Knolltop Farm Wife

Sitting in a motel room in Princeton, West Virginia, is not where I expected to be this week after a long two months of being on the road covering shows.  But here I am looking out the window at beautiful mountains in full color. My daughter was headed to cover the South Carolina State Fair when she called with her car broken down on the side of the highway at 8 pm on a Friday night.  We got the car safely towed to a shop but we had to get her and her assistant headed to Columbia, SC.  Because her assistant was also a Virginia Tech graduate, Wytheville, Virginia was a friendly place to be stranded.  Several phone calls later and helpful texts from the exhibitors in Columbia, South Carolina, the two girls were on their way in a borrowed car from Virginia Tech Dairy Judging Team coach, Dr. Katharine Knowlton. Thankful for a generous judging coach who has made a career of teaching and loving the next generation of our ag leaders I was elated when I heard the show ...

By Melissa Hart Imagine four-wheel drive John Deere tractors gathering cobwebs in a pole barn with doors that hadn’t been opened in months.  Can you see fallow farm ground growing up with weeds and annoying brush?  Or farm lanes that are grown over because there was no traffic in or out of the farm. The grease guns are never used, the farm implements rusting away behind the barn and no fuel trucks in and out of the driveway for lack of need.  The neighborhood equipment dealer would cease selling new tractors, and electric lawn mowers would be the new hot item.  The parts manager would also serve as the bookkeeper, the part time mechanic and the custodian.  There would be one grain elevator to serve the entire county, one farm store would be able to serve three counties and the seed dealer and chemical salesman would be an online store somewhere in Kansas.  Stockyards would close up, vibrant diners that served local farmers would shutter their doors and ...

 By Melissa Hart As I look at my keyboard, I see wrinkled hands and chipped nail polish on a 56-year-old body that has endured and enjoyed five decades as a female.  Living an imperfect life, I am a daughter, wife, mom and aunt.  And I will never be able to change that. It’s how God made me. But lately there is a loud minority of folks who want the privilege to change their gender and are trying to make the rest of us think it’s as natural as a bull sniffing the rump of a cow in heat. There is a young college athlete who was born a male.  He was created by God as a male and no matter what, his DNA will always be XY. With that chromosomal content, he will have the tendency to be a conqueror, a protector and a fighter. But his fight is to become a woman and he is being allowed to compete in the NCAA women’s swimming events, smashing records set by women, as a man. I will not pretend to know what is going through his mind, but I do know that he and everyone who is...

By Melissa Hart  You want me to do what? Produce a magazine four times a year?  I had no experience in magazines, printing, ad design, selling advertising, much less any thoughts about a media kit, cover designs, bleeds, or ad specs. I was a freelance writer.  I knew how to type words in a word document and send it to the newspaper or magazine, but to actually come up with a complete magazine, nope, not for me. I knew I couldn’t come up with editorial content that anyone wanted to read. I knew I would never be able to sell advertising, or come up with a reason why someone should advertise. I knew I would never have the time to sell, write, edit and hire a designer, who was I fooling? Or better yet, what was God thinking? My first reaction to any challenge is fear.  Fear of failure, fear of not knowing what I need to know and fear of people being disappointed in me.  I know I’m not alone, but when I’m sitting in my office and there is no one there to pa...

 By Melissa Hart By the time you are reading this, Pleasant Meadow Farms will have dispersed their herd and the milk pump will never be turned on again by Melvin, Phyllis or Mark Fledderjohann.  When I was asked to write a feature story on this family, my first thought was, ‘ They are selling out, why would I write a feature story about that?’ The Fledderjohanns have been milking Registered Holsteins on their western Ohio farm since 1968 where they provided a living for their families with 70 milk cows. Mark was the only son to come back to the farm where he and his parents have worked together for decades. He has a wife who wants to spend time with him, and two kids who need their dad’s involvement and the demand of the farm has kept him at a distance far too long, so for Mark in his late 50s, it was time to close the chapter on dairy farming. Melvin and Phyllis are in their 80s and while still in great health and with the mental attitude of a couple of 40-year-olds, they t...

 By Melissa Hart   Starch was a staple growing up.  My mom would spend a few afternoons every week standing over an ironing board making sure all of my dad’s clothes were starched and looking crisp.  She didn’t stop there, she would starch her clothes, dad’s hankies, her aprons, doilies, cloth napkins that were used on special occasions and especially the tablecloths that donned the dinner table on Sunday afternoons when we were likely to have company for dinner. Seeing my mom set up her ironing board in the kitchen was a normal part of growing up and I thought all moms did that, until I found out they didn’t. But I did.  Early in our marriage I had a big pile of ironing, just like my mom.  And within the pile, along with my husband’s shirts, his Wrangler jeans, and crocheted doilies were pillowcases.  Again, I thought everyone starched their pillowcases, until I found out they didn’t. This led me to asking mom why on earth we starched pillowca...

I have a new podcast out on Spotify and Apple Podcasts!  It's the Dairy Agenda Today  EXTRA Podcast with Chris Hill  ! Chris and his wife, Jen, operate MD-Hillbrook in Maryland and specialize in marketing purebred dairy genetics. Chris took a few minutes out of his day while he was trucking cattle to the Maryland State Fair to visit about how he became an auctioneer and how on earth he can breath while crying a sale!  If you enjoy the podcast, share it on your social media channels!

On a Friday afternoon at the state fair, I typed up show results and posted photos of a show that was happening in front of me at the Farmer’s Coliseum in downtown Indianapolis.  Four rings of cattle were on exhibition while clerks, queens and announcers kept the pace of the show moving forward for spectators enjoying a vanilla shake and a hot grilled cheese. On one side of me was a young woman who had just moved back from Iowa and was telling me about her entrepreneurial idea of opening a western wear boutique, behind me sat a former state officer for Indiana FFA and was headed to Purdue to major in ag communications with a desire to get into ag broadcasting. And on my left-hand side was my youngest son who was just along for the fun and giggles. He was flanked by the Indiana Holstein Queen who hailed from Turtle Town, USA, otherwise known as Churubusco, Indiana—don’t think there weren’t some great stories about turtle races throughout the day. On that same Friday afternoon,...

Visiting with my oldest son over coffee he said, “I have a question for you.”  Whenever he says that I always brace myself because it’s usually a question that involves lots of thought and sometimes I have no idea how to answer him. He asked, “When you get together with your lady’s group, do you complain about your husbands?” I said, “Sometimes.” Then he asked, “And when you do complain, you all pile on, right?” It was a great opportunity to explain to him how the healthy support of other women can make the difference between a vibrant family life and insanity. The ladies I meet with week after week not only support each other, but we support each other’s spouses, kids, grandkids and parents.  I can’t count the number of times I was spitting nails about something that happened earlier in the day and recounted the circumstance in great detail waiting for everyone to fly to my defense only to have them point me right back to the positive, the good and the hopeful aspec...

 On a hot day in July, I sat ringside at the Elkhart County Fair in Goshen, Indiana and watched the arena fill up with spectators as the 4-H dairy show began.  We have been covering their 4-H show for a few years now and I always look forward to it.  There’s just something about a county fair that makes everyone feel like the world is right.  Whether it’s the parents running around trying to wrangle their kids to the right ring, or grandparents smiling proudly in the stands, a county fair is one week out of the year that makes sense to everyone. And if you listen closely, you’ll hear the idle chatter from folks who have lived in the county for decades. These people have been coming to the county fair for years and now they are enjoying the third and fourth generation of family 4-Her’s.  Old farmers, relatives, local businessmen, they all like to stand at the rail and watch the show. For eight hours I sat at the table and listened to people come, lean over the ...

I just about spit out my coffee while reading a recent email that proposed I take over a certain position.  It would mean a commitment to something I barely knew anything about.  It would mean I would lead a group of people who didn’t even know me.  And it would mean a sacrifice of time, energy, learning, and compassion.  As fast as the email came in, was about as fast as the thought exited my mind.  I wasn’t qualified.  I had no time for this. My knowledge was way below average, and I could name about 10,000 other things I would be better suited for.  I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me.  An idea was introduced, and I immediately dismissed it as something I could never do.  Motherhood, writing, homeschooling, backing a manure spreader down a hill into position, starting an IV in a cow, the list goes on and on of things I said I could NEVER do and yet found myself doing exactly that. My problem is, I think I should...

 “Sometimes it’s better to appear a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.” That was a quote my dad repeated often. Not in a derogatory way, but he knew that I needed to listen more and talk less. I was the talker in the family.  My report cards from elementary school always had a comment from the teacher about excessive talking in class.  I was constantly ‘shushed’ at the library, so much so that I hated going there. Why would we all go into a room and not talk? While I’ve tempered my tongue slightly, I still tend to ask questions, make suggestions without being asked and I usually speak up when I should quiet down. While at a show recently, I suggested to the ring steward that she move the final lineup of cattle to a different spot so that it was easier to get a better photo. She refused.  In fact, she didn’t speak to me for the rest of the show. I told my husband about it and he kindly explained to me that sometimes I come on a little strong. Years...

 FOMO is real and is plaguing people of every generation.  It adds anxiety, builds discontentment, robs you of your present joy, and steals every moment that would normally bring you happiness. Fear Of Missing Out. It’s funny that something that has nagged people for years now has its own abbreviation and is used on every social media platform by millions. We have all felt it.  No one wants to miss out on an opportunity of a lifetime or the chance to do something fun but what price are we willing to pay to keep FOMO at bay? Young moms everywhere have been told they can have it all, it only takes balance. They are told, if you don’t have a fulfilling career, you are missing out.  If you don’t experience all the joys of motherhood, you are missing out.  If you work full-time at an entry-level job, you are wasting your time.  If you stay home with your children you are wasting your earning potential and your family will starve. We have convinced a genera...

 On one of the hottest days of the year, I took my camera and met my son and his intended bride in the wheat field so I could snap a few photos for their engagement announcement.   Luke and Jessie have been together since 7th grade....that was 2007.  And he finally decided to propose.  She said yes, and we all said....finally! They will be married in October, but I thought I would post a few of the photos that we took last week!                                                               

I was putting the last of my things in the car while my husband was checking out of the hotel in Erie, Pennsylvania.  It was Father’s Day and we were headed home from a sale we had attended in New York.  The beautiful morning sun made for a great start to the day and while I was standing there waiting, a young dad came out and was loading luggage into his pick-up truck.  I said good morning and then curiosity got the best of me and I asked about the sticker on his back window. It said “NVR SMR.” He encouraged me to guess, so I stood for a few minutes and guessed the first one, never.  And he enthusiastically said, “Yes! You’re so close, you can do this!” And then I blurted out “Summer!  Never Summer!” He said, “YES!” And then gave me a high five. Of course the follow up question, “What does that mean?” He told me it was a brand of snowboards and that he and his family love winter and all the snow sports. We meandered down that path of where he goes, ...

 Green Meadow Farms turns 100 years old this year and, in their generosity, they invited everyone to the farm to celebrate. As they prepared for this day of celebration cleaning up the old barns and pulling out their historical photos and memorials of milestones, they discovered an entire side of Merle Green they had never seen before. According to a feature in the Michigan Dairy Cattle News, Merle Green was the organization’s founding father, purchasing the original farm at 18 years old with co-signing from his father, who owned a lumberyard. He joined the Holstein Association in 1919 at the age of 14, buying his first heifer calf at 13 when the transaction - including calf shipment - was made through the mail. As they sifted through records, photos, and transactions, they found letters written by Merle for all of his livestock pursuits. On his Greendale Stock Farm letterhead, a 14-year-old Merle Green wrote a letter to M.J. Prince in Bloomer, Wisconsin trying to sell a choice b...