There's a canned Facebook status that keeps rolling through my news feed, and it reads something along the lines of "being happy isn't having the best of the best, it's being happy with what you have." Or something like that.
Now, while I totally agree that we shouldn't lust after things or covet others (isn't that one of the BIG TEN to abide by?), shouldn't we want the best of the best for our lives? Shouldn't we always strive for greatness and truly be happy when we have achieved both?
In agriculture, farmers are constantly striving for the best of the best. The best seed for their field's particular soil types, the best application practices for chemicals (gasp. . . yes, we do use chemicals, but note that neither me nor my children have a third eye, eleventh toe, or second belly button!), as well as the best equipment (no question at this operation. . .John Deere). Currently, the talk around here is the best time to start harvesting, which field will be the best to start with, as well as which variety of corn/beans we planted will yield the best.
The farmers are ready to be at their best, to reap what they have sown. They are fired up and getting jittery, however, I am struggling. Yes, I know, again, but the end of August and beginning of September is going to be a time, I am figuring out, that I start to feel hysterical. School has started, and while I am in LOVE with the fact that I have a kindergartner, I used to be a teacher. And now I'm not. And, upon entering the school the first day, holding my daughter's hand, I felt the tug that this is where I belong. I used to be good. I used to use school to create my identity. I used to GET PAID. I'm left feeling as if I am not at my best of the best.
Farm wives, the ones that do not drive the tractors, haul the grain, or work (so I guess the three of us that are left) are to hold down the fort while the farmers go great guns and run all hours of the night, livin' the life. While I know that Joe will be completely and totally in his element, and loves to keep busy, I will be busy, too, exhausted and disappointed that I won't be getting what I need to accomplish done in the small window of time I have when I'm not needed to play Barbies or basketball with my kids.
Why do I want to constantly put on my best of the best, when at the busy times, when I am basically a single mom, survival should be the goal? And now that I am this farm wife and stay at home mom, what is my best of the best, really? I know in my heart that it is to be a wife and a mother first, but some times isn't it easier to point to what you accomplished during a day that makes you feel as if you truly did the best of the best?
I am excited for the start of harvest, don't get me wrong. I am looking forward to seeing my husband's face when he reports a good yield, calculating the bushels per acre, and his excited report when the acres harvested are more than the acres left standing. Although this defines our livelihood, and I understand that, should I be considering this as my best of the best? When I am still learning the ins and outs of farming, how can I determine what is great and what's not-so-great? And, if I'm not using our livelihood as a barometer for success, are completed laundry loads accomplishments worth accolades? No one in my family really cares that the windows are washed, so why do I equate this to success these days?
What's wrong with me?
Nothing, I'm just me.
Thus, I'm putting my Sad Sally attitude up this harvest season. If the guys point to the land and think that's their best of the best, I am going to point to my girls and say the same. While I don't get a paycheck for what I'm doing (well, a teeny tiny one from BlogHer), what I will reap are three children who will remember that Mom used coupons to buy Nutty Bars, because that's what Daddy loves, and we ate them all together on the tailgate one late harvest night as a family. They won't remember whether or not my windows were washed by the end of the week, but will remember that I took time to finish Ramona and Beezus that night. Joe just wants me to be happy and supportive, and to try not to sigh when he works late. I will try my best.
The relationships I cultivate this season will be my best of the best.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Et tu, Elmwood?
There are certain stereotypes that all people who don't live in an urban area must fight against. Farmers especially have to constantly work on their images, fighting common misconceptions such as the thoughts that we are uneducated, un-worldly, or out of touch with the rest of the country.
However, when a rural community puts on an event that works against all of this, trying not to reinforce these stereotypes becomes an uphill battle.
Case in point: hog wrestling at Elmwood's Fall Festival.
Seriously. There's going to be hog wrestling. In the mud. And, I believe shirts are optional.
Sigh.
I am working on trying to place farming and rural living and agriculture in a positive, educated, exciting, albeit some times dirty light. Thanks for the setback.
Regardless, we will not be participating in the hog wrestling events, and neither will my hog producer uncle, nor will my hog farmer father-in-law. They don't have to wrestle hogs on a regular basis, as their operations are tightly run ships that don't require gettin' down and dirty.
I guess I should take in this competition and see who's participating. Maybe there is good exercise to be had by rolling around in the mud, trying to gain one's footing while chasing after a greased pig. Maybe I should get a team of six together and try it out; then I wouldn't have so many judgemental thoughts, per se, and instead make some concrete and real observations on this rural past time. . .
Maybe not.
I think, instead, I'll hope that those participating will have hit the "First Annual Beer Tent" prior to the competition, and not be aware enough of ones surroundings to realize how a competition like this is so ridiculous and embarrassing to an otherwise beautiful and interesting rural community.
Here's hoping.
However, when a rural community puts on an event that works against all of this, trying not to reinforce these stereotypes becomes an uphill battle.
Case in point: hog wrestling at Elmwood's Fall Festival.
Seriously. There's going to be hog wrestling. In the mud. And, I believe shirts are optional.
Sigh.
I am working on trying to place farming and rural living and agriculture in a positive, educated, exciting, albeit some times dirty light. Thanks for the setback.
Regardless, we will not be participating in the hog wrestling events, and neither will my hog producer uncle, nor will my hog farmer father-in-law. They don't have to wrestle hogs on a regular basis, as their operations are tightly run ships that don't require gettin' down and dirty.
I guess I should take in this competition and see who's participating. Maybe there is good exercise to be had by rolling around in the mud, trying to gain one's footing while chasing after a greased pig. Maybe I should get a team of six together and try it out; then I wouldn't have so many judgemental thoughts, per se, and instead make some concrete and real observations on this rural past time. . .
Maybe not.
I think, instead, I'll hope that those participating will have hit the "First Annual Beer Tent" prior to the competition, and not be aware enough of ones surroundings to realize how a competition like this is so ridiculous and embarrassing to an otherwise beautiful and interesting rural community.
Here's hoping.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Emily, Your Childhood Wish Has Been Granted
What town kid, or any kid for that matter, doesn't wish for a puppy with a red bow around its neck at Christmas? I know that as a kid, I hoped for a pet to love, any pet for that matter, and was certain that a dog would be a wonderful fit for our family. We killed goldfish (not murdered, just killed), disliked cats because they walked all over my dad's pristine vehicles, and detested rodents, as they were too close to the mice that Mom declared war upon once a year. So, I knew that a dog would be perfect.
Well, my parents, both farm-kids-turned-town-folks, never granted this childhood wish of mine. They believed a dog belonged on a farm, where he or she could run free. Thus, I was left to enjoy the neighborhood dogs, if you could call chasing after a neighbor's dog as he "walked" me while I "dog sat." I was also able to listen to the neighborhood "barky" dogs who always seemed to bark at night, right when I was trying to get to sleep. I guess the lack of experience with dogs as well as the neat freak, perfectionist that I became made me less and less of a pet person of any kind as I grew older.
Fast forward twenty five years, and my childhood wish has been granted, three times. . . sort of. Joe is an animal lover, and grew up with loyal farm dogs that went with his dad everywhere. And, when he began full time farming, we (well, mainly he and Anna) decided that now all our farmstead needed to make it picturesque was a dog. With the promise that all other parties would take care of said dog, I begrudgingly agreed to get one. We lost Mabel, tragically, and even though I desperately wanted her to quit jumping, chewing, and getting my white pants dirty, I could hardly talk to the babysitter who came the night after she died. I was so sad.
Next came Pepper, and she was truly a gift. My father-in-law found a breeder with the exact same kind of dog that our first one was, and surprised the girls with her on a visit to their farm. She was so cute, and we tied a red ribbon around her neck for our Christmas picture that year. However, she met the same fate that our dreadful, dirty gravel road provided for Mabel. Again, I was so upset, I could hardly explain to the preschool teacher that day why Anna might be upset. Ironic, huh?
I swore off dogs after that. My childhood wish was not to have to bury two dogs and explain to my little girls about death. My childhood wish was to have a puppy forever: one that didn't jump, bite, run out in front of cars, or chew up my lawn furniture. Seriously, was this too much to ask?
Like I said, I swore off dogs, and when the utterance of the "d" word started this spring, I ignored it. When Joe started talking about adopting one that would be a herding dog, one that would go with him everywhere, I still ignored it. Then the kids got in on the deal. I couldn't ignore that. I would find Joe and Anna looking at potential adoptees on the Internet and even though they were both excited, I was not. My childhood wish was twice not fulfilled. My heart was twice broken, and I wasn't about to shoot myself in the foot again.
However, I was overruled, and Sadie, our rescued Australian Cattle Dog was brought home this summer. She was the epitome of man's best friend. She loved Joe, adored Anna, allowed Josie to rub her belly, didn't bark, didn't chew, didn't jump. I was in doggie love. Childhood wish: GRANTED!! Third time was the charm!
Until this week. . .
My farm dog that was supposed to be with Joe at all times has been hanging around the house, and has wreaked havoc on my outside decor. Items affected are: one landscaping light, one glider seat board, one watering can, and a few deck boards, not to mention her dog bed, a towel, Anna's Cardinals hat, and some random seed corn hat.
Seriously, what happened to my childhood dream? Why isn't she being the perfect dog she once was? Why the DECK???
Regardless, Sadie is a part of our family, whether she chews, jumps, barks or whatever. She's part of the family farm package. It's some unwritten rule that in order to be a farm family, one must have a dog.
All I'm saying is be careful for what you wish for as a child, it just might come back and chew up your landscape lights.
Well, my parents, both farm-kids-turned-town-folks, never granted this childhood wish of mine. They believed a dog belonged on a farm, where he or she could run free. Thus, I was left to enjoy the neighborhood dogs, if you could call chasing after a neighbor's dog as he "walked" me while I "dog sat." I was also able to listen to the neighborhood "barky" dogs who always seemed to bark at night, right when I was trying to get to sleep. I guess the lack of experience with dogs as well as the neat freak, perfectionist that I became made me less and less of a pet person of any kind as I grew older.
Fast forward twenty five years, and my childhood wish has been granted, three times. . . sort of. Joe is an animal lover, and grew up with loyal farm dogs that went with his dad everywhere. And, when he began full time farming, we (well, mainly he and Anna) decided that now all our farmstead needed to make it picturesque was a dog. With the promise that all other parties would take care of said dog, I begrudgingly agreed to get one. We lost Mabel, tragically, and even though I desperately wanted her to quit jumping, chewing, and getting my white pants dirty, I could hardly talk to the babysitter who came the night after she died. I was so sad.
Next came Pepper, and she was truly a gift. My father-in-law found a breeder with the exact same kind of dog that our first one was, and surprised the girls with her on a visit to their farm. She was so cute, and we tied a red ribbon around her neck for our Christmas picture that year. However, she met the same fate that our dreadful, dirty gravel road provided for Mabel. Again, I was so upset, I could hardly explain to the preschool teacher that day why Anna might be upset. Ironic, huh?
I swore off dogs after that. My childhood wish was not to have to bury two dogs and explain to my little girls about death. My childhood wish was to have a puppy forever: one that didn't jump, bite, run out in front of cars, or chew up my lawn furniture. Seriously, was this too much to ask?
Like I said, I swore off dogs, and when the utterance of the "d" word started this spring, I ignored it. When Joe started talking about adopting one that would be a herding dog, one that would go with him everywhere, I still ignored it. Then the kids got in on the deal. I couldn't ignore that. I would find Joe and Anna looking at potential adoptees on the Internet and even though they were both excited, I was not. My childhood wish was twice not fulfilled. My heart was twice broken, and I wasn't about to shoot myself in the foot again.
However, I was overruled, and Sadie, our rescued Australian Cattle Dog was brought home this summer. She was the epitome of man's best friend. She loved Joe, adored Anna, allowed Josie to rub her belly, didn't bark, didn't chew, didn't jump. I was in doggie love. Childhood wish: GRANTED!! Third time was the charm!
Until this week. . .
My farm dog that was supposed to be with Joe at all times has been hanging around the house, and has wreaked havoc on my outside decor. Items affected are: one landscaping light, one glider seat board, one watering can, and a few deck boards, not to mention her dog bed, a towel, Anna's Cardinals hat, and some random seed corn hat.
Seriously, what happened to my childhood dream? Why isn't she being the perfect dog she once was? Why the DECK???
Regardless, Sadie is a part of our family, whether she chews, jumps, barks or whatever. She's part of the family farm package. It's some unwritten rule that in order to be a farm family, one must have a dog.
All I'm saying is be careful for what you wish for as a child, it just might come back and chew up your landscape lights.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Just When I Think I'm Starting to Get This. . .
. . . I really still have no idea.
I started this post yesterday. It was to be the feel good blog post of the year. Something along the lines of "Harvest is nearly here! The crops look great!" I even had a catchy, and also kitschy, title: As the Beans Turn. Cute, huh?? You know, like As the World Turns? However, like a real soap opera plot line, my happy, oblivious ramblings have a taken a tragic turn, and now are cyberspace garbage.
While today did give me a glimpse of fall weather. . .thank you for allowing me to wear JEANS. . . it is not necessarily all systems go for harvest as of yet. The beans are changing color out my kitchen window, which should be a sign of the times. However, Joe mentioned that it might not necessarily be the glory of bean maturation that is causing this tinge .. . maybe sudden death.
Sudden WHAT????
Yes, sudden death. According to North Carolina State University's website (sorry, Illinois. . .yours was not the first site on Google), "sudden death syndrome (SDS) is the common name for a root-rot of soybean caused by the fungus Fusarium solani f.sp. glycine." Holy smokes! That does not sound good. Here's hoping that this will not hit us.
And I thought that all I really had to worry about was the weather.
Seriously, this farming gig is really starting to work at my nerves. Just when I think I have some things figured out, I don't. What farm wife wouldn't think that a beautiful field of beans with a tinge of yellow would signify the upcoming harvest season? Wouldn't mums in the grocery store parking lot signal life is good, go make yourself a s'more?
Not necessarily. Another red flag that my happy harvest posting would be met with furrowed farmer brows was an article in Farmweek. While my girls and I were enjoying the extreme heat in July and August at the pool, the corn plants were experiencing tip-back, which is where kernel development ended at the tip of the ear. Seriously? I thought summer was supposed to be hot, and that was good for crops, in moderate amounts. I know from our power bill that we have used our air conditioning a lot, but didn't realize that this heat would affect the way the corn kernels developed. Huh.
I guess I have a lot to learn still.
My hope is that even though the outlook is rather pessimistic, harvest will come and things will be good. Crop yields will be surprisingly great. The combine will be in the field for weeks at a time before a rain out, and Joe will be able to come with us as we trick-or-treat.
Yeah, right.
I may not know a lot about sudden death or tip back, but I do know that in this farming business, life is not that predictable.
I started this post yesterday. It was to be the feel good blog post of the year. Something along the lines of "Harvest is nearly here! The crops look great!" I even had a catchy, and also kitschy, title: As the Beans Turn. Cute, huh?? You know, like As the World Turns? However, like a real soap opera plot line, my happy, oblivious ramblings have a taken a tragic turn, and now are cyberspace garbage.
While today did give me a glimpse of fall weather. . .thank you for allowing me to wear JEANS. . . it is not necessarily all systems go for harvest as of yet. The beans are changing color out my kitchen window, which should be a sign of the times. However, Joe mentioned that it might not necessarily be the glory of bean maturation that is causing this tinge .. . maybe sudden death.
Sudden WHAT????
Yes, sudden death. According to North Carolina State University's website (sorry, Illinois. . .yours was not the first site on Google), "sudden death syndrome (SDS) is the common name for a root-rot of soybean caused by the fungus Fusarium solani f.sp. glycine." Holy smokes! That does not sound good. Here's hoping that this will not hit us.
And I thought that all I really had to worry about was the weather.
Seriously, this farming gig is really starting to work at my nerves. Just when I think I have some things figured out, I don't. What farm wife wouldn't think that a beautiful field of beans with a tinge of yellow would signify the upcoming harvest season? Wouldn't mums in the grocery store parking lot signal life is good, go make yourself a s'more?
Not necessarily. Another red flag that my happy harvest posting would be met with furrowed farmer brows was an article in Farmweek. While my girls and I were enjoying the extreme heat in July and August at the pool, the corn plants were experiencing tip-back, which is where kernel development ended at the tip of the ear. Seriously? I thought summer was supposed to be hot, and that was good for crops, in moderate amounts. I know from our power bill that we have used our air conditioning a lot, but didn't realize that this heat would affect the way the corn kernels developed. Huh.
I guess I have a lot to learn still.
My hope is that even though the outlook is rather pessimistic, harvest will come and things will be good. Crop yields will be surprisingly great. The combine will be in the field for weeks at a time before a rain out, and Joe will be able to come with us as we trick-or-treat.
Yeah, right.
I may not know a lot about sudden death or tip back, but I do know that in this farming business, life is not that predictable.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Corn, Cattle, and Le Cordon Bleu
Bad press strikes again.
When one hears the word, Texas, what does one think about? Big open spaces? Big football stadiums? Cattle operations? Cowboy hats? Any more stereotypes? I have some Texans out there, so please do not be offended by my generalizations.
How about fancy Texas cooking? Colleges such as Le Cordon Bleu Culinary Arts College? Well, in Dallas, there's a branch of Le Cordon Bleu, and I have a cousin who is a new teacher on staff. This Midwestern-Home-Ec-teacher-turned-pastry-chef-turned-college-instructor has just started teaching there, and during her lesson, hit the jackpot on bad agricultural press. Luckily, she turned to us to set the record straight.
The short version of this story is that in her curriculum, farming was cast is a rather evil light. In her lecture materials, it was reporting that farming today is evil towards animals, citing cases where cattle were kept in cages until their sale dates, as well as citing Monsanto as the Devil in the Corporate Flesh. To my cousin's horror, the resources provided by this prestigious school were telling the teachers to lecture that farming was horrible and the cause of the collapse of not only modern society, but was a direct cause to the ruination of our environment. She stopped, mid-lecture, to express her horror, and began a dialogue with her students.
Here's where I came in. . . I was happy to have Joe over my shoulder as I was messaging her back(usually I tell him to get lost when I'm checking Facebook. .. not that there's anything to hide, but seriously, we have basically the same friends). Anyway, Joe and I gave my cousin concise, honest answers about our operation. The questions she had weren't tricky, but ones that housed buzz words that are all over the press. From pesticide use to whom we sell our cattle and how and to whom we sell our grain, my cousin asked questions that were pretty basic, but left to the wrong person, the answers could have been skewed to make farmers out to be the bad guys.
I implore all of you, whether you're in agriculture, or not, to ask questions about your food and the affect agriculture has on your life, but don't just ask anybody. Don't just google your questions away, go to a source that you trust. Don't just ask one side, either. I would love to sit down with a farmer with many different types of produce growing and different animals roaming free to know how their operation works. I would love to ask what are their struggles, and how is it that chickens stay put, and just mingle around the yard? Don't they ever get lost?
My hope through this conversation with my cousin thousands of miles away, she can direct her students away from the bad press that tends to swarm around agriculture. While I do believe that there are some farmers out there who are not doing what they should be, there are a lot more like us who are trying to make a living at doing what they love to do.
Now let's all hold hands and sing "Kum-Bye-Ya!"
When one hears the word, Texas, what does one think about? Big open spaces? Big football stadiums? Cattle operations? Cowboy hats? Any more stereotypes? I have some Texans out there, so please do not be offended by my generalizations.
How about fancy Texas cooking? Colleges such as Le Cordon Bleu Culinary Arts College? Well, in Dallas, there's a branch of Le Cordon Bleu, and I have a cousin who is a new teacher on staff. This Midwestern-Home-Ec-teacher-turned-pastry-chef-turned-college-instructor has just started teaching there, and during her lesson, hit the jackpot on bad agricultural press. Luckily, she turned to us to set the record straight.
The short version of this story is that in her curriculum, farming was cast is a rather evil light. In her lecture materials, it was reporting that farming today is evil towards animals, citing cases where cattle were kept in cages until their sale dates, as well as citing Monsanto as the Devil in the Corporate Flesh. To my cousin's horror, the resources provided by this prestigious school were telling the teachers to lecture that farming was horrible and the cause of the collapse of not only modern society, but was a direct cause to the ruination of our environment. She stopped, mid-lecture, to express her horror, and began a dialogue with her students.
Here's where I came in. . . I was happy to have Joe over my shoulder as I was messaging her back(usually I tell him to get lost when I'm checking Facebook. .. not that there's anything to hide, but seriously, we have basically the same friends). Anyway, Joe and I gave my cousin concise, honest answers about our operation. The questions she had weren't tricky, but ones that housed buzz words that are all over the press. From pesticide use to whom we sell our cattle and how and to whom we sell our grain, my cousin asked questions that were pretty basic, but left to the wrong person, the answers could have been skewed to make farmers out to be the bad guys.
I implore all of you, whether you're in agriculture, or not, to ask questions about your food and the affect agriculture has on your life, but don't just ask anybody. Don't just google your questions away, go to a source that you trust. Don't just ask one side, either. I would love to sit down with a farmer with many different types of produce growing and different animals roaming free to know how their operation works. I would love to ask what are their struggles, and how is it that chickens stay put, and just mingle around the yard? Don't they ever get lost?
My hope through this conversation with my cousin thousands of miles away, she can direct her students away from the bad press that tends to swarm around agriculture. While I do believe that there are some farmers out there who are not doing what they should be, there are a lot more like us who are trying to make a living at doing what they love to do.
Now let's all hold hands and sing "Kum-Bye-Ya!"
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Littlest Farm Girl
We have had a big day so far, and it's not even 10AM!! Anna headed to Kindergarten today, just for a half day, but off to the big school nonetheless. We are all excited about this new endeavor for her, all except Josie.
Josie is three. She is a lot like me, not just in her physical appearance (curly hair she'll despise as a teenager, big toothy grin), but she is extremely emotional. While Anna took today in stride, having only a little bit of nervous energy as we got closer to school, Josie was a mess from last night on. She cried this morning at breakfast, cried when I left to take Anna on this special day, and cried when her little sister accidentally bonked her head with the door. Emotions are high today.
However, a new chapter for my middle child begins today, all thanks to the farm. Josie is the one riding with Dad in the farm truck with the dog, headed over to my uncle's to check the cows. She put on her big girl work jeans ("not the fashion ones, Mom"), asked if maybe she could get a new pair of rubber boots, and headed out in the crisp morning air with Daddy. Jos is the big cheese at our house. . .until the end of the school day!
I believe with every fiber of my being, that even though the farm is unpredictable, both financially and scheduling-wise, dirty as all get-out (check out the inside of my SUV's door frames. . .YIKES!), and sometimes frustrating, being a farm kid is completely worth all the stuff that just makes my life a little inconvenient. What a blessing this opportunity is for our middle child, who some times is too little to do what her big sister is doing, but too big to be the baby. She is lucky that nearly every day is "Take Your Daughter to Work Day!"
We are anxious to hear about Anna's day. I am excited to hear about the schedule, what she did, how many new friends she made. But before that, I will have a full report from my littlest farm girl. Unlike Anna, who is her father and will report matter of fact-ly about the basics, and offer little details, Josie, my girl, will give great detail in regards to not only the happenings on the farm, but the state of the interior of Daddy's truck, the conversations they had, and the dirt collected on her pink running shoes.
That's my girl!
Josie is three. She is a lot like me, not just in her physical appearance (curly hair she'll despise as a teenager, big toothy grin), but she is extremely emotional. While Anna took today in stride, having only a little bit of nervous energy as we got closer to school, Josie was a mess from last night on. She cried this morning at breakfast, cried when I left to take Anna on this special day, and cried when her little sister accidentally bonked her head with the door. Emotions are high today.
However, a new chapter for my middle child begins today, all thanks to the farm. Josie is the one riding with Dad in the farm truck with the dog, headed over to my uncle's to check the cows. She put on her big girl work jeans ("not the fashion ones, Mom"), asked if maybe she could get a new pair of rubber boots, and headed out in the crisp morning air with Daddy. Jos is the big cheese at our house. . .until the end of the school day!
I believe with every fiber of my being, that even though the farm is unpredictable, both financially and scheduling-wise, dirty as all get-out (check out the inside of my SUV's door frames. . .YIKES!), and sometimes frustrating, being a farm kid is completely worth all the stuff that just makes my life a little inconvenient. What a blessing this opportunity is for our middle child, who some times is too little to do what her big sister is doing, but too big to be the baby. She is lucky that nearly every day is "Take Your Daughter to Work Day!"
We are anxious to hear about Anna's day. I am excited to hear about the schedule, what she did, how many new friends she made. But before that, I will have a full report from my littlest farm girl. Unlike Anna, who is her father and will report matter of fact-ly about the basics, and offer little details, Josie, my girl, will give great detail in regards to not only the happenings on the farm, but the state of the interior of Daddy's truck, the conversations they had, and the dirt collected on her pink running shoes.
That's my girl!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
By the Sign
Things are going to get noisy here in a few days. Joe is getting ready to wean calves, and both parties (mama and calves) will not be excited. The bawling, constant and loud, will commence once these little guys and gals realize what's going on. I could not be more excited, considering I have a sleeping toddler whose bedroom is directly across from this noisy pasture. However, I have no choice, because the sign said to start, and that's all there is to it.
Seriously, we go by the elusive "sign." Joe is very cutting edge in other aspects of both the cattle and grain operations of our farm. We use GPS systems to navigate both the planting and harvesting processes; Joe receives grain market updates via text message, and there's something about a micro chip in our purebred cattle, I think. . . either we have that going, or it's coming (need to research that more!), among other things. However, when it comes to processes such as weaning, Joe heads to the good ol' Farmer's Almanac.
Unlike my father-in-law, we don't have the paperback edition. Instead, to make this old-timey farming tradition more Generation-X, Joe heads to the online version. Just by clicking, you can not only find out what days are the best day to wean, cut hair to retard growth, etc., but you can also take a Smartphone Survey and get a "free almanac collection of charts and guides."
Honestly? Does this seem for real? You're basing a decision off the sign of the moon, but you're getting it sent to your smartphone? To me, it seems a little off, but that's farming: mixing the old timey with the cutting edge.
I guess that's what makes farming appealing to all walks of life. We still do some chore work and unloading of grain with my dad's old John Deere 4020 he bought in the 60s and then re-bought (something my dad tends to do . . . ask him about my college car that he bought twice.). However, our combine and most of the other new tractors can drive themselves with the help of Autotrack steering. This allowed me to make a huge farm wife mistake in my first season of this gig. . . thinking that Autotrack would allow Joe to eat shrimp pasta for supper while he cut beans. Just because the tractor drives itself doesn't mean the farmer is up there playing solitaire on his laptop or watching a DVD. The guys still have to pay attention.
Regardless, the juxtaposition of old and new makes farming something that has and will stand the test of time. New farmers will come and embrace the technology, teaching the older ones. . .much like teaching my grandparents how to run their satellite TV remote. However, the more mature farmers will know that trends come and go, but going back to what has withstood all the trendy technology is some times the best.
For now, I'll wait for that blessed day when the sun, moon, and stars all align and shut my windows, as to not hear the bawling calves.
Seriously, we go by the elusive "sign." Joe is very cutting edge in other aspects of both the cattle and grain operations of our farm. We use GPS systems to navigate both the planting and harvesting processes; Joe receives grain market updates via text message, and there's something about a micro chip in our purebred cattle, I think. . . either we have that going, or it's coming (need to research that more!), among other things. However, when it comes to processes such as weaning, Joe heads to the good ol' Farmer's Almanac.
Unlike my father-in-law, we don't have the paperback edition. Instead, to make this old-timey farming tradition more Generation-X, Joe heads to the online version. Just by clicking, you can not only find out what days are the best day to wean, cut hair to retard growth, etc., but you can also take a Smartphone Survey and get a "free almanac collection of charts and guides."
Honestly? Does this seem for real? You're basing a decision off the sign of the moon, but you're getting it sent to your smartphone? To me, it seems a little off, but that's farming: mixing the old timey with the cutting edge.
I guess that's what makes farming appealing to all walks of life. We still do some chore work and unloading of grain with my dad's old John Deere 4020 he bought in the 60s and then re-bought (something my dad tends to do . . . ask him about my college car that he bought twice.). However, our combine and most of the other new tractors can drive themselves with the help of Autotrack steering. This allowed me to make a huge farm wife mistake in my first season of this gig. . . thinking that Autotrack would allow Joe to eat shrimp pasta for supper while he cut beans. Just because the tractor drives itself doesn't mean the farmer is up there playing solitaire on his laptop or watching a DVD. The guys still have to pay attention.
Regardless, the juxtaposition of old and new makes farming something that has and will stand the test of time. New farmers will come and embrace the technology, teaching the older ones. . .much like teaching my grandparents how to run their satellite TV remote. However, the more mature farmers will know that trends come and go, but going back to what has withstood all the trendy technology is some times the best.
For now, I'll wait for that blessed day when the sun, moon, and stars all align and shut my windows, as to not hear the bawling calves.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)