Perspective is a Beautiful Thing

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 was being covered without missing a beat and it was a simple fix for the car.  Two days later they picked up the car in Virginia and were headed home.  Feeling as if I should call them to find out how they were doing, my phone started ringing, my daughter beat me to it.  I gleefully said, “How are things going?” She responded, “We are stuck on the side of the road again.”

Alternate plans were set in motion to get her assistant back to The Ohio State University to teach her class on Monday while my daughter was checking into a motel in Princeton, WV.

When I woke up on Monday morning facing the possibility of driving to West Virginia when I was planning on spending every single day at home for a least 10 days in a row, I was less than thrilled. The indecision about what to do if the car is fixable, has a blown motor or if we need to tow it home are decisions I did not plan on contemplating when I had a full workload ahead of me. I have calls to make, stories to write and a son getting married in two weeks, I just wanted life to slow down for a minute so I could catch my breath.   But then I read about a local mom who lost her 30-something son over the weekend.  She is planning a funeral.  She is selecting clothes for her son to be buried in. She is contemplating life without her baby boy that she loved with all her heart and soul.  As I thought about her, I prayed and was reminded that I could count it as pure joy to interrupt my daily life and get in the car, drive eight hours south to help my daughter get back home.

Perspective is a beautiful thing when we get it right. 

Ripping the Fabric

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 the county fair would be nothing more than a carnival with a few photos of what used to be exhibits of crops, livestock and horses.

This would be the reality if the current administration decided to do to agriculture what it’s done to the fossil fuel industry.  When the drilling leases were eliminated, pipelines were shut down and we were told that clean energy is where we are headed, we took an entire industry full of owners, employees, families and vibrant towns and said, sorry, you don’t matter anymore.

When people in perceived power used their position to bend the will of an industry to their agenda of priorities and impose them on a country who’s founding was based on hard work, ingenuity and freedom, they slowly create a sluggish economy that is profitable for the powerful and merciless to Americans.

This is a country of people who not only adjust on the fly but have the tenacity to do what is needed.  During World War II our factories were changed from producing everyday goods to war-time necessities.  During Covid when we thought we needed ventilators, industrious minds and intelligent engineers backed by hard working people produced more ventilators that we could use during three pandemics.  When hurricanes hit our southern shores, people from all corners of this nation dropped their daily activities and headed to help those in need. We are rescuers. We are resilient. We are survivors.

Having a load of baby formula flown in from Europe when factories should have been ramping up production knowing one producer was shutting down is humiliating.  Buying oil from Venezuela, a country ruled by dictators, when we have plenty of our own clean oil is not only foolish but has lowered the expectations on a country of smart, proud, and ingenious people. 

We can produce our own food.  We can produce our own fuel.  We can produce our own goods and services.  But when leadership rips that responsibility from people, they not only tear away the fabric of a freedom loving republic, but they kill the spirit of a country who thrives on liberty.

Our forefathers did not fight battles in bloody bare feet to lose the war to power-hungry men in faux leather soled shoes two centuries later. Our country has survived decades of difficulty and I am confident that when we are tested, we will come forth as gold. 

Facts Are Facts

 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 complicit with him competing against females is erasing the accomplishments of women’s athletics one lap at a time.

Generations of women fought for the right of women’s athletics. Rural areas are full of highly competitive girls’ basketball teams coached by the local dairy farmer. Sisters are shooting hoops with brothers in hay mows and pole barns all across this country. But when it comes to games, they are lacing up to compete with other girls.

Beyond the games, there is more to being a woman than pretty hair and make-up.  Being female is an exclusive club and if you weren’t born that way, you will never understand.  God made women to be caretakers, nurturers with the ability to love unconditionally.  A man trying to become a woman will never know the calm, contented feeling that washes over her as soon as her baby is born. He will never know the hours of labor or the intense pain of delivery.  He will never understand the heartstrings that ties a mother to her son or the unbreakable bond that she holds with her daughter.

A man will never know the depths of postpartum depression, the recuperation of a c-section while caring for a newborn or the unkindness of her favorite pair of jeans. A man will never look in the mirror and have wide hips and a pouchy belly where the world expects toned abs and sun-kissed skin with shiny, healthy hair falling down her back.

I will never discount the vital role of fatherhood.  Dads are crucial for the success of the nuclear family.  Period.

Will this man trying to be a woman ever stop numerous times during the day to wonder if their first grader is making friends? Or if their 7^th grader is getting ridiculed because of her clothes or hair?  Or if he should have stayed home with her coughing 3^rd grader?  Will he ever suffer for years from mom-guilt because she unfairly accused her 17-year-old of lying or because she lost her temper on her 9-year-old for not putting the laundry in the dryer? Probably not. Will he lose sleep because his third grader isn’t reading? Will he wake up at 3 am to make cupcakes for the classroom Halloween party?

He will never deal with postpartum flyaway hair, hot flashes, menstruation, the embarrassment of thinning hair, nails that won’t grow and leggings that never lie.

While I want to stand up for the purity of female athletics and beyond, let’s not negate the responsibility that comes with XY.  It’s greater than you think. The current culture has devalued dads for far too long. We need strong men willing to take on the task of being influential fathers.

Women have exclusive rights to growing another human, are exclusively responsible for nourishing an unborn life and delivering a joyous bundle that will have immeasurable impact on countless lives. While someone may feel like a woman, a man will never be one.  Feelings are fickle, facts are facts.

 

You Want Me to do What?

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 pat me on the back or to brainstorm ideas with, the loneliness sets in, and the fear factor rises.

While fear may be a real feeling, the fact is, God has equipped each one of us to perform the challenge that is set before us.  If we are managing a farm, taking care of people, or making financial decisions, God knows we are capable.  If we own a business, 10,000 acres or rent an apartment and work at the local retail store, God knows the level of responsibility that we can handle. 

He knows how much we can manage, how well we can perform and how far we can be pushed to accomplish His plans.  He not only knows, but He also expects us to steward the resources he gives us.  We may be in charge of our earthly responsibilities, but He expects stewarship. And when you have a God who owns it all and He also equips us with the ability to take care of his gifts, then there is no excuse or reason to retreat in fear.

 Whatever your facing, whatever decision you are making, remember that you were not gifted with a spirit of fear, but you were given a sound mind and He expects you to use it for your good and His glory.

Turning Off the Milk Pump

 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 too decided it was time to retire. 

While a dispersal sale seems sad, for this family it’s different.  They are happy.  They are satisfied.  They are humble.  They didn’t break any records, win any banners or sell any cattle for big money.  They just kept their nose to the grindstone, continued to move forward and were good stewards of what God had entrusted to them.

Their work ethics matched and day after day, they used that to their advantage.  When one person wasn’t available to do something, the other two stepped into get it all done.  There is no bitterness, no angst, and no regrets.  They have spent a lifetime doing exactly what they wanted to do, and the bonus is they were incredibly successful along the way. As I interviewed them, I could see they loved working.  Phyllis said when you enjoy what you’re doing, you work all day long and at the end of the day, you’re tired, but it’s a good tired.

Pleasant Meadow Farms may not have anymore cattle, but they have a legacy of success built on years of hard work, cooperation, laughter, and love.  And that was a feature story worth writing.  

The Power of Starch

 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 pillowcases?  It was simple, it protected the pillowcase from the dirt and grime that can ruin or stain it. Also, it prolongs the life of the pillowcase or anything else that could be starched.  This made perfect sense, and so I continued to spray starch on the pillowcases, napkins, white shirts, doilies, and Wrangler jeans.

As the busyness of a family encroached on my available time to starch the family dress clothes, the pressed pillowcases went by the wayside. I haven’t starched a pillowcase in 25 years. But my mom on the other hand, still takes the time to carefully spray the starch on and press in the satisfying creases.

In a recent conversation the subject of pillowcases popped up when she had come across a set that were given to them as a wedding gift.  That means those pillowcases were 65 years old and still going strong, thanks to the starch. Then she told me this story; when she and my dad were newlyweds, she had just changed the sheets and as they crawled into bed he smelled the pillowcase and asked why she starched them. She explained why and he replied, “Whenever I smell the pillowcases it makes me feel like someone cares.”  That simple statement filled her up 65 years ago making her feel like she had done something right. And today, every time she starches a pillowcase that memory floods her mind and soothes her grieving soul that misses the man she loved and who’s pillowcase she starched for over six decades. 

The DAT Extra Podcast with Chris Hill is NOW LIVE!

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!

Ringside on a Friday Afternoon

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, 476 miles west, my daughter was sitting ringside covering the Iowa State Fair Holstein show. The girl who went off to college and said she would never work in the ag industry was taking photos of cows and posting show results while visiting with acquaintances turned life-long friends because she’s been going to this state fair with me for nearly 10 years.

When these two kids were 6 and 8, they would tag along with me to cover events at local county fairs.  Whether it was a livestock auction or a show, they were always in search of the cheapest corndog on the grounds and then hit the local dairy producers ice cream stand.  We couldn’t leave the fair without going through the commercial building to pick up all the free pens, candy, chip clips and yard sticks.

Now in their 20s, they both have a career, live on their own and are enjoying the life God has put before them. Never in my wildest dreams did I think twenty years later, we would still be going to the fair, enjoying grilled cheese and vanilla shakes, sitting ringside at a show.  But here we are, two of us in Indy and the other in Des Moines and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A Community of Chaos

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 aspects of my marriage.  While I wanted everyone to commiserate, they stepped back, wrapped their arms around my family and squeezed us tight with prayer.

Not only did they not pile on, they recounted my husband’s attributes and shed light on his perspective.  They showed me the other side of the argument and helped me consider all sides of the situation. Sometimes they laughed.  Sometimes they shared their own similar stories, but never did they add to my frustration by layering on more blame and exasperation.

My son was astounded.  He said he had never seen that kind of thing in his generation of women. I added that I learned a long time ago that when you have a friend who is taking your side and finding more cause for your argument, you need to find a new friend because she will be the first one to try to steal your husband away.

Finding a group of women who will love your family as much as they love you is a gift that will not only  keep your sanity in an insane world, but will calm the storms when the waves of family life come crashing down in a moment’s notice.  We were created for community, a community that loves and supports your entire family filled with the chaos of life.  

A Taste of Americana

 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 railing, watch the show and chat about life. No matter where you go, or what’s in the ring, I guarantee you will hear the same conversation, over and over and over.  Here are my top five tidbits you’ll hear from the railbirds.

1.       Did you hear Bill sold his farm? Yeah, I heard it went for $10,000 an acre.  That’s a boatload of money, not sure anyone can make that cash flow. That’s 100-bushel ground at best. Charlie’s been after that farm for years. That dirt’s never seen red equipment on it.

2.       What’s that cow? Did Bob breed her or did he buy her? I don’t remember her the last time I was at his place.  Yeah, he probably bought her just for this show, you know how he hates to lose to Jim. One of these days Jim’s gonna win and Bob ain’t gonna like that.  What’d he pay for her?

3.       Got second cuttin’ done yet?  I was gonna mow last week, but I knew all my help would be out here to the fair, so I figured I’d wait until we got this over with.  I’ll be glad when these kids outgrow 4-H.

4.       How much rain did you get? We got an inch and two tenths. It was nice, but we sure could use a little shower. The corn on that sandy ground is about to start rolling up….I don’t want to have to start the irrigation, but I guess I’ll have to if we don’t get a little more rain pretty soon.

5.       Is that John’s nephew? How is he old enough to be in 4-H? It seems like they just got married yesterday.  Whatever happened to Junior’s boy? He married the youngest Smith girl, and didn’t they have kids right away? I always thought she and the Jones boy would get married, but I guess they split right after high school.  That’s a shame, they could’ve had the whole farm.

Tell me you haven’t heard those conversations.  Or maybe you heard your own voice somewhere in there. Whatever is said, and whoever is saying it, this kind of chatter is the essence of people who have settled the land, carved out a living and love their country. This little taste of Americana was raised on hard work, based on deep values and continues to live by the moral compass instilled by our Creator. And life doesn’t get any sweeter than that. 

He Just Knows

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 be 100% qualified to do anything I try.  In my mind, this ensures that I won’t fail.  But that’s not how life works.  We are constantly challenged to do something new, something we may not be qualified to do, and that’s where we have to lean on our Creator to make up the difference.

As much as we would like to think we can order our days and control the outcomes, we can’t. No amount of work, worry, planning or strategizing can guarantee that everything will work out in our favor.

We were not created to hold tomorrow, or the entire next month.  No matter how hard I try, I can’t predict, create, order, or conduct tomorrow or the next day or the next.  I would like to try to control it all, but I can’t.  God is in charge of tomorrow and next week, and next year and we are all better for it.

So, as I venture into the future, my job is to contemplate what’s presented, serve those around me and leave the results up to God. Afterall, He has told us that we are not called or equipped to worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has enough trouble of its own.   

He knows best.  He knows all.  He just knows.

 

Fill Your Spot

 “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 ago, that would have crushed me, and I would have found myself bent over backward trying to please her and apologizing profusely.  Today, not so much.

God created all of us with a unique personality and gave us a spot on this earth with purpose and a plan. Some of us are talkers, others remain quiet and pensive.  Some of us move in quickly trying to fix a problem while others stand back and evaluate. Some of us like to share our opinions, while others would rather chase renegade cows back to their pasture than speak their mind.

But no matter your temperament or personality, whether you like libraries or get your energy from talking with crowds of people, your contribution to this world is not only necessary but it’s expected. Maybe you lack confidence and fear grips your gumption. Throw that fear off and do the scary thing. Someone somewhere is depending on your fearlessness and needs your influence.  Whether it’s your spouse, your children, or your employees, show up, work to your greatest potential, and fill that spot created just for you.

Moms, Your Season is Coming

 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 generation of women that motherhood is the goal, but you better make sure your career is Instagram-worthy and pays well too. We haven’t even taken into account the time and energy it takes to be a wife who loves and respects her husband who may be a full-time farmer in need of all kinds of support both emotionally and practically.

While this may seem hopeless and overwhelming, it doesn’t have to remain that way. There is hope but it comes by way of sacrifice. The result is no regret and another new season of life waiting for you with unimaginable opportunities and plenty of earning potential. As much as this sounds like an infomercial for a pyramid scheme, I assure you, it’s real life.

I spent the 90s as a pregnant stay-at-home mom.  I spent the first decade of the 21^st century chasing children, and cows and supporting a husband and a farm.  The second decade began a change that I never saw coming.  As my children started to leave the nest, my time as the school carpool mom, classroom cookie provider, and uniform cleaning service began to wane, and I discovered I had more time for things I wanted to pursue.

Over time, more projects found their way to my inbox which have turned into travel opportunities and marketing avenues that I had only dreamed about in my ag journalism classes in college.  If I could have described my dream job, it wouldn’t have even scratched the surface of what I wake up to do every morning.  It challenges every piece of intelligence that I ever thought I had and allows me to express myself in ways I once considered daunting at best.

No one ever told me this season was coming.  I only heard from well-meaning empty nesters that my children will grow up fast and I’ll miss these younger days when they are toddling around spooning oatmeal off their highchairs and stuffing pieces of syrupy pancake in the DVD player.  While I’ll admit I enjoyed the crayon-authored Mother’s Day cards and bouquets of dandelions, what kind of parent is sad about their adult children who are successful in their own careers and happy in their own homes?

What did I pay for this second season of life without regret? Boxes of $.33 macaroni and cheese, pancakes, and homemade syrup for days on end because it was cheaper than cereal.  Dress pants for junior high boys from the thrift store and bags upon bags of hand-me-downs from the neighbors.  Cheap shampoo, worn-out minivans, used appliances, and second-hand barn boots bought on eBay. The dollar menu at Mcdonald's was a family favorite, along with boxes of day-old donuts from the neighbor who worked at the local bakery.

I spent my share of time storming the gates of heaven on behalf of my family and our farm. And I wouldn’t trade a single tear for all the gold in the world. It humbled me. It kept me on my knees, and it made me experience the faithfulness of a God whose promises are always yes and amen.  He worked all things together for good, He gave me strength to do all things and He continues to move mountains and do the impossible so that I can speak of His faithfulness and His steadfast love.

Stop with the FOMO. Instead, embrace your family and the path that God wants to lead you down. He will bring you unimaginable joy and the only thing you’ll fear is missing out on what He has planned for you.

Young moms everywhere, your season is coming.  I promise. 

Tromping Around the Wheat Field

 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!

                             

                                

One Morning in a Pennsylvania Parking Lot

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, how often he goes and that he and his family should definitely go to the Rocky Mountains and enjoy real powder on real slopes.

He asked if I skied, and I proceeded to tell him about my one downhill skiing experience with my dad in the Rocky Mountains in Montana.  You remember, the one where we stood in line on the bunny hill to get our one skiing lesson from the professional only to have my impatient father say, “We don’ t need lessons, come on, let’s go get on the chairlift and go up to the top.” Of course, I followed because if my dad believed I could do it then I knew I could…. until I got to the top.   The chair lift dumped us off, and I collapsed in a heap and started scrambling to get out of the way of the people behind us getting dumped off.  It was literally all down hill from there and I never went again.

This total stranger obliged my story, laughed with me, noted the confidence I had in my dad and we both recognized the importance of the father role in a family giving his kids encouragement to try new things. He had no idea that my dad had passed away or the enjoyment I received reminiscing over a fun story I hadn’t thought of in years.

I will likely never see this man again, but I walked away thinking how gratifying that five minute conversation was in the hotel parking lot in Erie, Pennsylvania.  That human connection is exactly what we were created for as we traverse our brief time on earth.  Don’t waste the time you’ve been given closing off the rest of the world, instead greet people with a smile, you never know what you might learn or the blessing you will receive. 

Green Meadow Farms: “Where the Latch String is Always Out”

 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 boar of the litter of his Duroc Jersey Hogs.  He enclosed a pedigree of the hogs and said the mother to these boars was the best brood sow that he had ever owned, and he would sell a pick of the boars for $45.

Did this young Merle Green have any idea of the legacy he would leave in his wake?  Did he know that Greendale Stock Farm now known as Green Meadow Farms would host a century celebration where his efforts would be displayed, and his hard work and tenacity admired? When he was applying for a lifetime membership to the Holstein-Friesian Association of American on February 13, 1919, did he know that Green Meadow Farms would be the largest Registered Holstein Herd in the country?

As a teenager Merle had no idea he would have two sons, Duane and Velmar who would take the leadership of the farm, have a record-holding cow named Green Meadow Lily Pabst, be one of the first farms in the country to install a methane digester while exhibiting champion cattle from Michigan to Tennessee to Tulsa and every state in between.

I’m sure Merle never envisioned a governor who would celebrate his accomplishments, a herd sire flown in from California or thousands of visitors descending on his brick tie-stall barns to witness firsthand the fruits of his decades of labor.

People like Merle take one step at a time as they move toward their dream of owning a farm complete with champion livestock. They aren’t inhibited by fear of failure.  They are not limited by their age nor are they concerned with social norms.

When I visited with Velmar at the centennial celebration, he said there should always be something going, you can’t just stay the same as he pointed to a piece of equipment that was the beginning of a new biodigester with carbon credit technology. They will be one of three farms in Michigan to install this new biodigester.

As the farm continues into the next century under the leadership of Craig and Darcy Green, they will lead the way in adopting new technology while remembering the value in exhibiting cattle, merchandising genetics, and serving the industry on local boards and state associations. 

Green Meadow Farms: “Where the Latch String is Always Out”