that fancy, but we do have some nice looking mulched landscape). Anyway, picture their mother, trying to get the two smallest children down for afternoon naps, and some laundry put away, and some lunch dishes cleaned up, and some floors swept.

Then, picture this mother when her second daughter, the one who tattles, comes in and announces that her big sister is running up the road.

Her exact words were, "She didn't get hit, Mom. But, she's running up the road to Dad."

WHAT?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

So, I throw the baby back in his crib (well, I didn't throw him...but I didn't finish the song I was singing to him), run outside, with no shoes on, and chase after Anna. The whole time, all I could think of was the walk Anna and I took together, down the same road, just a few days ago.

It's all my fault.

She's going to be squished.

Why is Joe just STANDING there?

Thankfully, I can report that Anna is fine, not in too much trouble, and Joe isn't either. He was riding the 4 wheeler next to her, telling her to come along. (that makes it sound worse, doesn't it?) Miscommunication, too much trust and too little information were the main culprits here.

Joe has a great working relationship with Anna, and, I believe, trusts her a lot more to let her do things that I think a 6 year old should probably do. I am not a neurotic mother (I know, big shock). Actually, motherhood has relaxed me a bit. However, she is still my baby. She is the little one for whom I quit my career; the girl who spent every day at the park with me when she was just one year old; the girl who I drove to her first day of kindergarten. Which, I might add, was only LAST FALL.

Should I let her go and run down the road to her dad, who did call on her to come with him? It has taken me most of June to realize that she is big enough to be outside in our really safe yard by herself for quite some time. She is old enough to know her boundaries, but I know from all the scary Parents magazine articles and Datelines I have watched that it only takes a second for something to go wrong. Thus, I continue to be a spaz.

I need to let go, I know. Part of the charm of our rural life is that we can let go a little bit sooner, and let our kids be a little more independent because of the lifestyle we lead. Joe needs Anna to shut gates, help get cows in, hold tools and the like. I need her to be a big girl because I have other babies to tend to, but I'm not ready. She's still little in my eyes.

My little farm girl...strike that...my big farm girl is ready to be on her own. Thanks to her dad, she is confident to take on big kid tasks. I should be grateful for that...and should try to get her to make her own bed while I'm at it!

Farm Fathers- Guest Post

2011-06-19T12:17:00.000-07:00

I should be writing a tribute to my dad and husband and father-in-law, but, instead, my husband, Farmer Joe himself has penned (or keyed) a guest post. I'm so lucky to have a husband who is not only a great match for me, but an excellent provider, educator, horse-player, and silly guy for my kids. We are so blessed.

Happy Father's Day, to all of you fathers out there, especially to my dad, father-in-law and all grandpas of ours. But a special thanks to our resident father. Thanks, Joe, from all of us for being a great dad.

Farm Fathers- For My Dad

Today is Father's Day, which is a perfectly fine Hallmark Holiday- low key and probably involving a cookout or other fine meal, which is a wonderful thing in my book! I asked my wife for there to be no purchased gift for me as we are working really diligently to "be lean" in our budget right now. But today, I was presented with the first of what I think will be several homemade cards and notes from my girls- They include prose such as:

Fathers Day Notes

Nok Nok, Hoos ther, Dad, Dad Hoo, Dad I Love you

Hoo Hoo luvs you, Anna dus, Anna dus

Kindergarten spelling is a hoot! And there is nothing that could have been purchased that would have made me any happier!

When we get older, we have a little more trouble expressing how much we love our family. Sure we can buy a $3.99 card at the store about how Dad likes to burp, take naps or play golf (my dad only does one of those three things- you guess!) but it doesn't capture the culmination of 36 years worth of experience, advice, guidance and example that he's provided to you.

Growing up on a livestock farm gave me an experience with my Dad and Grandpa that can't possibly be matched by any other lifestyle. From the time I was old enough to ride in the truck, I was with them every day. All summer. From the time I got home off of the bus until dinner (or after). Learning, watching, helping, doing. I've thought about them a lot this week. We just finished baling some hay, and I thought about how long it would be before I taught my daughter to drive a truck out in the middle of a hayfield, like my grandpa did for me when I was eight. Just yesterday, when we were at the Webel Farm, Anna wanted to ride up to the shed to see "Fluffy" the cat. She wanted to ride with my grandpa, and he told her "Hurry up, get in" in the exact tone and voice that I have heard him use a million times with me since I was her age. I chuckled under my breath and smiled. At 86, he's still hurrying everyone along.

Dad and I have always worked very well together, though even to this day, I probably can't keep up with him. I think I was pretty willing to do whatever job he assigned me to and tried to do the best I could to do it right. There was no shortage of instruction available from he or grandpa if something wasn't quite right, which led me to try to do things right the first time. To this day, I quote from Dad and Grandpa all the time to my employee and my kids about how it takes a lot less time to get out and close a gate than it does to get the cows back in if they get out...... While that advice was meant as specific to the job of closing a cattle gate, the lesson applies in a lot of areas of our life.

Working livestock together as a family also has always had a certain artistry about it. We've worked together so much that we can read exactly what the animals are doing and what each other are doing to know where to go, whether to push the cattle or fall back and give them space. In emergency situations, such as delivering a calf, after the first year or two of helping dad, it was almost like we could do it without even talking- both knowing what the other was doing next, knowing that we both knew what to do to save the calf and mother. Those situations taught character, responsibility and dedication to the animal.

Now that I'm a Dad of four little ones and living on my own farm operation, I look for opportunities to teach my kids the lessons I learned at their age. Lessons about life, and death. About doing your work first and playing later. About caring for the animal's needs and comfort even when it means sacrificing your own. I watch my 6 year old, and now even my 2 year old who wants to "check cows, Daddy?" and wonder if they believe, like I did, that their Daddy knows everything that there is to know (at least until they get about 16- then Dads get really smart again about the time you get to be about 22). And I believe that even at their age, they have the stockman's knack- Dad thinks it is hereditary- he's probably right again. And I wonder that if someday they will be able to work beside me with the same ease and satisfaction that we are doing it together. I miss that about not working with my Dad everyday.

But I guess I learned most from my Dad and Grandpa by watching them every day. Learning by what he did- how they handled animals, how they dealt with people, how they valued family and how they expected us to expect the most out of ourselves. So I guess what I've learned about being a father so far is that someone is watching all the time, and the way they feel about the world will be largely influenced by how I've handled the situations that come my way, and how involved they've been in that life. I believe that our family was blessed beyond belief by the Dad we have the privilege to grow up learning from, and who we still learn from everyday. And 30 years from now, if my kids feel the way about me that my brother, sisters, and I feel about our dad, I will be awfully proud to have carried on that legacy.

Nok Nok, Hoos ther, Dad, Dad Hoo, Dad I Love you

Happy Father's Day, to my Dad and all of the Dads who work so hard to do it the right way-

Grandpa, Dad, Jon, Joe

Gravel Expert

2011-06-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

Thanks to some tough love advice from my truly loving mother: "there will always be some one better, smarter, and prettier than you-" I have never considered myself an expert on anything. This sentiment is truly ingrained in my personality. Opinionated, yes. Expert, no.

Until now.

Five years living here, countless filthy cars, dusty shelves, and days when windows should be opened, but are closed thanks to the fast traffic kicking up dust, I have begun to consider dust the bane of my obsessively clean existence.

Therefore, dust and its properties have become a case study for me. I'm going to become an expert in it and do what all slightly-OCD people do, become educated and obsessive (thus the "O" in OCD) about aforementioned issue.

So far, I can tell you how many minutes a car can remain clean after traveling only 15 MPH down our road on a typically dusty day. Answer: less than 1 minute. I can tell you that your shoes will turn from black to gray and your toes may look a little tan from the dust clinging to the grass as you walk to get the mail from the mailbox. I can also tell you how long to turn your head when running down this lovely, secluded and equally infuriating road, and a car passes you. Answer: at least 45 seconds, and hold your breath.

These are the simple things I have studied thus far. Yesterday, however, I went from a normal, dust hating woman to a crazy woman. As we were traveling down the gravel road to where Joe's grandparents' live, I found myself checking out the lovely white rock, spread so thick and lovely. I watched as we kicked up just a little bit of dust on my newly cleaned SUV, marveling at the possibilities that could occur if our township got their hands on some of these lovely white rocks. I began to envy this nice rock, wishing our road commissioner would come out and see how to spread these large pieces of gravel, thick and white, like a blanket over the dirt road underneath.

I then found myself horrified with what I was thinking! What in the world was with me? When did I become envious of gravel? When did my simple study of how to keep my tabletops clean turn into a crazy woman with gravel daydreams? Where was the girl who analyzed outfits, spotting designer brands as well as fake Coach purses at 20 paces? I realized that I have instead become the woman who now considers whether white pants would be a good decision based upon the grime on my car. Where's the girl who worried more about the rain situation for the sake of my shoes or hair? I'm now the girl who considers the state of the road, and if it's mucky and gross, I'll change my plans. Who is this person, and why do I have GRAVEL ENVY??

Yargh.

However, I refuse to be horrified with my "rural" self. Again, I have to pull myself up by my bootstraps and embrace my craziness. I will become a gravel expert. I will fight for the application of my dust deterrent (the substance spread in front of our house that does help with the dust...for about a milli-second.), and fight for it to be applied sooner, rather than later. I will study the way the road is after it is grated, and note with great certainty whether or not that was a wise practice by our road commissioner. I will continue to fight the battle by keeping my windows down and my Swiffer Duster handy, fighting the dust on my dark furniture and white woodwork.

I will prove my mom wrong on her point: no one will be smarter than this gravel expert!

That's It, I'm Old

2011-06-17T06:01:00.000-07:00

Well, my phone, the fancy one with the touch screen, video capabilities, etc., bit the dust this week. Joe thinks it's because I'm deadly to all technology (see my computer difficulties and how all the crazy things with the TV, Wii, etc. happen to me). I think it's because it's God's way of telling me I need to get fancy and get a new phone.

So, with the big girls at Grammy's this week, and the two little ones in tow, I headed to our cell phone store to get myself something smart. Upon entering the store, I realized something. . .

I'm CHEAP.

I'm NOT a candidate for a SmartPhone.

And, I'm OLD.

You know when you were a kid, and your parents couldn't run the VCR? Or, your grandparents didn't understand why all the kids had CD players, Walkmans, and the like?

Well, I walked into the phone store and nearly had a heart attack. $300 dollars for a phone? One that I don't think I could figure out how to turn on? One that does essentially what my computer and digital camera already do. The devices I already own, have paid for, and know how to use.

Oh crud.

Seriously, I'm old.

I wish I needed one. I wish I could afford one. However, I swallowed my pride, made a joke about how I was just a mom at home and would only update my Facebook status way too much, and bought the cheapest phone that could call, text, and take pictures.

Sigh.

Some day, I'll be fancy again. Some day, I'll know why I need an Ipad. Some day, I'll be smart enough for a SmartPhone.

However, for now, because of my lack of fanciness, I'll continue to blog from my computer, take pictures with my digital camera, and just call or text you to talk.

Please forgive me for using multiple devices. It does have it's benefits...

a new and bigger purse.

The Weather Radio

2011-06-14T06:01:00.000-07:00

It's official.

I'm married to a closet meteorologist.

Thanks to the purchase of a new, fancy-schmancy weather radio- which sits oh-so-gloriously (ha, ha) on my kitchen counter, resembling an old-timey answering machine- Joe has become even more obsessed with the weather. I do not blame him, only tease him, because we are dependent upon the weather, but SERIOUSLY! Lucky for us, it only goes off if there are storms in THREE counties, instead of just one, since we live just a few miles from two other county lines. Note the sarcasm?

Anyway, because of last year's truly close tornado call and all the recent devestating weather in Joplin, MO, Joe has become more and more obsessed with the weather. So much that the radar on his phone was lighting up our bedroom as I got up to feed Jack at 2AM. A rain was coming, so we needed to know to shut our windows, so I guess that's okay, but I'm beginning to wonder if I need to have a weather-related intervention with him.

I understand completely the affects of the weather conditions on farmer's bottom lines, general disposition, and psyche. I understand that we need to know the breadth of a storm, to know whether or not we need to duck and cover. However, what can we do about it? As a control freak, it is very bizarre that I am of this opinion, I know, but we cannot control the weather. We cannot go out and hover over our corn plants to protect them from hail. We can go to the basement to save our skins, and from a crop production standpoint, we can buy crop-hail insurance, which, if you're in need, I know a good agent (Ha, ha, again), but that's about it. So, why the obsession?

Why the need to worry, stand in the window, observe the clouds, comment enough to make the kids nervous and report on the weather themselves. In a kindergarten setting, I am sure that Anna answered more specifically the question of "is it sunny or cloudy," as she reported today, from Joe's parents' house, "There was a lot of rain, Daddy. Pappy needs a hug."

I tease Joe out of love, but completely understand the frustration the weather brings. We are solely dependent upon it during these vital weeks of growth. If our corn gets a good start and the beans are able to poke through and be sprayed at the right time, and there's no wind, hail, excessive rain, heat or cold, we should be okay to pay for the spray, seed, equipment, and kids we have on our operation.

So, I will put up with the excessive beeping of our weather radio, and the "shush" I receive when the weather report comes on the evening news.

Here's hoping the 2AM radar checks stop soon...that seems a bit crazy, right?

Cowboy Boots and Cake

2011-06-10T13:29:00.000-07:00

It's our youngest daughter's second birthday today, and just two short years ago we were in a truly frustrating portion of our brief time as farmers. June 10, 2009 was the culmination of a truly bizarre and utterly unpredictable spring season for us, punctuated by the birth of Amelia.

Like an insanely wet and cold spring-- one where a guy gets his biggest tractor stuck in the field and needs a bulldozer to pull it out type of spring-- needs any more punctuation, but we Webels live large, I guess.

Anyway, fast forward two years, add another kid, make the baby a two year old, and here we are. This year, our June 10th has not been a frustrating day. Instead, we have been celebrating all day, with cowboy boots, real ones, and cake.

Even though she's just two, Amelia has the personality to fill a room and the vocabulary to match, which, if you know us, is not surprising...we do not lack in conversation or pizazz! Anyway, she is turning into a farm girl, through and through, requesting cowboy boots for her one and only gift. The funny thing about this, is that I purchased her some fashion farm boots on a recent Target run, but on a trip to Farm King for work jeans, a coffee mug, and some hoses, Joe got to looking and found her some "real" cowboy boots: pink and brown in color and a true cowboy brand. It made me laugh, as we have purchased many cowboy-ish boots at Target for our little ones, but since Amelia's new phrase is "Check cows, Daddy?" he figured it wasn't too much to get her some real boots.

She was ecstatic, and pulling them on, she announced, "Chores, Daddy?"

Should we record this for when she's 16 and not wanting to help out on a Saturday morning?

Anyway, even though the trucks were running, hauling grain to the river, the mulch was being delivered and dumped on my driveway, the internet man was on the roof fixing our connection, and the girls played in the mud multiple times this morning, we were able to stop whatever we were doing this afternoon, after naps, and enjoy our big girl's cake altogether. That's the joy of having a dad who's just a few steps away, filling up his semi from the "big bin." He can stop in and sing happy birthday to his baby girl. That's joy.

Life on the farm can be unpredictable and frustrating, but fortunately, years go by and we are able to put the weird years behind us, telling the stories with a smile and a groan, and focus on the good stuff that's going on, like enjoying cowboy boots and cake.

Happy birthday, my sweet Amelia.

Excitement and Exhaustion

2011-06-10T13:26:00.000-07:00

My hair stylist asked me if Joe ever didn’t have a busy time. I had to think about it. After pausing for a moment, my question was answered by Anna.
“Birthdays,” she said, with great confidence.

She’s right. There isn’t a definite time that Joe isn’t busy with something. Right now, there’s hay being baled and also chopped. Men in tractors pulling wagons that resemble freight train cars have been running up and down our road between the hay fields and the bright blue Harvestor, where the chopped hay will be stored. It couldn’t be a busier day.

After explaining to our stylist that Amelia’s birthday was coming up and Daddy promised to be home with us that evening, I got to thinking about times when Joe’s not busy. I guess mid-December, and possibly August are times when there isn’t a lot of pressing, weather dependant, labor and delivery-ish chores to be completed. I don’t know. We’ve never taken the time to truly get away from the farm for me to know whether or when we could actually get away for a week or two.

I think our stylist’s question stemmed from the fact that I was two and a half weeks out from delivering Jack, but still showed up for our appointment with all four kids in tow, three of them in desperate need of hair cuts. Fortunately, Jack just slept peacefully in his car seat. I see his plans for the summer…and a lot of them include sleeping in a car seat or a baby sling while we tend to our activities. My grandma and Joe’s grandma are horrified that we have already had Jack out and about, but like a working livestock farm, mothering has no off-season. Life marches on, and the little dude has to march along with us.

Whether it’s farming or parenting, it’s exciting and exhausting. In fact, I have written that quite a bit in thank you notes for the meals and generous gifts I have received in honor of our new addition. While it’s exhausting to get up at four a.m. with a newborn who has no interest in sleeping, it’s exciting to me to have this little time with him, alone, in a quiet house. I have taken to just getting up for the day at this time, enjoying the quiet solitude and coffee that doesn’t have to be microwaved at least three times. Joe is the same way. Take today, for example, as exhausting as it will be to have been going since six a.m., running up and down the road, working to beat the impending rain and out in the 90 plus degree heat, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s miserable when there’s not something beating down on him. He was a “get-it-done at crunch time” deadline guy in his corporate world, and was a procrastinator and then crammer during his college studying days. Why would farming be any different? He’s exhausted, but excited at the same time.

My hope during this time and phase of our lives that we maybe figure out a time when there’s not hay to be put up, a cattle sale to attend, or a baby being born (we’re done with that, by the way), and we could potentially stop the exhaustion part and get to the excitement…maybe in 20 years, right? My youngest will be in college.

Sheesh.

Memories of Memorial Day

2011-06-05T13:03:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm a week late, but between a newborn, a nearly two year old, two very busy older children, and NO INTERNET for the past few days, I need some grace.

Anyway, life on the farm is at a bit of a frustrating stand still, as the heat, humidity and rain are great for the corn crop, but frustratingly terrible for some one trying to make hay...i.e., Joe.

So, we've spent a lot of time together as a family, which is great, and one of those times together was Memorial Day. Joe and I have shared many Memorial Day memories, from his childhood memories of picnicking with his family, mowing hay, and subsequently baling it. My memories include watching my dad shoot his gun in the honor guard with the American Legion, tumbling in the Memorial Day parade...either freezing or sweating, and watching Dad frantically try to mow his roadsides before Memorial Day, because "that's just what you do," but my most memorable Memorial Day was the day we lost my Grandpa Mac.

It has been seven years, but my grandpa is a topic of conversation often, as he was a cattleman. He loved Joe, was proud of me for picking someone who was "worth something" (he never minced words), and loved that Joe shared his love for livestock. Unfortunately, we lost Grandpa right before we found out we were expecting Anna, and he never got to see Joe in action as a cattle farmer.

Grandpa was a World War II vet, and the irony of the date of his death was that it occurred on the "true" Memorial Day, and although I was truly miserable and happy to deliver Jack early, he was due on this date as well, May 29th. I figured if I made it to my actual due date, it would be a fitting tribute to my grandpa.

He would have loved my kids. Anna and her quirks, her tomboyish attitude, and her love for animals; Josie and her sass would have gotten a harsh look, but her spunk would have made him proud. And, just this week, Amelia's new phrase is "Check cows, Daddy?" Grandpa would have loved this, and would have especially been touched by the picture Joe took of the two girls looking over a pasture, where Grandpa kept his cows.

Grandpa would have loved that we didn't name Jack something "weird" that we would regret, and would have probably given us a lot of advice raising this boy! Again, not a "word mincer!"

In farming, we're not out to be rich or famous. We're not out to be anything but good stewards of the land. This path that has been laid by not only my Grandpa Mac, but Joe's grandpas, my other grandfather, my dad, Joe's dad, countless uncles, aunts, grandmas, mothers, etc. We are walking along the same road, along the same fence line, in the same fields as generations before us. I am new to this world, but it is not new to my family line. I need to remember that.

A day like Memorial Day is one of those times that I am reminded of how lucky we are to be in this profession.

Farmer Joe Goes to Kindergarten

2011-05-29T03:20:00.001-07:00

My husband was a high school agriculture teacher, and and an FFA sponsor. He then became a state supervisor, helping agriculture teachers in his territory be better educators. His next endeavor was to work for a national agriculture education consulting company, working with state departments of agriculture across the country to set up quality programs and train teachers on testing and curriculum software he helped to develop. He traveled abroad with an agriculture leadership group, learning about the global marketplace and presenting to other leaders about the benefits and processes of American agriculture.

Can you tell I'm proud of him? Can you tell he's kind of a big deal?

Well...this big deal dude is now a farmer, full time, and a dad, and was also a NERVOUS WRECK when he was readying himself for his presentation to Anna's kindergarten class during career week! It was pretty funny, actually. He has presented to some of the biggest names in American agriculture, and was pacing his office and surfing the Internet for the perfect activity for Anna's class.

I was called in to intervene, because I didn't have anything else to do...you know, just a newborn, a 23 month old, and a preschooler all at home that day...because Joe was struggling to find the "right" picture of a beef cow. Joe wanted to share some of the processes of being a cattle farmer, and the one that Anna really likes is the process of ear-tagging. It's like ear piercing, and it even comes with fun equipment. Joe had prepared an ear tag for every kid, with each of their names on it, and now he needed a picture of a beef cow to "pierce" with the piercing gun. However, after using Google images, we realized that there was no clear, true representation of any beef cow, anywhere. It was disappointing. Either the cattle were goofy looking cartoon characters that were not only spotted like dairy cows and had horns (which ours do not, nor do many little calves...think about it, little calves, little horns, big cows, big horns. We, however, have cattle with NO HORNS).

Anyway, I'm digressing.

We settled on having me free-hand (which is hilarious, because I am NO artist) a picture of a black cow on the back of an old pizza box. I know, super fancy.

As I colored, Joe and I discussed how disappointed we were with the resources available to the general public and the representation out there on cattle. As a teacher, I used Google images all the time as a resource. It was disappointing to see that different beef associations, National FFA, even Ag in the Classroom offered no resources to the general public in regards to true representation of animals and American agriculture. How are we supposed to fight the dorky, nerdish stereotype when all that's out there is a dorky, nerdish stereotype?

Sheesh.

Anyway, after our art session, Joe headed off to kindergarten. Anna's teacher took some great pictures, and Joe and Anna both were so excited about how the presentation turned out. He did great, the kids loved the ear tags, and he is hopeful the lesson they took away gave them just a taste of life on a real farm.

We enjoyed this experience because, yet again, it has made us realize how much more educating we need to do to get our story out to the general public.

We'll continue to do that...one kindergarten class at a time!

Mission Accomplished!

2011-05-21T12:26:00.001-07:00

Well...He's HERE!! Jackson Richard (Jack) made his arrival on Thursday, appropriately on the day we were finishing up planting beans! We're all excited, exhausted, and envisioning him in his little coveralls, helping with chores in just a few short years!

Thanks for bearing with me during these nine (ten, actually) months!!

Happy Saturday!

Urban Livestock

2011-05-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

Normal, Illinois is considering allowing residents to raise and house chickens within the city limits. The city council is still discussing the regulations that would accompany allowing these "urban chickens" in neighborhoods, but I can't help but laugh. Is it just me, or can you picture these little gals (hens only) with their baggy jeans, sideways caps, and large, gold chains? The picture I have of "urbanized" livestock, chickens in particular, is laughable.

I realize that this is not the case, and these hens will not be sporting urban wear, but regardless of how these chickens look, the premise of this still makes me laugh. It is hot right now to be self-sustaining...whatever that really means... to be in charge of your own food source, raise your own stuff, be able to live off of your land. I get that. We do that. However, we do that on nearly 2500 acres of crop land and hundreds of acres of pasture, and we're still under fire by animal activists. How is putting little urbanized hens in coops in your backyard better than allowing our cattle to graze in a fenced pasture? How does some one who spends all day in an office or at school or some other workplace know the first thing about keeping these urban chickens healthy, happy, and productive?

I'm not saying that you shouldn't garden, keep a few animals, or try to be your own food source. That is absolutely not my argument. My argument is that if we're going to be okay with urban chickens, get off the back of the American livestock farmer a little bit. I would like to think that my husband who not only grew up on a livestock farm, but holds a master's degree in agriculture in college knows a little bit more than some one who just wants to fiddle around with eggs. I'm all for others trying to understand agriculture and try to live it, but this whole thing seems like a big double standard to me. I would love to hear Michael Pollen's opinion on this. How could a little coop be okay with him?

Regardless, I will continue to follow this story, and will continue to chuckle every time I hear the phrase, "urban chickens," picturing the little gals wearing large clocks on chains and listening to loud music. The noise ordinances should not be limited to just clucking in this city. The city council should be careful with the verbage on that one!

Does Puttering Need a Purpose?

2011-05-14T07:50:00.000-07:00

Rain, dry-out, plant, repeat. Rain, dry-out, plant/apply anhydrous, repeat.

This has been my life since mid-April. I know that's only been a month, but for someone like me, who needs an "end date" in sight, this repetition with no clear-cut end is killing me...kind of like waiting for the birth of, say, a fourth child.

Ugh.

Today, however, it is raining: sweet, glorious, light, wonderful rain. The kind of rain that makes you want to sleep in, which we ACTUALLY did this morning, thanks to truly tired kids and a new mattress. I woke up to the sound of the gentle rain and thought, "YES!! Now Joe can do (fill in the blank with roughly fourteen things)." Seriously, what is my issue? Why can't I let the poor guy just be? Why, on a rainy Saturday, do I want to fill it with "fix-its" and "get-its?"

Well, because these are rare days. These days when Joe is literally doing chores, and then will be in the house for the rest of the day leads me to believe that he can be like a guy who works a nine-to-five, no travel, no take-home work job. The ones that putter in the yard, clean the garage, and have hobbies.

However, the farmer in Joe does not let himself putter. If he's going to do anything resembling puttering, it's with a bigger purpose. My honey-do list needs to be written from most urgent (i.e., getting a bed for our daughter to actually sleep in) to least urgent (hanging anything decorative). This character trait seems to be synonymous with many farmers. This observation has lead me to the conclusion that farmers don't putter. From what I see, they get their jobs done with careful urgency, always watching the sky or the temperature gauge, and when they're done, it's on to the next thing, with that same sense of "get it done-ness." In our operation, there's no messing around without a greater purpose.

If you're familiar with the "classic" movie, Old School, there's a part when Will Farrell mentions that he and his wife have a "lovely little Saturday, spending time at the Home Depot and having Olive Garden for lunch." We as a married, farming couple have NEVER had a Saturday like that. There's not any time for frivolous trips to the Home Depot. If we need to go to said improvement store, we're getting something to fix something that needs to be fixed immediately. Then, we're out of there. We're not the family to go to the mall together on a Sunday afternoon to look. As much as I love shopping, we have never done that because that's not in Joe's make-up or on his radar screen for fun.

Stuff we do has to have a purpose.

Which is okay, I have come to realize. Would I rather him be out golfing or playing around with his buddies rather than doing something that could better our operation, our livelihood? Absolutely not. However, do I want him to be fulfilled in all aspects of his life? Absolutely YES. So, where's the balance? In a profession that is hurry up and wait (for the crops to grow and cows to calve), as well as one that is at the completely mercy of good seed choices, good planting techniques and conditions, and good ole Mother Nature, how can you find a time to just breathe and be settled? Where's an opportunity to putter and not have a purpose?

I'm not sure. Right now, Joe's hobbies include playing with our kids, watching the Cardinals play, and trying to rest.

I think that's okay for now. But, my hope is that some day, some how, he can find a place to putter without a purpose, to enjoy the day without feeling that he must get something done.

Oh my ... I'm just realizing what an enabler I am!!!! Maybe I should hide my honey-do list for starters!

Close, Very, Very Close

2011-05-10T09:59:00.001-07:00

This is the theme of our lives in all aspects, both domestic and occupational: so, so close.

Barring any disaster, be it natural, mental, or mechanical, we should be finished planting corn TODAY! Whoo-hoo! Joe, my dad, and my uncle, as well as our helper have put in long hours, stopping occasionally to eat and sleep (and my uncle to step off the planter for a bit to see his son off to prom), but thanks to the rain that hasn't come, dependable, big equipment that allows us big, big days, we are so, so close.

However, once again, the superstitions of our farmers shines through on times like these. Joe actually knocked on the wood trim in our family room last night as he explained that we could be done with our corn planting by tomorrow. Knocked on wood...for real, not just saying the phrase. It was quite humorous, but got me to think, when can we take a deep breath? Although it has been dry and windy and perfect here to plant, the guys are now worrying about whether or not it will rain at all in the next few critical days, to saturate the little seeds for them to have a good start. And, having a conversation with my daughter's preschool teacher (also a farmer's wife), she mentioned her husband feared torrential rain that would wash away all the little promises of income in the fall.

Seriously?

When do we get to breathe a SIGH OF RELIEF?

Answer: never. However, isn't that the case with every occupation, or every aspect of one's life, for that matter? As much as I feel ready, physically, mentally, and from a decorating standpoint, for this baby, I'm not. Am I truly ready to have FOUR KIDS? Yikes.

I wrote on Mother's Day about how farming is a lot like parenting, whether you're a livestock person or just a "crop" farmer. You care so desperately, choose the seed meticulously, plant when the conditions are, just perfect, and then you have to just trust. I have trouble with this aspect of both parenting and farming, as I am a complete and utter control freak, so I guess that's why I'll never breathe a sigh of relief in any way, shape, or form.

Life would be boring if it were predictable, right?

I'll just keep telling myself that.

Happy planting!

Holiday Raincheck

2011-05-07T05:42:00.000-07:00

Poor Joe.

The guy cannot win. I have a spring birthday, right in the heart of calving season. Our third daughter was born the day after we finished planting beans, the very day after the most difficult, frustrating, and sleep-deprived planting season in the history of the world (well, that's a bit dramatic, but whatever). We're having our son in a few weeks, deep into the planting season.

And now, this weekend, when the weather is finally cooperating, the planter and chopper are rolling, is Mother's Day.

That's why, when the weather cooperated again, Joe proclaimed he wished that he could get a spring holiday/birthday rain check, and allow for said events to be rescheduled during a more convenient time. His mom will not be getting her card in time. I'm certain that I will get one...just in a few days or weeks. I received the most special one my third mother's day when he wrote a cute poem in regards to his lack of acknowledgment of the holiday due to farming. It's tucked away in my "save" file.

I agree with the holiday raincheck theory. Who doesn't want a day to be celebrated, but there's no way that Joe can stop what he's doing now, take me out to dinner and then watch the kids while I go and sit at the spa, getting my toenails painted...since I haven't seen them in a while. However, contrary to popular marketing campaigns, I am not a mother who expects diamonds, flowers, chocolates, or a fancy cell phone. I am okay (and pretty good at it, if you ask my adoring, non-spender husband) with buying myself new things when necessary (or at a great price). I don't expect to be waited on hand-and-foot on mother's day. We're not brunch eaters...we get up too early.

It's not fair to guys, especially farmers, to have a holiday like this in the midst of a truly busy time. There are at least three mothers in our operation who will get the short end of the stick tomorrow, and we've all come to terms with it in our own little ways. We'll spend the day with our moms, be with our own children (the reason why we're celebrated on this day, anyway...who would have thought???), try to catch some zzz's or a bit of quiet time with a magazine when the kids are out and about. We'll do what we do every day, because we're moms. That's what we do. While it would be nice to be greeted with a "take the day off" proclamation, I know that's not the case for me, so my expectations are not there. I know Joe knows that I am a gift person, but unless I want a new hat from LG seeds or something chosen from the check out counter at the EZ Stop in town, I need to know that the thankfulness I get from him comes every day, or in the mere suggestion that they'll be done soon, and then, maybe then, I can treat myself to something in honor of being a mother.

But do I really need to? Does a pedicure equal a thanks for giving birth? On some days, yes, however, today, I am realizing that while I am the mother of three (nearly four) kids, Joe's job as a farmer is very close to mothering. As a cattle man and a grain farmer, he is just doing what I have done for the past nine months, even six years, and maybe I should celebrate that. He is creating an environment for his little "children" so that they can succeed and grow and do great things as food and fuel for our country. I should remember that he's not out golfing, goofing off or ignoring me. He's working to provide for our family and the world around us.

So, on this Mother's Day eve, I am celebrating myself, my mom, grandma, mother-in-law, and now my farmer. Life is good, and I don't need a pedicure to remind myself of what an honor it is to be in the professions we are. However, I would like to know what color my toenails are...

Hot or Cold?

2011-05-04T18:57:00.000-07:00

I'm staring down a bacon cheeseburger.
No, it's not some weird craving...it's a good idea gone bad, no, strike that: gone cold.

You see, we've actually started working ground and planting TODAY, and although the world has a lot going on that is way more urgent than a cold bacon cheeseburger (you know, Osama, levees being blown up, and general malaise), around here, what's for dinner is crucial.

During the planting and harvest seasons, I am truly shown what a poor excuse for a farm wife I am. My husband is not demanding in any way in regards to food, he just wants to eat when he's home, or on the road, or in the tractor, around dinner time. He wants Nutty Bars (even though they were OUT of them at the store the other day...failed AGAIN!!). However, shouldn't I, after nearly three years in this biz, have some idea of what to make him, when, and how to get it to him if he's not around? However, my husband, growing up as a farm kid around some pretty amazing farm women, has high expectations. It's his genetics. It's what he knows. For example, his grandma once ordered pizza from the wrong place, but still drove the extra 30-40 minutes to get it, just so that the guys could have it in the field. Who does that? I would have canceled the order and given them Tombstone at 10:00 when they came in!

But I digress, back to the cheeseburger. My girls and I had a great day. It was gorgeous outside, and if there were ever a day that I were not driven crazy by writing all the things I did today on my Facebook status bar, today would have been the day. Anyway, we rewarded ourselves with a trip to B's Drive Inn (the local burger and ice cream joint). I was so excited to have an outing, plus the opportunity not to cook, and the possibility of giving Joe a hot meal at 6:00, I forgot that he was NOT in the field anywhere near B's, but rather is the chemical and seed deliverer today.

Blast!

So, his cheeseburger sits in our fridge. It's 9:00, the kids are in bed, and I'm alone with my thoughts of how I have failed once again Farmwifery 101.

However, life not cease due to a cold cheeseburger. It will be reheated, with a smile. Planting will ensue tomorrow. We will continue on at this pace as long as we can, with the hopes that some day, some how, I'll figure out how to feed three kids, myself, the dog, and a husband, all at different times of the evening.

The Prodigal Son

2011-04-28T12:58:00.000-07:00

Well, it's coming, ready or... well, I'm ready. I am just a few weeks from the big delivery of our fourth and final child, a son. I am just as excited and uncomfortable as most of my other kids' pregnancies (sans Anna's, since I had NO CLUE, and no other kids to chase after!). However, all through this pregnancy, we have fielded the same question time and again:

Is your husband excited to finally get his boy?

Answer: Yes (to those in Target who are looking at me like I'm a fool, as I tool around the store in the gigantic cart filled with kids and paper products).

However, the answer to those who are closer to us is: Well...

Shouldn't we be happy with what God already blessed us with: Three beautiful, smart, and healthy girls? Shouldn't Anna's love for the farm, as well as Josie's and Amelia's budding farm-girlness suffice for a farmer? Shouldn't the farm be a part of all of them, regardless of the gender of each child?

Answer: YES, yes, and YES!

We are so, so blessed. We are so, so lucky, and we are so, so excited to have our boy, however, in my short time as a farm wife, I am seeing the roles farm women play in their operations that are just as big, if not bigger, than their husbands. I am shocked at how easy farm life and the love of animals come to my eldest daughter, and know that she will, no matter where she is in life, always have a strong work ethic and a stack of life lessons that far outweigh those learned in a classroom. I am surprised at how Josie, our girliest (thus far) is so excited when baby calves are born, wanting to pet them, care for them, and love them. I know that she may not seem to be as comfortable with the down and dirty details of it all (however...she's FOUR, mind you), but I know that her experience as a farm girl will be embedded in her strong little personality. Even our littlest, just shy of two years old, loves to wear her boots when she checks cows with Dad. She too is growing up in an environment that makes me so happy to overlook the dustiness of our road and the craziness of our schedules. She is able to run and play and watch the miracle that is life and growth right out in her backyard.

And, I'm excited for this little guy. What will he be like? Will we dress him in John Deere green, cowboy boots, and Carhartts? Yes. Will he receive tractors and cows and barns and other manly, farmy gifts for years? Of course! But, will we pin all of our family's hopes on the farm to continue on his little shoulders, no. I have learned, just watching Joe as a parent to his girls that they are to glean the good stuff from his lessons on the farm and apply it to whatever they do, where ever they do it. They are to respect the land and its beasts, as well as those who work it, and if they decide to follow in his footsteps, fine. If not, fine. Just be a good person, be kind to others, do your best, and work hard.

Those are lessons that you can't find just anywhere, and I am so lucky to be married to someone and in a place where my kids can get this firsthand.

Wow

2011-04-28T12:50:00.000-07:00

So, I have a small following. I have some really loyal readers, and I forget that those loyal readers are not necessarily just my mother (who most likely is checking for grammatical errors) and my friends.

News flash, Emily: People actually are reading this.

And better yet: getting something OUT OF IT!!

Holy smokes.

I got an alert from a follower (read, a cousin) that I was mentioned in a blogpost. Thinking that it was another friend's blog, I clicked on it, and got this! Whoo-hoo! I'm on a list with the likes of the Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond, HERSELF, and Amanda Radke, advocate for Beef Producers everywhere, and a really good writer at that...not to mention the Food Mommy, who I think is someone all moms should read, or people who EAT should read for that matter!

So, so, so excited...for myself.

So, if you're a follower, thanks for reading, and if you want to make my day, mention me in passing...I'll feel great all day. Who doesn't love PROPS??

Thanks, Celeste!

Birds and the Bees

2011-04-25T16:01:00.000-07:00

If you're friends with Joe on Facebook, this will seem redundant, but for those who are not, his last status update recounted a recent event including Anna, her "town cousin," and a bull. After our family Easter egg hunt, Anna's little blond cousin ran up to the fence line where "Pappy" had a bull and a few cows near the edge of the yard. She innocently poked her hand through the fence and said, "Hi, cow!" Anna, who had run up with her, without skipping a beat, corrected the citified cousin stating, "That's not a COW, it's a BULL. Look at his {rhymes with falls}!"

Oh boy.

Joe's 86 year old grandfather, who heard the correction nearly died of laughter. Joe was so proud. I was MORTIFIED.

Honestly.

However, it got me to think, why shouldn't she correct something that's obviously incorrect in an absolutely blunt and truthful way? I have read a lot of debate and been a part of discussions recently about not lying to our kids. While it is probably not the most appropriate thing for us to equate certain events that are leading to the birth of our son with what the bull is now doing to the heifers in heat (cow porn is happening across the road...it's very lovely, let me tell you.), isn't it okay to explain to Anna, in language and verbage that is appropriate to her about essentially the birds and the bees when it comes to the cattle in which she feels somewhat responsible for?

I'm not telling you to run out and teach your kids about reproduction using beef cattle, but when it comes time for our "talk," I feel like Anna will have at least a basis of science that will help her understand at least the mechanics of it all.

At least, that is what I'm telling myself. However, the first phone call I get from a parent from the kindergarten class that is complaining about Anna's bluntness, I might have to pull the plug on this scientific sex ed!

The Great Turkey Burger Debate

2011-04-22T10:07:00.000-07:00

It is obvious that Joe and I are pro-beef. We raise it; I race proudly for TEAM ZIP (when I'm running), and we enjoy eating it.

Joe is uber-sensitive to any sort of argument put out in the media or amongst friends in discussions when it's said that beef is unhealthy, unethical, etc. I'm getting more and more in-tune with this argument, as I at one time did buy soy-meat to cook with...Joe is clasping his chest and sputtering for breath at this admission.

Anyway, Hardee's in the Midwest is promoting a new turkey burger, showcasing its wonderfulness with a lovely bikini-clad Miss Something/Somewhere enjoying it. While I do not wish to offend the poultry producers out there, I have to call "fowl." Ha, ha.

When one prepares any meat type of burger, be it turkey, pork or beef, if it is prepared in the most healthful way (I'm thinking grilled...is that right?), aren't all of these types essentially providing the same amount of nutrients and general goodness? I understand that some beef is processed and packaged more lean, and there are reasons we need to eat a variety of sources of protein, but can't we all just be in this together?

Why must there be an "us vs. them" debate, even within livestock production? Why do I feel like I have to defend myself to another livestock producer? However, it does seem as if there's something billed more healthy on the menu in a restaurant, it's generally not beef. I dislike the way beef is marketed within the Hardee's corporation (actually, all Hardee's marketing is terrible, but that's another rant). Instead of a decent looking and well dressed person enjoying a juicy steak, Hardee's always shows a dude eating a hamburger, all the while wearing some crummy looking flannel shirt, sporting a scruffy beard, and the commercial nearly always ends with the burger being dropped onto a counter with a disgusting, squishy "plop." Where's the hot chick eating a burger? And why does the burger have to make that SOUND?

Last night, however, there was a small victory for us beef producers in the greater entertainment sector. On NBC's Parks and Recreation (which you all should watch, because although again I was skeptical of its Midwestern setting, it is so true at times, how could it not be funny?), anyway, the characters had a cook off between a turkey burger and a hamburger. While the cook of the turkey burger went to a fancy schmancy health food store to spruce up his burger, the burger dude (Ron Swanson...whom I LOVE), slapped his on the grill and served it up on a white bun. The crowd unanimously agreed with the taste of the beef burger being the best. I thought Joe was going to leap out of the couch in joy. Again, I'm not placing any blame on the turkey producers out there, it's just that some times what has always been a crowd favorite, should remain a crowd favorite, and shouldn't be under fire all the time.

It's raining...shouldn't we all stand together under the umbrella of peace???

Either that, or enjoy a good burger together and call it a day.

Fidgety

2011-04-20T05:21:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of similarities between the farmers around here and me. I am constantly fussing about and with something. Currently, I have a baby quilt on a rack, on my bed, ready to hang up. Poor Joe has about nine thousand hooks to hang in various places in our house (remember the Seinfeld episode..."Imagine! A series of hooks!" We're there.). I have furniture to move and paint to roll. I'm constantly rearranging drawers, changing pillow placement on couches, fluffing something. Something always needs to be put away or fixed, in my eyes. It's a nervous habit, I guess.

However, it's also a farmer's habit. It is raining again today, and although just last week the guys were tinkering in the driveway with the planter, lamenting on the lack of rain, it's now the third (or fourth) day of rain, or the potential, cooler temperatures, and one can hear a bit of grumbling. The grumbling at my house is coming from my husband who has been instructed with chalk lines and a power drill placed on his pillow (not really) to get to work on the honey-dos while the weather is crummy. I'm not naggy...I just have to jump on my chance to get some stuff done while he's in the house! Other grumblings include the fact that now it is after the "magic day" of April 15th, and there should be something going on around the countryside. Other farmers in our family (i.e., my father-in-law) have worked ground and even planted. Friends have called Joe, asking him the ever present question of the season, "What have you gotten done?"

Answer: Nothing, ground-wise. A lot, fidget and fuss wise.

That's not entirely true, and I would be in big trouble with my editors (aka, my dad, uncle, and Joe) if I didn't recognize the fact that the planter is unfurled and ready to roll, the Turbo Chopper 4000 is hooked on and staged like a runner at the start line, and the seed, fertilizer, etc. have been delivered. We are all ready to run our race; Mother Nature is just not necessarily cooperating.

Which leads us to the fidgeting.

I'm hopeful that the rain, although welcome for sure, stops and the temperature goes up to at least 65 degrees...for all of our minds. Kids need to be outside; farmers need to have a glimmer of hope that they will get out there and get going for planting season; and I have a garage to clean...with another series of hooks to install!

There's always something!

Oh My

2011-04-13T16:04:00.000-07:00

I just read this post from Crystal Cattle's blog, and it lead me to read this article from the Chicago Tribune. And it lead me to form this opinion:

When has it become okay for the public school to make every decision for a child, and take out all responsibility for a parent?

As a former teacher, I feel like I'm pretty in-tune with what's going on at my daughter's school. I know what questions to ask, what to look for if she starts to slip, what "social" really means when it's addressed at parent/teacher conferences. However, that is by my own doing...and my daughter's teacher's lovely, detailed, weekly newsletter. It is MY (and Joe's) to read nightly with her. It is MY job to check her papers, ask her questions about her day, and drag out any (seemingly) minute detail of the day. However, according to my teacher friends still in the biz, there are a lot of state and district and even federal programs that have been implemented that are taking away a teacher's ability to just teach (in some cases), and, in my opinion, let the parent do a parent's job. It is important to me to trust my daughter's teacher, as I tend to hope that you would trust my farmer husband, but shouldn't parents be able to decide with their kids things like what they eat for lunch?

This is getting ridiculous.

My blogging friend, Crystal, makes a really good point about how this may affect the agriculture industry in the long run. She writes, "When will the school district decide that they should adopt Meatless Mondays, because someone fancies it will be a good idea?"

Good point.

What about the kids with special food allergies? I read that some of the concern was that the kids were wasting food, but isn't offering one choice that the kids already don't like defeat this purpose? How are test scores supposed to meet state and federal guidelines and standards when kids are hungry, left with no choice but one during lunch time.

My father-in-law would call this "ignorance gone to seed." My husband says its just another example of how our society believes that we are sheep without a shepherd, unable to make our own decisions about basic needs.

We have a pretty good relationship with Anna's lunch choices. She makes them based on what's offered, and while Joe some times disagrees with this, I believe that we are allowing her to make a big girl choice, but I still ultimately get the say in what's put in her tummy that day. Joe's experience with school lunch was essentially catering. His cooks lovingly prepared a family dinner for its roughly 35 students. I went to a bigger school, and had a little worse food, so I had the option to bring my lunch when I didn't want to eat chipped beef on toast. I had a choice, and although kids in my school didn't always make the best choice, I don't attribute their weight gain on the fact that they were able to bring Doritos in their lunch.

Honestly.

Doesn't this almost sound funny? I am trying to be educated on this, and know as much as I can, but it's almost ridiculous how one little thing can lead to more and more mandates that will take the parents' responsibility out of schooling their kids and will cause a big, big problem in the long run.

Read this article in the Tribune. Read Crystal's post, and let me know what you think. Maybe I'm just too sensitive about food, kids, and school!

Prep Work

2011-04-13T05:10:00.000-07:00

Since we live about 30 minutes from a mall, "good" Target, etc., and since I have a kindergartener who needs to be picked up off the bus, a preschooler with class for just three hours, and a toddler who needs a nap, my morning today has been jammed already with prepping, list making, coupon getting for our pilgrimage to the big city for a shopping trip. I have to time my day in according to all schedules, a lunch date with a friend, and store openings. It seems like a lot of work for some Easter dresses and toilet paper.

This is quite a lot like the spring prep work that is going on in my driveway. Our planter is stretched out, arms opened wide so the guys can re-do hoses and fiddle...or so it seems. My dad has been to Farm King for hoses and various other necessities. Joe has been for parts in between working calves and doing his normal chores. A group of men were here yesterday helping my uncle the others get the planter all ready. Even my cousin, who is 10, got in on the action yesterday.

Ready...

Set...

So where's the go? Why haven't we started? Like any operation, there are differing opinions in whether or not we should have unfurled the Turbo Chopper 4000 and started to work up the ground yesterday, or wait until today or tomorrow. There's still a lot to do as far as prep work goes. A lot like getting all your coupons in order as to get the best deals on Easter dresses or spring flip flops or toilet paper, in my world.

My hope is that fingernails are not bitten to the nub in anticipation, and that everyone keeps their wits about them when we do get started.

Here's to hoping.

Foster Care

2011-04-06T16:36:00.000-07:00

We have been blessed with a pretty uneventful calving season. Well, not completely uneventful. However, compared to the first two years that we calved, the first year including a calf being born in the muck during Anna's 3rd birthday party and the following year when every calf was born in some sort of inclimate weather, it's been a good year.

However, this morning, Joe found a calf who had gotten into a fence line, and I will spare the details, but the calf did not make it. I hate it when this happens. Joe hates it when this happens, but these unfortunate events do occur now and again. However, we are surrounded by other cattle farmers, and had just received a phone call this past weekend from a neighboring "rancher" who had a calf who needed a mama. I can't remember if it was a twin who was rejected, or a calf who had lost his mother, but this neighbor was looking for a good home for an orphan.

At the time, we didn't need a superfluous calf, but as we speak, Joe is working with this sweet little thing and the mother who lost her baby today, trying to get the two to learn to love each other. The foster care program at the ranch has begun.

This all starts with nursing. If the mama can accept the calf and allow it to nurse, and the calf will take to this new mama, then all is well, and, like a good foster parent, the calf will be treated like he or she is her own. We're hoping that this is the case tonight. I'm hoping it's smooth and quick, considering it's been a gorgeous day, and I have three dirty kids who need baths, and I can hardly bend over.

But, I digress. This process is interesting to me. Cows and their "original" calves have a tight bond, that's for sure. Joe has experienced many a near miss with some ticked off mamas when he has tried to tag (or pierce) the ears of the new babies. Like any good mama, no girl wants her baby messed with (see any new mother as her baby is being passed around a baby shower or the church nursery). However, like any loving being, a mama cow also knows that all creatures need to be cared for and nurtured, and thus the simple act of nursing this calf will create a bond that will be as tight as if she had given birth to this little one herself.

It's amazing to me how something that is so much a business for us, something that inconveniences my ability to do this or that can really get to me as a mother.

Either that, or it's hormones.

Bringin' Home the Bacon

2011-04-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

There are pork ribs simmering in my crockpot.

We had grilled pork chops for dinner last night.

Nearly every meal we have had has had the element of bacon in it.

No, we're not becoming crazy Atkins Diet folks, nor are we giving up on beef, chicken, and other means of protein. Last week, we met Joe's folks "in the middle" for pizza and to pick up pork.

How many of you have ever had pizza and a pig in the back of your SUV (don't worry, not a live one)?

My guess is not many.

Regardless, it got me thinking about how fortunate I am to not only have the opportunity to know my beef producer, but my pork producer, too. We are so lucky to have a grocery bill that rarely includes any sort of meat. It is truly a blessing, as much as two deep freezes in my garage are great for these blessings.

Anyway, we are so very fortunate to know our growers, but who else is? Am I a select group? With the push to eat locally and know your grower as well as know where your food comes from, how does one get the opportunity like I do to truly know where my food is coming from? Is it at a farmer's market? Is it from a glossy ad in the meat case at Whole Foods? Is it from word of mouth of moms at a mom's group?

Seriously, how does one truly know where his or her food comes from?

Luckily, around here, you just drive down the road, check your Facebook wall for Joe's advertisements of beef quarters and halves for sale, as well as ask around. But, if you're a city dweller, how do you do this? When all you see for miles is house upon house upon strip mall upon expressway, where do you even start this relationship process.

This is my quest.

I want you, city readers, to try to find a true grower of something. Not a picture at the market, not a random person you met once at the fly by night farmer's market. Get a relationship with some one who produces something for YOU. It is not out of the question for us to travel two hours south to deliver beef to friends of friends, as well as offer them pictures and testimonial information in regards to our operation. Try to find some one like us...or for that matter, come see us.

As much as I would love to say that all of our friends and friends of friends who have purchased beef from us know exactly where and exactly how their beef grew up, I can honestly say that we have had little to no questions, visits, whatever to our farm for the sole purpose of knowing where and how the cattle are raised. None. Nada. Zip.

Isn't that against every fiber of a person's being who is buying locally? Is that poor consumerism? NO! It's called TRUST. Our buyers trust us, based on our character and the quality of the product. There is no reason for these fine friends to believe otherwise. We have the reputation, and Joe has the know-how to do good things in this business. That is why it is important to us to keep livestock regulations in the hands of the producers, not the crazy nuts who want us to basically live as the cavemen did. As much as I love to say that our farm produces food...this woman cannot live on beef alone, and the corn and soybeans we produce are used in fuel and other products. I can't run out and pick an ear from the field behind my house. I can grow sweet corn, but only in July. So what happens in December?

How will Joe "bring home the bacon", as well as truly bring home the bacon for us to eat if regulations and crazy people put us out of business?

Think about it. Enjoy your choices. Enjoy your steak, but try to figure out, some way, some how to know who is putting it on your plate.

The Spring Scratch

2011-04-04T06:02:00.000-07:00

Well, it's that time of the year. The time whenever we go anywhere and see someone working ground for early spring field work, my husband reports his thoughts on whether or not they're doing a good job, whether or not he should be out there working, and whether or not a rain would do something good or bad for aforementioned field work.

Farmers around here are starting to surface. They're starting to get equipment out and ready. They're starting to "scratch around," as Joe says. I always thought Spring Fever came with an itch, not a scratch, but that's a technicality.

Whatever the case, it's that time, and we're all a little anxious. Should we be doing more? Should we be setting the planter up? Should the guys have been out this last Sunday, when it was 85 degrees, like some of the neighbors?

Would'a, should'a, could'a.

Seriously. Even though we have only been in the full time farming gig for a few years every spring, it's the same conversation: When to start? Where to start? And, some times, Who is starting?

I'm just hopeful I don't have to hear the phrase again, "could you wait about two hours?" when I go into labor and Joe's planting beans. That was a fun moment in our marriage!

The potential to do something, to scratch around, if you will, is there. The seed salesmen are starting to deliver this year's seed. The weather is warming up. There are fields that have been prepped by Crop Production Services. There are neighbors who have worked ground.

However, what no one seems to mention is that we're all a little jittery. To me, this beginning of the planting season is a lot like Christmas shopping. I have sisters-in-law who get their shopping done by October, and come to Thanksgiving and talk about all they have done. I leave the dinner, anxious and cranky, wishing I had been on top of the early sales or had the energy to even consider tackling the lines at Target on Black Friday. However, we all come to our family Christmas with the same gifts, and no one seems to care whether or not I wrapped everything the night before, or three months before. It's all there.

That's what spring scratching is like. Everyone and every operation works at his or her own family's speed. Even within each operation, there may be those who work at differing speeds, but in the middle of summer, the corn is up, and in the end of the growing season, the plants are ready to be harvested. I know I will get a lot of comments from my family about the optimum planting time making the optimum product, I wholeheartedly believe that no one should start to get grouchy or antsy on April 4th.

Now, talk to me on May 4th, and if nothing's done, then I'll be singing another tune!

Happy spring!

An Interesting Traffic Pattern

2011-04-01T04:28:00.000-07:00

Where we live, we tend to be quite observant of the traffic that goes by. Our road is an unmarked gravel road, a road we tell friends and visitors where the turn is by the sign on the other side of the road or the distance from the taxidermist who is our "neighbor to the north."

Nice, huh?

Anyway, even though this lovely road is dusty, dirty and only has a handful of houses on either side (thus the gravel...no need for blokes like us to have blacktop...grrr), it's a thoroughfare to various places. In nearly five years, Joe and I have spent many an evening peering out the windows as well as waving at random people as we play outside with our girls. My findings have led to the beginning of a case study of sorts. I think I will entitle it, Who Goes There? or The Crazies Who Fly Down My Road and Their Destination.

I'm still working on the title.

Anyway, here are my findings:

Group #1: The High School Student
These glorious children are out for a good time, speeding down our road after curfew. We have watched their headlights cut through our fields, go down in our ditches, all the while on the way to a destination, hidden from their parents. I don't want to know what they're doing, but I have an idea (thanks to a good friend who used to frequent the lake by our house in high school himself). Joe has even chased out a few of these kids (man, we're old), following them to make sure their stupid driving tactics and trips through our fields wouldn't knock out the hot wire (aka, electric fence), thus letting the cows out to roam free with these speeding teenagers at 2 AM.
These drivers tend to come out in late night/early morning, generally in the 1 to 3 AM bracket, and keep their speed a steady 60-70 MPH.

Group #2: The Sunday Afternoon Tool Around and Rubberneck Driver
This is a seasonal driver. As my girls and I play outside on a pretty Sunday afternoon in the fall or spring, these drivers, typically males in their upper years (aka old farmers), are just out for a drive. Especially when we were putting up our biggest grain bin (the one we also use as a landmark, as you can see it for miles), we had a lot of these gents. The track tractor my uncle purchased also led to four or five old man pickup trucks and/or Lincoln Continental/other boat like cars to drive by,creeping down our road, swerving as their necks craned to check out what was sitting in our driveway.
These drivers are late afternoon lookers whose speed never tops 20 MPH.

Group #3: The Spoon River Drive People Who Are Just Lost
These folks are very, very rare. Two weekends a year (right around harvest, thus making moving equipment and hauling grain super fun...thank you, crafters!), our area shuts down and gears up for the Spoon River Scenic Drive. If you want anything for your house from crafts to crap, this is the weekend to head to our area. We are between the "hot spots" of Farmington and London Mills, and middle aged women in painted and appliqued sweatshirts tend to think our road will get them to the next stop where they can buy goat's milk lotion and another painted Christmas nativity set faster. I have never seen so many unhappy people buying happy-faced, ruddy cheeked snowmen in my life.
We have had people stop for directions, but generally, these drivers are on a mission, from out of the area, even out of state, whose speed ranges from 30 MPH (to see if I'm selling my ruddy cheeked smiling children) to 50 MPH (to hurry to get to the next stop, the wreaths may be picked over! Hurry!).

Group #4: The Dude on the Lawnmower
Thanks to some field research and local interviews, Joe and I have discovered that our road is a cut through from the Middle Grove Tap (Middle Grove's population is about 14 with a bar count of two ...I think) to My Place in Yates City. Therefore, we have some older, over 21 road trippers who cruise by our house now and again. However, the most recent and most rare of these road trippers is a man on a riding LAWNMOWER. Seriously, this guy must have had some sort of issue with the law and his licensing, but for the past few weeks, he has been up and down our road, past dark, with no lights on. Sounds safe, doesn't it? Last night, as I peered out in wonder, I noticed he even had a small wagon attached to his lawnmower! How fascinating! He's going slow enough that I could probably ask him why the lawnmower, but I don't want to scare such a rare traveler.
His speed never tops 10 MPH (I don't think he can go any faster), and his presence is announced by the typical lawnmower buzz. He generally drives by between 7 PM and 10 PM.

My findings have yielded nothing but true entertainment and curiosity, but as you city folks watch your nine thousand cars pass by in a matter of minutes, think about who is driving. Consider where he or she is going and why. I guess life in the country is good because it's slow for many reasons, especially if your main mode of transportation is a lawn mower!

The Gigantic Baby Bottle

2011-03-21T15:03:00.000-07:00

If Joe ever needs a Halloween costume...I'm looking at a potential prop, sitting right next to my sink: a seriously huge baby bottle.

Yes, I am in nesting mode for our newest arrival, but NO, we will NOT be utilizing this bottle...however, we were a little desperate the other night with friends who were over and needed a bottle, but they didn't think it would work.

Anyway, why do I have an enormous baby bottle? Am I planning for a big baby, one that rivals those in the pages of the National Enquirer? Is Joe truly going to be wearing a baby bonnet and carrying around this prop come October? No, it's just another perk of being a cattleman's wife! Not only do I have to wash the freshly "birthed" upon overalls, check the pockets for random syringes and chains and calving books, I also get to wash this monstrosity.

I lead one heck of a glamorous life, don't I?

Back to the bottle: the purpose of this bottle today was to help a calf that was born nearly 40 to 50 pounds over the normal birth weight of calves. Joe found this big/little guy this morning, and not only did he note that he was huge for a calf, he realized quickly that this "little" dude was in need of assistance. The calf couldn't maneuver his way to his mama and figure out how to eat. Thus, Joe became his own chapter of the Cow Le Leche League, and the big bottle came into use.

We're hopeful that this calf is going to make it, but the odds are against him. Tube feeding (just like it sounds...stick a tube down the calf's throat and feed him/her milk) can be a good thing, but one slight misplacement, and the fluid could run to the calf's lungs, and kill it. It's actually very nerve wracking, and if one factors in that Joe has a tender heart, and often feels responsible when a calf has trouble nursing or even dies, it's also very stressful.

Our hope is that we can just wash the bottle up and tease guests with small children about using it, and hope that our calves will be smart enough to nurse on their own. Here's to hoping.

Shutting Gates

2011-03-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

Our girls are very fortunate. We live in a place where they can run circles around our house (always being cognizant of the potential dog bombs), enjoy bike rides in a big driveway and fly kites without worrying about neighbor's rooftops or power lines. Country living- for kids as far as hanging out time is concerned- is good.

Along the same lines, this country living is great for future employment endeavors. Our girls love to chore with Dad. Even Amelia, who is not quite two, loves to check "baby [c]ows" with Dad, donning her green bug boots, basically for ceremony's sake, as she's usually carried around the lots. Anna especially is enjoying the farm kid's life, and is getting to the age where Joe feels as if she is responsible enough to take on a few odd jobs when they go out choring.

Case in point, this morning: despite a bout with sickness this week and a weird rash, there was no way I was going to keep her in the house this morning, as today is the beginning of our district's spring break. Anna, as she tends to do, was up before all of us, whispering in Dad's ear that she was ready to go when he was. She didn't realize it was 5:30, and Joe wasn't quite ready to rock and roll just yet, after a late night of watching March Madness!

Anyway, I have been hearing, as I waddle around this morning, the four wheeler buzzing all around across the road, as Joe and Anna, holding her on his lap, are out to check the pasture for new calves. I equate this process to hunting Easter eggs. Unlike new mamas, bred heifers and ol' cows (i.e., experienced mothers) are easy calvers and quick to nurse. Joe basically is an obstetrician at this time, in the sense that he some times comes in to the rescue to catch a baby calf, or just waltzes around, doing his "rounds," making sure that all is well. With the new moms, he has to be both the hardworking Labor and Delivery Nurse as well as the OB, but this gig with the more experienced moms is less stressful.

Can you tell what's on my mind???

But I digress...back to the jobs my KIDS have...

While checking calves is fun, Anna really gets a kick out of little responsibilities her dad gives her when she's out being helpful. There are gates to open and close, buckets to haul, and the dog to round up. Anna is given the opportunity to feel a part of something bigger than just riding around on the four wheeler or in the truck. She is his constant companion, and if he wants her to stay this way, he's got to keep her interested, involved, and engaged.

I think about my experience with my dad's early farming days. There were a lot of factors that kept my brother and me at arm's length to this side of my dad. There was the simple fact that we lived in town, 35 minutes away from the farm, and then there's the aspect of my personality that is like my Josie, the fact that I was (and still am) very girly and more interested in what I was going to WEAR to the farm. Thus, I never had a job to do with Dad. He was just a "part timer" at the time, and had no livestock. Thus, the "chores" my brother and I could participate in were walking beans (literally pulling weeds from the rows of soybeans), mowing the grass (if you haven't read my story about how I will never mow the lawn, let me know), or sitting in the tractor, planter, grain cart, or combine and just riding.

Sounds fun, doesn't it?

Life for a livestock kid isn't all fun and games and shutting gates, however. Dad has to be given a lot of grace, during this busy time, and may or may not be at the baseball game, or may or may not be at the parent teacher conference. He may or may not be able to take a kid with due to the weather, circumstance of the day, whatever. But, our farm dad, when my girls do go with him, makes sure that each kid has something age and personality appropriate to participate in.

I only hope that Anna will just share the bare minimum details of the calf she just saw being born with her kindergarten class!

A Face to a Product

2011-03-14T16:53:00.000-07:00

I love conversations on Facebook that spur good banter. A city-gal, with whom I'm friends, commented on watching the movie Food, Inc. Her comment was very much the norm. As Joe would say, so eloquently, "she drank the Michael Pollen Kool-Aid." However, knowing that this particular lady is very smart and savvy, she just watched it as an agricultural outsider, and the movie did what it was produced to do: PERSUADE CONSUMERS.

However, it wasn't the comment she made about the food processing plants or the production side of agriculture that got me to think. It was the anti-Monsanto sentiment. When I asked Joe if he believed that Monsanto had cornered the soybean market, or if they were taking over the agricultural chemical or seed production business, he took a second to respond. We had a good conversation about how this particular corporation could be seen as a monster, as it has been its practice to swallow all other little guys in the same business. However, I look at Monsanto with different eyes.

I see our dear friend Andy, who is working hard to take care of his two little girls and helps us out a lot. Joe and I see our friend Ron, a really awesome guy who knows his stuff and does great things for this company. We see Chris, my dear friend's husband, who works long hours and uses his Master's degree to do a good job for his farmer customers. We can rattle off many guys and girls we went to college with, who are not evil. They're just doing their job, in a field they love...they're farm kids with insurance benefits and a steady paycheck (WHO KNEW??)!!

When suburbanites and those who are not in the "agri-biz" watch something like Food, Inc. and hear that Monsanto is a terrible company, they don't have a face to put to the product. They don't have an Andy or a Ron or a Chris. They have a big, nasty corporate dude in their line of sight. I see a guy I go to church with.

It's the same as livestock farming. Until American consumers are able to see the faces that produce their beef or pork or chicken or whatever, big companies like Hormel or Tyson or whatever will just be big corporations with no heart, no family, and no need for good insurance.

While I'm not saying that life wouldn't be better for us if our Monsanto bill was a little smaller, I do truly believe, that like everything, there are always two sides to every story, and we as consumers need to be ready to understand that while we're all able to tell our stories, those who know the "real" story, should maybe yell a little louder.

A Real Job

2011-03-07T05:31:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I grew up with a dad who taught agriculture at both the high school and college level. That was his real job. However, when I was in grade school, he started "farming on the side" in the same place where we live right now. He bought a beater of a pick up truck, worked all day at school and then sometimes wouldn't come home until we had long since been tucked into bed during the busy seasons.

He loved (and still loves) the actual act of farming. However, couldn't support us as a family with the income generated by the grain farming industry.

Fast forward 25 years, and here we are. Joe and I moved to this place, nearly five years ago, so we could be closer to our family, and he could pursue his childhood dream of being a farmer. However, his real job at the time was still being a national agriculture educational consultant. That was what paid the bills. That was what we were able to count on. The markets and cattle prices were important, don't get me wrong, but we had a paycheck that we could depend upon.

Thanks to the lovely state of our finances in the educational sector, Joe became too expensive to employ by the company, so we had to take a big risk and have farming become his real job. Full time. All eggs in this basket.

I am thankful that we have had this opportunity to stretch ourselves, to trust in this profession, to truly watch over all of our finances and learn how to truly budget (well, I learned; Joe taught). We have had to truly figure out what purchases, vacations, etc. are important to us, what's not, and then plan and plan and plan. It's been a good exercise for an impulse spender who is impatient...aka, me.

However, when I mention to someone I have just met that Joe is a farmer, almost always, my second question from those unfamiliar with agriculture is, "Is that his real job?"

Sigh.

Yes. It is. Yes, we know that in the media we're considered evil, and in the Midwest, we're truly in the minority. Many of our friends, members of the FarmHouse Fraternity, no less, would love to be farmers full time. I've heard the conversations, but they can't swing it. The lure of the paycheck is too much. The stability of health insurance and a 401K is too good of a deal. Every dude wants to play in the dirt, but no one wants to give up his flat screen TV, ski trips to Colorado, and nice, not-so-farmy looking pick up truck.

Do I blame them?

HECK NO!

Thus, we are now at a crossroads, a transition, if you will. Joe has taken a "real job." He has an amazing opportunity to work in crop insurance with a successful, established business with a really nice boss. He has to make appointments and head out during the day now. He has to work on Sunday afternoons, tending to the cattle herd (especially during this time), so that he can be ready to attend meetings, trainings, appointments and the like, to help build this new opportunity.

Why am I okay with this, when it's cramping my style of running out to here and there without worrying about childcare?

Because, admittedly, I am okay with the concept of a real job. I am okay with financial stability. I am okay with "something on the side" (in business sense, only!). I am thankful that, although the markets play a big role in my grocery and clothing budgets, and the fact that I am staying at home, it's nice to have something to help lessen the Target bill blow.

Farming is a noble, necessary, and, not-so-predictable way of life. I wish that we could be at the point that Joe could just call this profession his real job, but we're not. And, realistically, there are a lot of other young farmers (and old, I guess) who are in the same boat. Crop insurance, seed sales, trucking corporations, etc. are side jobs that fill the gaps in our unstable environment.

However, when will I be able to answer, confidently, that Joe is a full time farmer, and that I'm okay with that, and no, we're not destitute or crazy? Probably never, thanks to the lavish lifestyles we Americans enjoy living.

Until then, I'll continue to answer my most asked question with the lengthy response I tend to give, and hope that some day, just being a farmer will be enough for us.

Reflections on a Birthday

2011-03-02T05:22:00.001-08:00

Today is our oldest daughter's, Anna, birthday. I am a big birthday gal. I love parties, presents, balloons, treats at school, all that fun stuff, but I truly believe that upon having a child, the birthday concept took on a whole new meaning.

As a many mothers do, I have a grueling labor story in my pocket, to be used during those tumultuous teenage years. This long story includes being sent home from the hospital, after laboring for nearly 24 hours, only to labor for 12 more, hard, painful hours, drug-free (not at the end...I'm no martyr!). A total of 36 hours. Yikes. I think I should be getting presents today.

However, since we are in the height of calving season, I got to thinking about the differences and similarities of the whole birthing process we mothers endure. Our heifers (those who are first time moms) are inexperienced, scared, dumbfounded at times, and unable to comprehend the fact that they just gave birth. Aren't first time mothers some times like that? Don't we wonder how we got to where we are (okay, that's not what I meant...), wonder if we're going to be able to care for our babies the way they need to be, because we have no point of reference? Joe's first-calf heifers need a lot of assistance, and I think back to when I was even just expecting Anna. My mom and dad called me all the time, checking on me during my third trimester. I am now in my third trimester of this, the fourth pregnancy, and once in a while, I'm asked how I'm doing. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that we all have a level of experience now.

Joe has had to teach many a new cow-mom how to nurse. This is something else that I understand a little better. When we first had Anna, I was diagnosed with mastitis, which is pretty common, but painful. Joe diagnosed it before the doctor, and as annoyed as I was with him at the time--how dare he compare me to an ANIMAL?- we're all built similarly, and consequently, now that I'm living the livestock life, I see those similarities.

Not that I want to be referred to as an "old cow," as I some times am. So romantic.

Anyway, we are enjoying a great day, thus far. It's early, and Joe's already been out to check a mama who had twins, trying to get her to realize that two calves came from her. . . something we human moms don't have to worry about. Anna's been up since dawn, actually pre-dawn, excited for her presents, the sticker she will receive at school, and lunch at school with Dad. Life is good today.

My hope for our now big, little girl is that she will continue to enjoy many, many years of birthdays, but also see that even though we make a big deal with presents and parties and such, she will understand that we are all God's creatures. Because our family has a love for animals, I hope that all of my girls will always see that, regardless of the species, each life is as precious as the next.

Happy birthday, Anna Grace!

Another Experience of Inexperience

2011-02-23T19:10:00.000-08:00

In case you haven't heard, this week is National FFA week. In case you haven't also heard, FFA is an organization that was started as the "Future Farmers of America" and has evolved from a bunch of ag boys to a tremendous opportunity for all high school students across the country to not only learn more about agriculture, but also demonstrate their knowledge through speaking competitions, judging teams, and both state and national conventions.

I'm married to a former Section FFA President and FFA sponsor, and was raised by a former FFA sponsor. However, I never participated because, as a little girl, when we attended an event where FFA officers were present, I told my dad that I would only participate if the jackets were pink, not blue.

And we wonder why my middle daughter changes her mind in the middle of the night and changes her pajamas, just because the Ariel ones seemed a little more stylish.

Anyway, it's not only FFA week, a week where the FFA students participate in various fun activities during school time, but it's also the week that my former high school and its section hosts their public speaking competition. Being a woman who not only taught English, but talks a lot, I was called upon (well, only after my mom called me in) to help judge one of the groups of public speakers. I was to judge those who were speaking in the "extemporaneous" division, meaning "off the cuff," kind of. The kids would have to draw from a pool of various topics in agriculture today, take 20 minutes, and use what they already know as well as resources that they had brought to come up with a 3-5 minute speech.

I knew this part. I knew I could listen and figure out who had good presence, knowledge of the topic, as well as basic public speaking skills.

Piece of cake.

Plus, I got to leave the kids with Grandma, get dressed up, and go to my former high school, feeling all old and "good ole days-ish."

However, the part that I didn't know was that once the students finished their little ditty, I, along with my two other judges, would have to ask questions about each student's topic.

Yikes.

When our "head judge" said that I could go first with my questions, I nearly fainted. As I listened to the first speaker, I jotted down a few notes about what I thought would be somewhat intelligent questions, but realized quickly, I had NO IDEA what to ask her.

What I really wanted to ask was, "Why does FFA require you to wear a navy blue jacket with black pants or skirt? Doesn't National FFA watch What Not to Wear? Don't they know the simple laws of fashion state that navy blue and black do NOT match?"

Anyway, I tried my best, but my questions sounded more like Suzy Homemaker and not Sally Farmer. I have a long way to go in my knowledge of agriculture, this I know, but in situations like this, my confidence in knowing what is going on outside my front door is down the drain. These kids knew their stuff. Some more than others, but they only had 20 minutes to prepare, and I LIVE ON A FARM, WITH A FARMER! I'm a card-carrying member of the Farm Bureau. This blog is about agriculture!!!!

Yikes, again.

Even though tonight really highlighted my lack of knowledge in the universal identification of livestock as well as cloning, biofuels, and farming for pharmaceutical use, I truly hope they ask me again next year to help. I hope my questions will be more intelligent sounding.

Here's hoping I can learn something in a year.

Town Home

2011-02-22T09:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, so last week was b-e-a-u-tiful weather, and the kids and I spent a lot of time outside. While our picturesque country yard was a perfect place (picturesque if you ignore Sadie's "gifts" that we need to clean up still) for the little tikes to expend a lot of energy, I found myself wanting to revert back to my life as a town kid.

We are so fortunate that my parents moved a mere five miles away, in town, and into a neighborhood that is full of kids, sidewalks, and a home for my double jogger that doesn't require a dust cover (thank you, crappy road). So, on a particularly lovely morning, I took the two little girls into town for a walk. As I was happily cruising, a friend yelled out her door to join us. We chatted and walked along the cute streets of Elmwood, and upon returning, and going into my parents' house, I truly realized how, while my husband has a lot of country in his blood, I have a lot of town in mine.

It probably didn't help that I was hanging out in my parents' brand new home, filled with nice furniture that hasn't been continuously run over with trucks and Barbies. A house that I didn't have to clean, nor did I feel like I had to, but was already tidy, filled with snacks and a full dishwasher that I didn't have to unload.

Anyway, I have heard a lot about how people who grew up in the country had it great, and are so lucky to have enjoyed a big yard, animals, fresh air, etc. However, I do not feel slighted in the least to have enjoyed my childhood amidst paved streets and sidewalks, bike rides around town that didn't require first a trip in the car, and friends just a few doors away. Town life was great for me. Country life is great for me, too, don't get me wrong, I just find myself wondering if my girls (and soon to be little guy) will miss out by not living in town.

I am learning to like to live this country life, but there will always be a little piece of me that will yearn to be able to head out for a run with the kids without having to drive to town. There is a part of me that longs for my girls to be able to ride their bikes to school, to walk out of their door and have a friend holler out to play with them. There's a lot of really special things about living in the country, but there are also really great aspects of living in town.

My hope is that because we are so fortunate to have a "town home" (aka my parents' house), my kids can grow up with both experiences. I just hope that my mom will continue to stock the mixed nuts and dried fruit like I like it, and my dad will keep the air in my stroller's tires.

We're in Print!

2011-02-15T10:44:00.000-08:00

Check out today's story in the Quincy Herald-Whig! What about that good lookin' bunch of girls? Check out the fact that I was too late submitting our photo that I didn't touch up my make-up, or even pick up the back entryway.

Seriously. At least I'm kind of "glowing" because of pregnancy, right?

Enjoy the read!

Is It Here?

2011-02-15T04:59:00.000-08:00

Has spring sprung?
Are we just being teased?
Should I be rejoicing the melt of our nine thousand inches of snow?

Well...maybe, on all accounts.

Around here, when we get above 40, you would think that it's early June. Everyone's a little bit antsy to bare his or her arms and legs. Illinoisans are opening windows, letting fresh air and sunshine stream in. I'm celebrating by wearing flats with no socks, all the while being cautious around the enormous puddles of melted snow in parking lots. Runners are running outside (that WILL be me again...next year). Kids are having outdoor recess. Life is grand.

But, it might just be a fake out, because there have been many a cold and snowy March and even April, so I am just making the best of the next few days.

I washed my car.

Which sounds like a great plan, considering the temperature would no longer freeze my doors shut or freeze ice on my windshield as I drive away from the car wash. However, I did have to drive home, and as I turned on my road, I decided my choice to wash my car might not have been the most intelligent decision in the world that day.

Our road was nothing but a mucky, rutted mess.

Ahhh....country living. We live completely "off the beaten path," and with that comes a "gravel" road. I put gravel in quotation marks because after the winter, there are roughly four pebbles left on the road: those lucky little guys who survived the elements, the snow plow and the road grater. The road is rutted where it's soft, making a great home for nice muddy puddles. The ones my daughters would love to jump in, and the ones I tend to either swerve around or go about 5 miles per hour through, just to save my car's clean exterior for more than twenty minutes.

It is agony to this town girl who loves a clean car to live on this road. My dad is the same way. We drive about 15 MPH, maximum during this time of year, something my farmer husband finds ludicrous. He drives his farm truck about 40, coating the sides with the brownish-gray mud, and not worrying about a thing. He might wash it, but it also might rain, and considering he leaves it parked outside, who cares. He has other concerns during this partial thaw.

Calves are his main concern, of course. Thaws in mid-February are great for runners, flat-wearers, and puddle jumpers, but they are very, very hard on new calves. Older, stronger calves with bossy, experienced mothers tend to occupy the barn during this time. Not only is it warmer in the barn, but, most importantly, it is also dry. Thus, inexperienced, new heifers and their calves are left to rest in the mud and the muck, causing sickness, which is never good, especially in the early days of their lives. Just last night, Joe had to tube feed electrolytes to a dehydrated calf when it wouldn't take its bottle of "Cow Gatorade." Thankfully, this morning, the calf is doing much better, but while days like yesterday and potentially today make me think about washing windows and outside running, they can some times be detrimental to a young calf's life.

Are you sensing a theme here? Are you wondering why the heck we have cattle in the first place when nights like last night, which happened to be Valentine's Day, are spent in the dark and the cold nursing and then tube feeding a calf instead of snuggling with a lovely, but largely pregnant, wife?

Did you enjoy a steak dinner last night in celebration of Valentine's Day?

Thanks, from us, if you did. Your dinner may have paid for our car wash!

Happy Taste of Spring!

When Vacation is Measured in Hours

2011-02-11T05:45:00.000-08:00

If you're anywhere near the Midwest, you know, it's been a long, cold, snowy winter. Many of us are dreaming of getting away to somewhere warmer, escaping the bleakness that is mid-February. As I was sitting at my mom's group yesterday, we (well, I was listening, but we'll get to that later) were sharing where our next trip would be. I have a friend whose family are travelers, and they're off to sunny Florida in the next few weeks, another friend is fortunate enough to go to Arizona coming up. As I listened, lamenting that my last trip was to St. Louis when it was the HOTTEST week EVER in HISTORY in August, I was nudged out of my small pity party by another friend, a dairyman's wife. She reminded me that farmers, specifically those with livestock, don't measure our vacation time in weeks, or even days, rather, it's measured in hours.

This was a sad realization, but so very, very true.

Now, no one go out and feel sorry for me and buy me an all expenses paid vacation to somewhere warm (hint, hint), because at one time, Joe and I did travel a lot. Ironically, especially Joe. For his "BF" (Before Farming) job, he was a consultant for a national agricultural education corporation, and he spent many days of the week on the road or in the air. California, New Jersey, Florida, Texas, Idaho, Georgia, even Las Vegas were a few of his destinations two or three times a MONTH. He even traveled a bit abroad to India, China, and Hong Kong for another leadership group he was a part of. We went to Maui for our honeymoon, Texas for our first anniversary (during the hottest part of the summer, but that seems to be a trend, and if it means I'm going somewhere, I will never complain of it again). I traveled a bit as a single gal, enjoying running marathons and other races in places like San Diego and Seattle. We even visited my brother's family in sunny, Southern California with the girls, taking in the beach, Disneyland, and all other California-ish things! We were on the go.

No more.

When your vacation is measured in hours, you are quite limited to where you can go. I must be a trendsetter, because I think we Webels invented the stay-cation. We are the king and queen of our castle, and even when offered the opportunity to visit Joe's family, a mere two hours away, we have to make the trip quick, between chores, and if it's calving season, forget it. We have birthday presents we owe nieces and nephews from December. It's pretty sad, if you're a traveler.

Even this morning, as we talked about our weekend, which will be spent with Joe's fraternity brothers at a local hotel, our oldest, Anna, spoke excitedly as she waited for the school bus about the stay in the hotel (even though it's just a mere 25 minutes away). Joe explained to her, that even though we'll check in, have a room, and use the fun swimming pool with our friends that day, we'll have to come home and sleep in our own beds because Daddy has to check the heifers. Anna began to moan in agony, "Why does it always have to be about the cows, Daddy?"

Even though sometimes I share my daughter's angst in regards to our vacation hours, I am beginning to understand that this is the way a good cattle man keeps his herd. Joe has to be especially cautious during this cold, snowy time, making sure that no calves are born in the snow, left to freeze, by new, inexperienced mamas. Although I would love to just get away for a weekend here and there, I know that this is not in the cards for this time of year. I have to wait, patiently, until potentially the hottest part of the summer, when the cows and calves are out on grass pasture, and then, we'll see our nieces and nephews and deliver them their winter birthday presents!

Learning the Secret Handshake

2011-02-09T10:44:00.000-08:00

As I sat at my second Farmer Image training session (no, I did NOT flunk the first, I just saw an opportunity to talk to adults and hit the shoe department at Von Maur without the kids, so I jumped!), I felt like the last kid on the playground to be chosen for kickball.

I did not fit in.

I was one of the last to introduce myself, and as I listened to the others sharing their acreage total, master's degrees in crop/animal/weed science, what state board they were president of (be it pork, beef, corn, whatever), as well as their experience with livestock, I realized that I was not in my comfort zone at all. I was the most under-qualified, non agricultural person on the panel that day. I was sitting in the middle of a fraternity house, the fraternity that is agriculture, and did not know the handshake.

Yikes.

My heart was racing as the introductions continued down the line, nearing me. Leaning on my ol' friends, sarcasm and humor, I introduced myself, honestly, proclaiming that I was indeed supposed to be there, even though none of my education was going to help me.

However, this was not entirely true. Although I did not have on a pair of cowboy boots (thank you for reinforcing stereotypes, gentlemen), nor did I have anything emblazoned with any reference to seed corn, chemicals, or equipment, when we were practicing talking to the general public about the good agriculture was doing for the economy, environment, etc., I was able to actually participate!

While I wasn't able to give the scientific reason why we apply our fungicide by aerial application (aka crop duster planes), I was able to interject that no one in my family has a third eye because of it.

So, I might not have sounded the most polished, but one step at a time.

Anyway, my point here today is that I do not have a BS in Crop Sciences, nor did I participate in FFA in high school, nor do I even have the slightest clue how to turn on, let alone drive a tractor, even one as small as a lawnmower (due to an unfortunate run-in with a culvert and our push mower in fourth grade, I am no longer able to mow anyone's lawn...or so my dad says), but that does not make me less credible. The on the job training I am receiving by simply being a farm wife is helping me polish up my information set that I can share, as well as my communication skills to try to become a voice in agriculture that can be heard above the craziness of what is put out by the media.

Even though I am wiggling my way into the agricultural world, one meeting, blog post, and step at a time, I'm going to find myself a card-carrying member of this ag fraternity some day...and then, maybe I can learn that dang secret handshake!

At the Mercy of the Commish

2011-02-03T13:18:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I readily admit that as a kid and then later as a teacher, I loved snow days. I watched the weather and then did a small dance when our district was announced on the radio. So exciting.

This is when I lived in town as a kid, near great hills, and had a mom who would make cinnamon rolls for breakfast in celebration (she was a teacher, too). Later, during my time as a teacher, and while I lived in the "big city" (well, not a huge city, but still), I took advantage of really good city snow plows, and would spend my snow days going to the gym, running errands, and maybe even shopping. They were glorious.

However, I never truly experienced the affects of a snow day until I was at home in 2006, with our four day old baby and 20 month old toddler (read: another baby), completely stranded on our drifted-over road. We had received over 16 inches of snow the first day we had brought our second child home. Having only lived in our home for six months, I was new to a lot of the aspects of country living. Our road was impassable, and I didn't understand why no one was digging us out. Where were our snow plows? Thankfully, that particular snow was light and fluffy, and the morning after it had fallen, Joe, who was still new to farming, without any livestock, had fun plowing through our road on his way to my uncle's and grandpa's houses.

Fast forward to this year, add in another kid and another pregnancy, 100 head of cattle (most of them who are going to calve here relatively soon), and then factor in an icy, heavy, drifting snow, and you've got yourself a true snow day. After seeing all my city and town friends' pictures on Facebook: cute kids bundled up, sledding, and enjoying the day off of work, all set against the backdrop of plowed roads, thanks to the city's snow plows, I reported in frustration that Joe had to leave his tractor and walk the rest of the way to the calving barn, as our road and even the field were impassable. While my girls have enjoyed playing outside, Joe and I (well, Joe mainly) are completely stressed out when he is unable to get to his calves. We were completely at the mercy of our road commissioner, and he was no where in sight. All day. And into the evening. For two days.

By late in second day, we were starting to get nervous. Joe was nervous about his new calves and heifers who were ready to go (And, of course, to punctuate a really nasty snow day, there was a calf born in the night. One that spent most of the day in the truck, warming up as Joe ran errands!). I was nervous because what if there was a fire? What if we needed an ambulance? What if I needed contact with people other than my FAMILY?? There was no way anything, other than something with a large blade across it's front could pass through our road. We even debated contacting friends with snowmobiles to get Joe to the calving barn. I always thought I was the control freak, but after last night's pacing and cursing our (I'm sure very nice) road commissioner, I'm realizing he and I are soooo much a like in the control-freak aspect of our personalities!

However, at about 6:30 last night, it was like a scene in a movie. Back in the distance of our little gravel road, coming up over a hill, the bright lights atop a large road maintainer were spotted! They lit the way for what would be our sweet freedom, and an end to Joe's panic. HE HAD COME!! Our superhero for the day, the COMMISH!!

Joe and I despise being at the mercy of someone else, especially when our livelihood is at stake. It is not only sad, but costly for us to lose calves, therefore, it is necessary for Joe to do his checks often. Being at the mercy of our road commissioner was enough to make us both crazy, crazier than a "normal" snow day antsy feeling.

Until I moved out here onto a county side road, at the very southernmost part of a really loooooong county, 30 minutes away from the metropolis where most of the plowing takes place, did I truly understand why school days are canceled due to snow. Roads can be impassable, and there's not enough time and people to get to all roads so that buses can pass through, and until we have a specific snowblower attachment for our tractors, on days like yesterday, we will be stuck.

Now that I realize we are at the mercy of someone else for our safety and sanity, I'm prayerful that Snowmaggedon, Snowpocolypse, Snownado, or the Snowtorious B.I.G. will NEVER happen again.

Or, I'll be better prepared with a hotel room in the city and a snowmobile for my husband.

Veganism or Nepotism?

2011-02-01T15:05:00.000-08:00

I'd like to first take this opportunity to give a big thank you to shows like the Today Show and Oprah for giving me such great material to comment upon.

Sheesh.

Okay, so today, Oprah featured that she and 378 of her fellow staffers decided to take a Vegan challenge: no meat, no eggs, no dairy, all for one week. Now, while I truly believe, truly, truly, truly, that we must eat more fresh fruits and vegetables and cook more using good, wholesome beef, pork, chicken or whatever, do I believe that making the choice to cut something out, be it meat, white flour, sugar, whatever is the key to the best life? No: see my grandmother, who is 96, lives independently, takes no prescriptions and loves chocolate. Do I believe you should cut out all animal products because Oprah proclaimed Monday to be Meatless Monday? NO! Think for yourself. Believe what you believe is right, but know that a life change shouldn't be made up of an "all or nothing" mentality.

Michael Pollen, of the book the Omnivore's Dilemma and the movie Food Inc. and Kathy Freston, not a nutritionist, not a doctor, not a nurse, but the exceptionally leggy blond wife of Oprah's partner in the OWN network (SERIOUSLY?? No credentials except her dislike of eating all animals and animal products as well as a well connected husband. Don't know what makes me madder...), were the featured guests. Along with these two, a manager at a Cargill meat processing plant (or slaughterhouse, thank you Lisa Ling for your use of more "harsh" sounding words), a cattle farmer (for about 30 seconds), and staffers who took the week long challenge were interviewed. If you haven't watched this show, please do. I know that I am uber-sensitive to the voice of the American farmer, but I feel like I saw a lot more of the cute, non-credentialed blond and her really cute boots (which I'm assuming were faux fur) than the Cargill woman, and even Michael Pollen.

Watching this, I realized how much Oprah is self-promoting. How much she is out to work the crowd and have them believe what is most trendy, getting the biggest buzz, and consequently, getting her the most revenue, not the facts. I am currently formulating a response to her message board in regards to this show, and the biggest ad on the page is for Kashi, one of the sponsors of this challenge. I know from my little experience with advertising on this blog, that advertising is key to revenue.

Not only did the blatant pocket lining of Oprah, Freston (who was promoting her book) and corporations such as Kashi and Whole Foods bother me, but it's also the shameful references made about the American public and their eating habits. To me, I feel a balance of everything is the key. I have been the same size (with some fluctuations thanks to pregnancy) since high school because I try to eat balanced as well as exercise often and vigorously. I feel like I have set a good example for my kids, allowing them sweet treats and other "fun foods" in moderation, and run around as much as possible. We eat meat, obviously, and have ZERO interest in taking this Oprah challenge (which you can sign up for on the web site, too), but also balance out a meal with at least one veggie along with a fruit and a grain side. But it's not only because we're livestock producers that we eat meat. Thankfully, because of our livelihood, we know what we produce is a good quality product, which is something Michael Pollen stresses. However, it's because everything in moderation yields good results.

I would love to have a true, true expert on one of these shows. I would have loved to see the Cargill representative, who did a good job, by the way, have more than 30 seconds of time during her interview. I would have loved the staffer whose father-in-law was a dairy farmer have had more time to explore that aspect of her life, or maybe even have Oprah invite aforementioned father-in-law to the show and give another face to the American producer. But no...like all the daytime talk shows, one side is only given the most face time.

That is what truly ticks me off. GIVE US A VOICE, MEDIA!!! See the face of agriculture the way that it truly looks like: my husband, who is out for the third time this afternoon, in a blizzard, checking his few heifers who are close to calving. This is not some dude who is just out for a buck, because believe me, this gig does not pay enough on a day like today. See the life of our cattle, not "factory cows," who are protected from the elements during this terrible storm, thanks to the rebedding of barns and fresh water provided by automatic waterers (please power, stay on!!).

Only when we can tell our story on a stage such as Oprah will the face of American agriculture be seen in a positive way.

So, I guess I have to dye my hair blond, sprout really long legs, and write a book I really have no expertise in.

Hmmm...

Guest Post--From the Guy Who Does It All

2011-02-01T12:27:00.000-08:00

For the guy who is not only plays the role of a large animal vet, obstetrician (not for me, don't worry), nutritionist, handyman, husband, father and snow removal expert...snow days, especially ones with the threat of no power, are a big deal and tons of extra work for Joe. He's out checking his heifers now, in the midst of a time when I have heard more than once in the 15 minutes of TV I have watched today: STAY OFF THE ROADS! Well, no kidding, however, we're pretty far down on the county's snow plow list, so we tend to be pretty conservative.

Regardless of whether you are snowed in, or enjoying beautiful summer-like temperatures in some tropical, exotic location, please take a moment to appreciate the work American farmers, particularly livestock farmers do for your food supply. Unless you're following and drinking the Oprah Kool-Aid again by going vegan. However, remember that although one may be told otherwise, life is not all or nothing, instead, take a minute to appreciate all the controversy and craziness that make our lives interesting!

Happy reading!

Snowpocalypse 2011- A Cattleman's Perspective

With a few minutes of break here in the middle of the day, I thought I'd share what this snowstorm means to those of us caring for livestock on days like today.

The past two days have been spent preparing for the blizzard of biblical proportions, according to the weathermen. Fixing up and cleaning sheds for the lucky cattle that have one available to them, bedding down extra loose hay in the areas that have windbreaks for those cattle that won't have a roof over their head, and making sure water is readily available in all situations. We fed enough hay this morning that if the weather necessitates, the older cows will be OK if I can't get there tomorrow.

The maternity ward is a different story. I'm in the first week of calving season for my first calf heifers. These are first time mothers, and like first time mothers, they often times have no clue of what to do. Sometimes when they go into labor, they want to be alone, so they will leave the comfort of the shed and go out to the corner of the lot and give birth there. As first time mommas, in that scenario, they are likely to get up and head back to the shed. Not such a good deal today! Experienced cows won't do this- they will either stay with their baby, or run the others out of the barn so that they can have it to themselves. Thus, the heifers will be checked every two hours during the day, and when I check them before I go to bed, I will shut those four heifers that I predict are most likely to calve in the barn where they can't get out into the snow. If at that time I believe that any of them are in the process of going into labor, I will be out at 2 am to go check them and make sure that they deliver successfully and assist them if required. If the forecast holds true (and it is so far), I will have to take my loader tractor for that trip as the roads will likely be impassible for my pickup (the calving barn is 3 miles down the road).

As if today wasn't bad enough already, I hear that Oprah is having a big deal on going Vegan for a week, having Michael Pollen and his ridiculous fabrications and lies (all in the name of lining his pockets to sell his books) and having an "expose" on beef processing plants. This should be good (sarcasm alert)- everybody is snowed in so her audience will be even bigger. They will probably go to great lengths to talk about how cruel we livestock producers are to our animals, how meat is terrible, so on and so forth. Funny that there are no cameramen following me around today- maybe that would tell a side of the story that they aren't interested in telling. I don't know what the show will have to say about livestock and meat, but i know enough about the people they have on to know it won't be fair, accurate, or based in sound science. That would be asking far too much. Maybe I'll be surprised. I won't be watching, I'll be busy caring for my animals.

Hip To Be...

2011-01-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

...born in a barn?

Have you noticed that it is completely socially acceptable as well as commendable to be "getting back to the basics?" While I agree that we should all eat a little more fresh, play more outside, and depend less upon technology for entertainment, shouldn't we be embracing technology a little more and realizing how good we have it?

Case in point: my house. I live where my grandma and grandpa raised four kids. The house, while they lived in it, housed six people, had one bathroom, and my aunt used to have to plug in her hair dryer upstairs, in the hallway, as it was the only outlet up there. Fast forward 30 years and six months of major renovations, three bathrooms, new heat/central air conditioning (hallelujah!), new plumbing, and now about nine thousand installed outlets later, here we are, thinking we do not have enough space to raise our four children without adding onto our house.

I know, I know, my grandma is looking at me from heaven, thinking I'm spoiled.

And, I am, as many of us are. However, I feel as if this luxury of making choices, living comfortably, even lavishly, has caused us to attack the very core of what makes living where we do and when we do great. Innovation is in our blood. Finding something better, faster, safer is good, isn't it? I'm thankful my husband does not have to thresh wheat, but, rather, sits on a tractor and watch a machine do a job that could potentially cut his arms off. The age of technology is around us. Convenience is king. And while we do our best to try to get back to the basics, could we really?

I know as a farm family that utilizes equipment that is GPS enabled, seed that has been engineered to resist certain diseases, and cell phones that are used to let me know when they're coming home for dinner, we couldn't farm the way we do without technology. And, conversely, you couldn't live the way you do, eat the way you do, and/or choose to not eat what we help produce without our technologically advanced methodology. I'm not saying that what we produce is juiced up, jacked up or in any way, shape or form engineered to do anything but make your life better, and what you eat safe. I'm just saying that if you believe for one second that all farmers could live like they did 20, 50 or even 100 years ago, and still produce food and fuel for the country and its needs would be impossible. We would starve. Worse yet, since many of us have never felt truly, truly hungry, think of it like this: your choices would be limited and (gasp) expensive.

While I believe that eating from your garden in the summer (especially if you live in Illinois, and don't can...only in the summer!), buying locally grown, great tasting beef or pork or poultry, supporting local businesses is ideal, and generally good for your local economy, friends, and waistline, is it always an option? How many of us frequent a grocery store (weekly, bi-weekly, DAILY?), and even though may acknowledge that they may have had to ride on a truck for a day, still buy California grapes for our kids' lunches, because they taste good and are a healthy snack, fully of Vitamin C and other good stuff? I realize that this may sound smarty, but I have never had less than 10 choices of bread types in the grocery store. I could choose to make my own bread, as my great-great grandmother did, but I'm certain, she's smiling at me from above when I choose my Cottage Wheat bread from Hy-Vee instead of spending an afternoon making a week's supply of bread. I am able to spend more time with my kids as well as spend more time ranting on my blog because I BUY MY BREAD!! Ha, ha!

If you're still not convinced that your life is made easier by technologically savvy farmers, please note that when you start to cast judgment on the American farmer in his big, (hopefully) green tractor, I hope you're wearing the outfit that you made from the cloth you have woven from the cotton you have grown after having taken your horse and buggy to town to buy the seed for said cotton plant. Only when we realize that modern conveniences may have made our lives more complex, however much easier, can we also realize that not all technological advances are crumbling the moral fiber of our being.

Outbuildings and Organization

2011-01-28T05:47:00.000-08:00

Ahhhh, January. The time when magazines are published to make you feel like you need to go out, buy all new containers, and organize every closet in your house. At least, that's how I feel. I pore over Better Homes and Gardens, sicken myself with the sweet organizational nectar Real Simple gives me, and then try to get to work.

Try is the key word here.

As a farmer's wife of three small children, it is easy to set unrealistic expectations for myself. I'm at home. I'm crazy about organizing. I love bins and baskets and bowls. I should have a home where everything has a place, and every person is completely on board with the new system of bins, baskets, folders, drawers, etc. But, I don't for the same reasons I should. I have small children, yes, and they are being groomed to be as crazy as their mother about organizing (my middle daughter has told my mom that they "have to get this room organized before playing anything else!" YIKES!), but Joe is groaning here. I have tried so many, many times to implement many, many systems to help alleviate his need to clutter our house with stripped off layers, house shoes, mail, random keys, checkbooks, business cards, and the like.

But all my systems fail miserably, as Joe needs to put on his warmer layers in just a few hours, so why put them away? Why find a place for the nine hundredth farm magazine when they may or may not be hauling grain to an elevator that may or may not have a long line to wait in? Why throw away the feed sacks when they make perfectly good floor boards?

I'm not kidding.

However, in a strange study in contrast, we have these outbuildings around our house: one we call the "ghetto shed" which will be thankfully torn down come spring (hooray attached garage!), a machine shed, and then just our regular garage. Even though, after doing some informal research, polling the farmer's wives in our operation, all the wives sing the same "stuff everywhere" song, these outbuildings are surprisingly organized, especially the machine shed. This monstrous steel building houses not only most of our equipment, but also a lot of the guys' tools. Because most of our equipment is in here, including two semis and trailers, two pick up trucks, and a lawnmower (not to mention a monstrous combine and other various large tractors and implements), each piece of equipment housed in here must be put away like pieces of a puzzle. Most of the equipment is cleaned meticulously by the dealership before being put away for the season, and then housed in the order in which they will be needed the following season. Wouldn't Real Simple be excited? A plan! Clean, crisp order! What bliss!

The tools are housed in red Craftsman chest after red Craftsman chest, and, although a light film of grain and road dust covers all the red surfaces, any of the guys on any given day can locate the correct appendage for the air compressor that will help me when I need to pump up my jogging stroller tires. Real Simple would be horrified that the spare nuts and bolts are are housed in old coffee cans that are NOT covered in color coded paper, but they are put away, no less, leaving no nut or bolt behind.

It's a system, that's for sure.

Although this makes my organizational brain so proud...why is it so hard to get Joe to understand my basket system of shoe organization? Why am I still finding random fleeces, sweatshirts, and, as I type, I see there is now a hat on the top of our sofa?! Honestly! There is clearly a dresser, bin, basket, whatever in every corner of every room and in every closet? Why is this so difficult???

Seriously.

I think I should reconsider my Pottery Barn-ish baskets for coffee cans.

I might get better results.

Bring It On, Chrissy

2011-01-21T08:28:00.000-08:00

Okay, honestly people.

When do I get to go on the Today Show and peddle my craziness? "From the lady who brought you the Thighmaster and Boob Lifter, comes the latest in her plight to fight fat and leaky gut syndrome."

I'm not kidding. In the interview, she cites "leaky gut" syndrome as a medical condition, caused by eating corn fed beef. I might be a little bit sensitive to this, but I am indeed taking offense to the latest installment of Suzanne Somers' attack on American Livestock Producers and their products.

This has got to stop.

This is the second time this month that this woman, a person who is famous for her short shorts and blond hair, not her medical expertise, has come out proclaiming that beef, unless grass fed and organic, is basically toxic for your body, causing holes that lead to "leaky gut syndrome."

Now, I am not saying that in a country where we value our freedom of expression, speech and choice, should one not be able to choose his or her own food, and where it comes from. HOWEVER...one should have actual medical or scientific facts behind the choice, especially before going on national television and shooting down an industry entirely.

Somers's take on beef is that the corn fed to the animals has antibiotics in it, and that is what is making us all sick and fat. The CORN has antibiotics in it.

Huh. Now, we all know we have the option to give our plants Miracle Grow or put some sort of fertilizer on them, but I have never seen or heard about plants being administered antibiotics through injections.

This information is also coming from the woman who takes over 100 vitamins and supplements per day and has obviously injected most of her revenue from her crazy books into the the Botox injections in her face.

Thanks for keeping it au naturale, Chrissy.

Grrrrr.

This is obscene. How come there was no rebuttal position from a livestock farmer, beef industry executive or even MEDICAL DOCTOR during this segment? Thankfully, Natalie Morales did point out that Somers basically was peddling craziness (not in so many words), citing that there were no actual medical doctors used as experts in her book, and that such illnesses as "leaky gut" were not actual medical conditions, nor were her claims of eating corn fed beef causing holes in the stomach valid, according to the FDA. Thanks for that, Natalie, but WHY THE HECK IS THIS LADY ON YOUR SHOW ANYWAY???

Honestly people, please do not get your information about food and eating and whatever from Suzanne Somers. Please do not accept this as something that is anything other than a famous person with a platform that is doing essentially what I do, which is RANT!!!! I at least have some sort of expert around whom I can ask questions to.

My hope is that whatever choice you make, base it upon FACTS, not a woman who roller skated her way into the hearts of Americans in the seventies.

Come and knock on my door, Chrissy. Bring it on.