The Many Hats a Farmer Wears

Every month the coordinator of our local Farm Bureau Association and I go into our school’s fourth grade classroom to teach “Ag in the Classroom.” This morning two members of the board of directors came along to lend a hand. My husband Joe was one of them. Today’s lesson was about the many hats farmers wear.

We had five of the kids step in the hall to put on costumes and/or gather props. We had them dressed as a livestock manager (cattleman), a weather man, a scientist (plant pathologist), a heavy machinery operator and a businessman. The rest of the class had to guess what professions they were. Then the guys explained how they wear each of those hats on a regular basis.

The guys did great. I think it surprised the kids how much technology came into play for each of those jobs. It probably also surprised them that it’s not just driving a tractor and feeding animals. There are a lot of factors off-farm — even internationally — that producers have to take into consideration on a daily basis when making decisions. It got the gears turning… one of the students (MY SON!) even asked how we get commodities to China or Russia.

We start our “Ag in the Classroom” off each year with a day at the farm. At the farm, the kids rotate through several different learning stations: Wheat, Soybeans, Milo (Grain Sorghum), Beef Cattle, Dairy Cattle, Farm Machinery, Veterinarian. Then each month after, we pick one thing as a theme for our lesson. So far we’ve done pumpkins, pizza (more detailed wheat lesson since we grow a lot of wheat here), candy (yes! more specifically, cocoa, sugar beets/cane, palm kernel oil, touch on international trade) and the many hats a farmer wears.

Since farmers work hard to take care of the land, the next three lessons are spent focusing primarily on natural resources, learning how important it is to take care of our resources, soil composition and what farmers do to conserve our soil.

 

Sigh…

I have been a no-blogging, no-column-writing, and — if I’m being completely honest — no-laundry-doing loser face. What exactly have I been doing during this sabbatical?

Who the heck knows?

Let’s see. We had wheat harvest this past summer. And our county fair, where our kiddos take their projects to showcase all of their hard work. Then we actually left the state for a vacation to the mountains. Then school started. Our daughter who just entered junior high started volleyball. Wheat had to be drilled, soybeans and milo had to be harvested and calves had to be weaned. Then we had meetings and holidays. And hunting. I like going hunting. However, I have not shot anything since my turkey. I went out to hunt deer several times. I just never had an opportunity to pull the trigger. As a couple of friends have said in the past few weeks, “That’s why they call it hunting, not shooting.”

Now that stuff is over. Time to get back to that back burner where I’ve left the beans for so long, they’ve just disappeared from pan.

We have 51 heifer (female) calves left on our operation. We sold the rest of our calves at the end of 2013. Yesterday we had those 51 pelvic measured and evaluated by a veterinarian to determine which ones were suitable to be promoted to breeding females, and which needed to be sold to be harvested for meat. Out of those suitable, we selected 26 to keep ourselves to replace the old cows we decide to cull from our herd in May. That number was decided based on how many head we think our current grass acreage can handle. We’ve been in a drought the past couple of years.

Joe and I have some meetings to attend in the next few weeks, then we’ll be starting calving season. It’s my favorite time of year!

I’ll try to quit being a no-blogging loser face. Take care!

 

The Great Turkey Hunter

I recently went turkey hunting for my first time. Our friend Clay was home from college and picked me up early in the morning while it was still dark out.

I was excited, but kind of nervous, too.

We headed north to where he thought would be a great spot to sit and call turkeys. When we arrived, he crow-called to see where they were at. We followed the sound of their gobbling reply, he got me set up and the decoys placed.

We could see turkeys roosting in the trees beyond where we sat. He started calling them. Sure enough, they made their ways down to investigate. There was a tom, a handful of jakes and a few hens in the group. I got really excited as the tom started strutting closer to get a better look. He didn’t venture too far though; he was afraid he’d miss an opportunity with those hens since the jakes were with them.

We sat a while longer, and they walked the opposite direction. We set out on foot to see if we could find them. We made our way through the draw, crossing water and climbing over fallen trees. I quickly realized I was likely more of a liability on this trip than Clay had potentially bargained for. I fell several times. In fact, I fell over one tree twice. I learned later that he pointed out that tree and my experience with it to some hunter friends the next day.

We were able to find those turkeys again, but they were still moving away from us, so we went back to the pickup. Clay felt badly that they didn’t come closer. I didn’t mind. I was enjoying myself.

We had to stop a while to put some of our calves back in a pasture. While there, we could hear gobbling close-by. When we were done, we drove a very short distance before seeing them on a neighbor’s land. Just before we stopped to look, I thought I’d spotted a turkey on the other side of the road. We backed up. I was right. We parked and snuck part way up the hill. There was a jake and a hen. Clay called some and the jake was definitely interested. The only way to get closer was to crawl on our stomachs up the hill when he wasn’t looking. Clay took his gear off and carried my gun for me since he’d already witnessed my lack of finesse at our first stopping point.

I prayed our hired men wouldn’t drive by while my backside was sticking up in the air.

We made it up the hill, camped out on our stomachs in the grass. Clay realized he left his call at the bottom of the hill.

“I have to use my mouth. This might sound stupid.”

His call was far from stupid. It was great. And the turkey bought it. He gobbled at us for a long time and slowly made his way closer.

Clay asked if my nerves were starting to mess with me yet.

They sure weren’t. Thirty seconds passed.

“They are now.”

He asked if I could feel the ground rumbling when the jake responded to us.

“All I can feel is my heart pounding out of my chest.”

As we watched and whispered back and forth, I began to relax again. The turkey kept moving in.

Clay said I could shoot any time, aiming where the neck meets the feathers.

Two and a half hours after leaving my house that morning, I lifted my gun, aimed and closed my eyes as I pulled the trigger. I don’t know exactly when I opened them again.

“You got him!”

He said I yelled back, “Yeah!” and quickly put my gun on the ground.

I jumped up watching my turkey, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere, then realized Clay was standing beside me holding my gun, waiting for me to give him a high five.

We gathered my trophy (which had two beards), took a few pictures and headed down to the shop to show Joe and the guys.

My husband was just giddy. I’m pretty sure even though he knew I probably could shoot a turkey, that I probably actually wouldn’t.

Everywhere we went, Clay or I told people what we’d been doing. Most everyone’s reactions were much like Joe’s. I received a lot of congratulations, typically accompanied by laughter. I didn’t care. I shot a turkey. In fact, this was my first time shooting any living thing.

We had friends coming to hunt that afternoon and headed to town to run some errands. While there, I asked Clay if we could stop by the courthouse.

I needed another tag.

He headed back to school that Sunday evening. Monday morning I ordered myself a slate call, crow call and a hen decoy.

I was going to take my husband hunting.

 

Farmer Entertainment

One night I was in the living room watching the news, when I heard a bunch of typing sounds in the office behind me. Joe was in there. He’s not really much of a computer guy so, naturally, I was intrigued.

“Are you typing?”

Yes, he was typing. So, of course, I had a follow-up question.

“What on earth could you be typing?”

He needed to look something up.

I heard a video start playing quietly. He hollered out to me, asking how to turn up the volume. I hollered back the instructions and he got it done.

I could hear his video over my television. He wasn’t watching a music video or an episode of a favorite show he missed the week before. He was watching a promotional video – for a fuel trailer.

I didn’t comment on the loudness. I was just grateful I wasn’t in the room with him. I have been subjected to other farm-related video entertainment in the past. Not entertainment like watching “America’s Heartland.” I’m talking hardcore farmer entertainment – instructional videos.

“How to Operate Your John Deere 9100 Tractor”

I think I almost literally died of boredom that night. I am not being dramatic.

Anyway, he was moved by the video and felt the need to share from the next room.

“Hey…”

That’s his pet name for me these days – “Hey.” In college it was “Smiley.” Too many instructional and promotional videos, I’m thinking. But I digress.

“Hey… this fuel trailer just pumped 370 gallons of fuel in 11 minutes!”

Now he had my attention.

I’m just kidding. I decided to take the opportunity to use him as my latest status update on Facebook. He was a hit. I told him he was, and he threw some comment my way.

So, to humor him, I asked him to tell me about it again. I have a problem though. It’s really more of a disability. As soon as he starts talking about farm machinery, my ears immediately get clogged and I don’t really hear much. I had to ask him to repeat it a few times so I could get all the facts. He was happy to educate me.

He explained that it only took 11 minutes to empty the 370 gallons of fuel, and that included the time it took the producer to fill the combine, move the hose to a tractor, fill it up and move it to another tractor to fill.

“…and he wasn’t even running.”

God love him. I know I do – bad taste in videos and all.

 

My Experience with Neighbors and Gates

I have some history with neighbors and gates.

I was hit in the face with a gate – at a neighbor’s. Hence, my first example.

My second:

A couple of years ago we had some heifers out. Theron was on foot, a neighbor on a four wheeler, me in the pickup. My job was to get around the section and beat the heifers to the gate and get it open.

It was dark; the grass was tall. But I got to it first. However, I struggled to get the wire loop off of the gate post. I could hear the four wheeler heading my way.

Time to pray.

“Please, Lord, help me open this gate! I have to get it open before V gets here! I have to! ‘Cause I – AM – A – COW – GIIIRRL!!!”

I didn’t really say that last sentence.

Just before V pulled up, I slipped it off. He commended me, and I acted like it was no biggie.

Joe had sent him ahead because it occurred to him that I may not get it open.

Shame on him.

My final example happened just over a year ago.

M, if you’re reading this, you’ll eventually figure out my story involves you. I apologize for what you are about to learn.

I’ll proceed.

I was on my way home from town when I found a neighbor’s cow eating out by the highway. I pulled over and called; they were on their way. I decided to stay until they arrived, in case they needed another body to keep the cow from the highway.

While I sat there, the cow started walking toward the gate in front of me. I quickly called Joe and explained my situation.

“Should I just run over and open it? It looks like it’ll open easily…”

He thought I should. As I walked toward the gate, she picked up her pace. I started running, thinking she had realized I was going to open it for her.

I landed my left foot in a hole.

I went down hard. My ankle hurt pretty badly. I prayed I would be able to keep moving and that total strangers were driving by. If you saw me that day, please don’t ever tell me.

I got up to open the gate. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. There was a little knot on the post. I kind of struggled to get the wire untied and out from under that wonderfully placed knot. I finally got it, ran to pull the gate out of the way for the cow, and walked back toward my car so I wouldn’t spook her. I was feeling pretty good about myself.

I watched eagerly – as she walked past the gate. Boy, was I deflated.

Fortunately, we were not far from an intersecting rock road. She headed for the corner and turned away from the highway.

I decided I should go shut the gate so M wouldn’t have more cows out. However, I had a problem. I couldn’t find the wire.

In my haste to get the gate open, I failed to keep track of it. I assumed it was out in the grass I’d laid the gate in.

I searched, and people continued to drive by.

As pickups came by, I acted like I was closing the gate. When they were gone, I laid it back down and looked some more. I repeated this absurdity for a few minutes.

I eventually found the wire right next to the stationary post where I had untied it.

New problem: I could not get it wired shut. WHERE DID THAT KNOT GO??? It looked like it was on the OTHER side of the post now! I twisted the wire around the stationary post, because they didn’t need me losing it again.

M and his son showed up, thanked me and told me they’d get her in.

You’re going to love this: Knowing they probably wanted the gate left open to get the cow back in, I actually offered to shut the gate I could NOT get shut. True to form, they said to leave it, that they’d get her in first.

I may not have been able to get the gate wired back shut nicely, but I do have some other very convenient ego survival skills.

They left to get the cow, and I went back to move the gate out of the way so she wouldn’t get hung up in it.

As I picked it up and swung it around, I made a discovery: The gate had twisted. The post had been upside down. That knot I couldn’t find was right where it should have been, except on the ground.

Two lessons: Always tie the wire to the post it came from immediately, and double-check that the gate isn’t twisted no matter how straight it looks!

 

Getting Caught Up

I’ve decided to post some of my columns for a while. Hope you’ll enjoy them!

***

My friend Michelle and I have been sharing our “cowgirl” successes and woes with each other the past few years. We’re both stay-at-home moms who help our husbands, and between that and community activities, rarely stay home. Our kids are all mobile and can both speak and understand English now, so we have had more opportunity to get out in the cow herds the past few calving seasons.

We update each other on our experiences via Facebook. For instance, one day I tagged five calves. I shocked myself, my husband and anyone else who would listen, so I had to tell Michelle. When we post successes for each other, we always wrap up our comments on a positive note regardless of how things turned out, with a spoof on Bill Engvall’s “I’m a Cowboy” routine:

“Cause – I – AM – A – COW – GIIIRRL!!!”

I had quite a story for her last year. Hubby and I went over to a neighbor’s to help him work his cows and calves. My job was to round up four cows, sort them into a first pen, move them to the next and Hubby took them from there. I did my job very well. E’s cows are nice and very easy to work with. I kept up my end of the deal until the end. I got the last three into the first pen, opened the second, they walked in, I started closing the gate and… BAM! The gate hit me.

It’s amazing the stuff that goes through your head. You don’t usually feel pain right away, so it was hard to determine where exactly I was hit. I had heard what sounded like my sunglasses breaking, so the first thing I did was look for them. They were on top of my head, unharmed. I started frantically grabbing all over my face, trying to determine where the snap occurred and if my parts were where they should be.

In the process, I discovered a fair amount of blood.

I got the gate shut and ducked down to hide from E. I didn’t know what I looked like, and I didn’t want him to feel badly.

After coming to the conclusion that my nose had not been pushed up into my brain and that I’d probably survive, I tried to get Hubby’s attention. When he turned and saw me, his mouth dropped open and he turned white.

Maybe my nose really had made it up to my brain…

I told him I was okay, just finish the cows. I made my way over panels to get closer to the veterinarian, confident he could assess the damage for me.  By the time I made it to him, my nose was starting to hurt, and my head was pounding. I was okay. He said my nose was still straight (and not in my brain), but I’d probably have a couple of black eyes in the morning. The blood was coming from a cut just above the bridge of my nose where the gate had hit me square on. It was also coming from inside, thus making my face a bit of a mess.

I got cleaned up and put my sunglasses on to hide the top of my nose. We told E so he wouldn’t hear it through the grapevine, but I hid from his wife, hoping she wouldn’t see me as I headed for the pickup.

After my mother-in-law doctored me up, I Facebook’d Michelle. I had a story to tell! Then I stayed on the couch with ice on my face for two days. The whole left side of my body was hit pretty hard too, so I couldn’t get up anyway.

I’m very thankful a bunged-up nose was my worst injury. I still have a bump where I was hit. And sometimes it hurts when I push my glasses up. I’m also thankful for my battle scars. They serve as constant reminders to not let myself relax too much while working around cattle.

They are also a reminder of one other thing: That I – AM – A – COW – GIIIRRL!

 

For Jamie

I received a Christmas card from my friend Jamie today. On the envelope flap was one simple little question: “What happened to barbed wire and bangles???”

This one’s for you, Jamie.

I believe I have expressed before that I was struggling to come up with something to write between my column and famous facebook posts. I’ve decided there’s really no reason why I can’t just post that stuff here, too. So if you read my columns or are a facebook friend of mine, you may want to just go ahead and close your email now.

***

While eating supper a few nights ago my husband expressed a regret to me.

“Man, I should have bought some frozen cookie dough at the store today so you wouldn’t have to make cookies.”

Wait a minute. Had I missed something? A memo, perhaps? Had I offered to make cookies while sleeping?

Of course not. I’m certain I would not even have been that generous in a state of slumber.

I’m only kidding.

Anyway, he must have read my thoughts – or my face – and felt the need to pull the guilt card. He decided it was time to show his most recent battle scar: a bruise.

Now, revealing a bruise may sound a little on the desperate side. Maybe even a tad on the wimpy side. But you should have seen it. It was at the top of his ribs on his left side, as big around as a golf ball and multi-colored. It was only two days old. Everyone at the tabled cowered and moaned upon seeing it.

The injury occurred while we were weaning some calves. The guys were loading a group into the trailer when one turned and decided to make a run for it. Joe and one of our hired men jumped in his path, and the calf jumped, trying to get around them. The calf was pinned between Joe and the panels. Either that, or Joe was pinned between the calf and our hired man and the panels. I watched it happen, gasping, but it’s still a little unclear to me.

I can’t tell you how many times it’s crossed my mind that professional athletes have nothing on cattle producers. We chase down calves who, at only twelve hours of age, can run faster than most humans and sometimes even a 4-wheeler. Once we catch those calves we have to hold them still long enough to get an identification tag in their ears. Some producers who raise purebred cattle also must weigh those calves before letting them go. All of this commotion occurs while a protective cow weighing in at a just over a half ton is breathing down our necks. Sometimes catching up with a calf is near impossible because that protective cow is not only breathing down our necks, but may also be butting at us or even angrily charging.

This past calving season, after I’d had troubles with a very protective cow, I took Joe out on the 4-wheeler to help me tag her calf. We try to stay on the 4-wheeler as much as possible while tagging. Besides the fact that 4-wheelers allow for fast getaways, the cows seem less threatened when we’re not on foot. This particular time, the cow was pushing her calf toward theh edge of what I would call a “cliff.” I hung in there with him as long as I could on the 4-wheeler, then opted to go hide behind a tree, because I simply did not have time for a “Thelma and Louise” moment with my husband that day.

Anyway, I was hiding behind the tree watching my husband get as close as he could with the 4-wheeler. He wasn’t having much luck, so he decided he had to try on foot. Cows tend to use whatever method possible to protect their newborn calves. This cow decided to start nudging her calf a little over the edge. This sounds horrible, but you would be amazed at how nimble these four-legged animals are, even on the steepest of terrains. The calf started making its way down the bank. Joe had to put himself between the cow and the calf while scaling the “the cliff.” He got it tagged.

I’d always thought he was brave before, but watching him from behind the tree that day I saw how truly courageous he his. He’s my hero – even if my lifespan is shortened by a couple of years now and then as a result of witnessing his bravery.

 

Classic Deviled Eggs

As stated in my previous blog, I plan to work my way through some of the 2000 recipes in Cook’s Illustrated Cookbook. I checked the book out at my local library and fell in love with it. I ordered my own copy so I can use it on a regular basis!

My daughter and I decided deviled eggs would be a great start. Simple, and our family loves them. We would have started sooner, but couldn’t get whole grain mustard at our local small-town grocery! We traveled a bit further this weekend and did find some stone ground mustard that would suffice.

Here’s the recipe. Parts in quotation marks are directly from the book.

7 large eggs (cold), 3 T. mayonnaise, 1 1/2 t. cider vinegar (or vinegar of your choice), 3/4 t. whole grain mustard, 1/4 t. Worcestershire sauce, salt & pepper to taste

Cover the eggs with cold water. Recipe says to “cover with 1 inch of water.” Ada learned that there needs to be more than one inch of water coming up the side of the pan — that the key word was “cover.” She has made deviled eggs before, so I thought, left to boil eggs herself with guidance from the book, she would be perfectly fine. Mom also learned a lesson. We had 7 cooked eggs, partially soupy when ATTEMPTING to peel. (We also learned well-cooked eggs peel more easily.)

Anyway, in case you’re not an egg-cooker, you put them in cold water, cover, bring the water to a boil on the stove, remove the pan from heat, and let sit for about 10 minutes. We usually just drain the water off and cover with cold water. Cook’s recommends filling a bowl “with 1 quart cold water and about 14 ice cubes,” transferring the cooked eggs to cold water with a slotted spoon, and letting them sit there for about 5 minutes. We found this to be easier, with fewer cracked eggs. 🙂

Peel the eggs.

Class — raise of hands — how many of you have ever mutilated an egg trying to peel it bit by broken bit?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

I learned a trick on Barefoot Contessa (Food Network) a couple of weeks ago: Gently crack the egg ALL OVER, give it a roll on the counter (under your hand — firmly but still gently) to loosen that thin membrane under the shell. It may take a little practice, but you should eventually be able to peel off the shell in decent sized strips. It’s nice! Little, if no, marred egg whites.

“Slice each egg in half lengthwise with a paring knife. Remove the yolks to a small bowl. Arrange whites on serving platter, discarding 2 worst-looking halves.” (Cook’s recommends this so you have beautiful heaping filling.) “Mash yolks with fork until no large lumps remain. Add mayonnaise, vinegar, mustard, Worcestershire, and salt and pepper to taste. Mix with rubber spatula, mashing mixture against side of bowl until smooth.”

They recommend filling a pastry bag with a large open-star tip and piping the mixture into the eggs. This makes beautiful eggs. You can also spoon it into a zipper baggie, cut the corner with scissors and have success filling your eggs. Or, like we’ve done for years, use a spoon. 🙂

Cook’s also gives “make ahead” tips for those preparing for guests. The book is full of helpful hints like this.

You can order it at Amazon. I was scared to do it. It’s a 2-inch thick hardcover book with 2000 recipes. I used to work in a college bookstore. I was anticipating a $50-80 book. I got it for less than $25. Order here.

The verdict? The kids weren’t crazy about them, but they were decent. My family usually sweetens the filling with some sugar. I used white balsamic vinegar as my vinegar of choice to try to add some sweetness to the eggs. They were good, but when it comes down to it, you cook for your own family’s tastes.

 

Finally, an idea!!!

Hello, everyone! I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to blog. Again.

I recently read Julie and Julia by Julie Powell. She was witty and it was well-written, but there was plenty of foul language in it. Didn’t exactly enhance the story line, in my opinion. However, I still enjoyed the story itself. She dove into the world of blogging in the early 2000s (2002, I believe). She decided to go through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, preparing every single recipe in the book in one year’s time. I think there were 524 recipes in the book. No big deal, right? Many of us cook at least one meal a day, that would surely clear a couple of recipes… wouldn’t it?

NO.

They were FRENCH recipes. Have easy access to calf bone marrow? If you happen to, do you know how to open the bone to retrieve the marrow???

I don’t have time for that kind of stuff. Besides, I have three small children. I’m all for encouraging more sophisticated palates, but come on, let’s get real here. (Besides, I don’t think I would have liked my eggs poached in wine.)

Anyway, my purpose for writing this evening. I’m going to do that. I don’t plan on Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but I do plan to go through many of the 2000 recipes in Cook’s Illustrated Cookbook. I’ve seen Cook’s Country on television many times. I love the show. They have test kitchens where they perfect recipes like potato salad, fried chicken, making smoked pork that isn’t really smoked in a smoker… Lots of recipes the average person wouldn’t mind trying!

So, my goal for the new year is to make my way through many of the 890 pages of this book. I say “many” because I have no intention of making every single recipe. I plan to make recipes I think my family and friends would be willing to eat with me. I also plan to try a few new foods I haven’t tried yet. For instance, fennel. I know, how can I have not tried it yet? I have had fennel seed. I hate the stuff. However, every show I watch on Food Network has prepared fennel in some form or another. And my cousin Chris has cooked with it. If he can, so can I. (Love you, Chris!)

I will not be posting every single day. I still have a life. I also still plan to post things my kids do or say and what happens on our farm/ranch.

I will try to take some pictures as I go, but will not promise to do so with every recipe.

I hope this finds you all healthy and off to a good start for the new year.

 

Chip Off the Old Block

My daughter has been attending communion classes. Along with learning about communion, she has been learning acolyte duties. She served has acolyte for the first time yesterday at church. She’s a shy girl, gets really nervous going up in front of people.

I prayed a lot for her.

She walked into the sanctuary smiling and did a wonderful job. Ada proposed to her friend, G, that if she would sit with her up front her first time, she’d go sit with G up front her first time. It gave her a little extra confidence.

During the service, she had to light one of the advent candles. Our PMA nodded to her when it was time. Ada asked which one to light.

Jim: “The northwest candle.”

Ada: “Okay.”

Pause.

“Which way is northwest?”

Like her mother, she has no sense of direction indoors.

Jim smiled and said, “I’ll just go with you and show you.”

We love Jim.

She’ll celebrate her First Communion this coming weekend. We’re looking forward to it.