Biting The Hand That Feeds You

I received this email from a great friend and fellow agriculture producer this morning. I want to get her message out all across the nation: What I want the citizens of our great nation to gleen...NAKED, HUNGRY, AND COLD-THAT'S WHAT YOU'D BE WITHOUT AG! (The news channels listed have been banned from my house for over year)

TIRED OF HOLLYWOOD!

I am fed up! Last night, the show CSI Miami was the straw that broke the camel's back! This show depicted American farmers and ranchers as evil crooks who cared nothing about human life, only money. They showed cattle standing in sewage that drained onto crops and killed people with E.coli. Another victim died of botulism from an ear of corn that had been genetically modified. They had it all, including cover-ups and even stealing land from a poor family farmer. One of the lines in the script stated how ignorant and uneducated rural people are. The show ended with all the CSI agents going home and tending their organic gardens and raising their own food. There was not one accurate detail in this show. It was all propaganda.

This comes on the heels of The Larry King Show on CNN last week as well as multiple hits by the media who has used the full range of lies and false information to slam American agriculture. Articles by the New York Times and Time Magazine, and the movie Food Inc are just a few examples. They are trying to upset the balance of our world food supply and they are so arrogant they don’t realize the devastation they are bringing about for our nation and the world. If they actually wanted to make a difference they could have easily worked in some information on food safety. This actually would have been very helpful and would have done some good. Nothing like this was mentioned in any of the articles or shows.

I may be one of those ignorant rural people, but I AM SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW that I don’t have to watch their networks any longer. NBC, ABC, CBS and CNN will NOT be airing in this household ANY LONGER! Trust me, life will go on without their daily dose of propaganda.

Hollywood has been trying their best to teach our children to be shallow, greedy, violent, and void of any morals what so ever. Here are some suggestions for shows that I would like to see on TV. I want to see a show on the hundreds of young people that die each year from eating disorders because they think they need to look like a movie star. I want to see a show exposing the numbers of deaths that could be credited to the violence that Hollywood feeds our children on a daily basis. I would like a show exposing how many illegitimate children are born each day because Hollywood has taught our children that it is cool to have casual sex. The sequel can be a show about the spread of HIV and how many people die each day from that disease. Let’s talk about substance abuse, and how “the stars” have taught our society that it must be okay because they drink and take drugs all the time with no
consequences. But let’s be very clear….….it is not about the money.

For those of you who are not involved in agriculture, it is very doubtful that you have any idea of the battles that are fought every single day in order for you to have food on your plate. I hope you will take a stand against the garbage that these networks are feeding to us and to our families. PLEASE TAKE A STAND AND TURN TO A CHANNEL OTHER THAN CBS, CNN, NBC, OR ABC!!!! It may surprise you how little you miss them!
Barbara Jacques

Glamor On The Farm? Forget It

Mud, dogs, dog poop, cats, cat poop, more dogs, neighbor’s dogs, horse manure, cow manure, wet dogs. Ranch life pleasures are innumerable, but these things are sometimes hard to appreciate.
It had finally gone on sale. The cute little floral print dress I’d been eying, in my favorite clothing catalog for the past six months was on sale. Visions of wearing it to town...away from dogs and other varmints, mud and excretions, danced in my head. I quickly called in my order knowing that if I waited too long my size might be gone. I had a small problem, my husband and I would be leaving on Saturday to visit our daughter and son-in-law and wouldn’t be back for several days. I wanted that dress. I placed the order, relieved that the order taker promised a three day arrival...Friday. That would work. Friday arrived, no dress. No problem. I’ll leave the UPS man a great big note on our back door with great big explicit directions to leave the box inside our unlocked house. Neighbors, kids, family and friends were alerted to watch for the cargo.
When I returned home, I anxiously looked for the UPS box. I searched the back porch, the back entry hall, the pantry, kitchen...nothing. I called all alertees inquiring about the package. They had seen nothing. I called the company. It had gone out as planned and I should have received it by now. Several weeks went by, and the dress fetish relinquished..
One cold afternoon with temperatures in the teens and snow blowing, I pulled out of our driveway to go to town. As I drove out I noticed a lifeless, frozen, snow covered heap in my front yard. I stopped and made my way to the middle of the yard. Brushing the fresh snow away revealed a box covered not only with frozen snow, but frozen poop as well. Stuck like super glue to the ground was a box. It wouldn’t budge. I kicked it hard prying it loose. The return address: J.Jill Inc. My dress! So much for the UPS man’s direction taking. After some questioning I found out he had left the package on a bench under our carport. Lilly, our Old English Sheepdog thought he'd left it for her. The company sent a new dress, free of charge. Lilly would end up destroying that one too. Washing instructions recommended; hand washable, line dry. So I hung it on the line...for her amusement she thought. I would later find it ripped and tattered...once again in the yard. Glamor on the farm? I'm having trouble finding it.

Enter At Your Own Risk

This could have been the day...

My Grandad Lenard built the house we live in, around 1930. My husband, Brad is convinced he got up one morning, stepped it off and built it- absent a tape measure. Nothing is level. This has never bothered me, but he’s more of a perfectionist when it comes to which way spilled milk flows. We’re always working on it. On doors, on stools, on leaky ceilings, etc. etc. etc. It’s always something. But we love it.

A beautiful purple glass knob graced the door of one our bathrooms…most of the time. There was a certain way to open and close that door or the handle would fall apart leaving you stuck in the bathroom with one piece in your hand and the other on the floor outside the door. You pretty much had to be a family member to know the combination.

This booby trap bathroom was located in a remote area of our house. If you became trapped and everyone moved on to the north end of the house out of ear reach, you were pretty much on your own until someone noticed you were missing.

The Schwan’s man didn’t know the combination. Late one afternoon while fixing supper for a houseful of kids; my four and several friends and cousins, he made the mistake of asking to use the restroom. Dodging kids, noise level a low roar, I absent mindedly nod towards the hallway. That was the last I saw of him… I forgot all about him. We all moved into the north side of the house, far, far away from the remote bathroom location. Coming back into the kitchen about twenty minutes later to check on supper, I heard a faint knock coming from the hallway. I was stricken. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t go get him out. I can’t remember which kid released him, but he escaped unharmed. I said I never saw him again. I literally didn’t. He never came back.

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Today Was America

Today was America.
I spent the first half of my day traveling over two hours to a small sleepy town in Kansas to attend a Cowboy Story Teller’s of the Western Plains meeting with my dad. He’s the president and has been for over 12 years. And me...I’m the treasurer, a job I acquired one day when I rode with him to their “folding” meeting. That was three years ago. That day I urged them not to terminate their group. Well, now I’m the treasurer. This organization was founded over 20 years ago by a group of people that didn’t want their family’s stories to die. Today there are many, “empty saddles” in the original group. But new members perpetually regenerate. As members gather, concerns for a country gone awry can be overheard. The meeting begins with a prayer giving thanks to our God for the day, our freedom, the food, safe trips to and from, and guidance for our country. A small unorganized board meeting takes place and accolades to an 87 year old member who has mapped the Chisholm Trail and erected markers all across the state is given. As the afternoon rolls on stories, poems, singing and banjo picking permeate the community center... a ninety year old woman relating stories of her childhood, the great grandson of an 1890 homesteader giving a power point of his roots, a beautiful young family of 8 singing Christian hymns, a young mother reciting original poetry about her Grandpa’s spurs as her three year old son looks on adoringly, a cowboy reciting a poem written during the Dust Bowl entitled "Dust On The Bible" and two awesome yodelers yodeling.
The evening finds us in another county in another state 130 miles away. My dad had received a county award and we meet family members there to celebrate. Five members of our county were inducted into the county Hall of Fame. The banquet begins with some unorganized shifting of tables, plates, and people, group singing of "God Bless America", and a local minister expressing concern for a country gone awry as he gives thanks to God for the day, our freedom, the food, and safe trips to and from and guidance for our country. The five honoree's biographies are read, each one giving God the credit for their successful lives. The end to a perfect day...facing a large wall hung U.S. flag crocheted by the 87 year old father of one of the hostesses, the crowd begins to stand, one by one, hearts crossed, as a talented young man sings, "I'm Proud To Be An American."
Today was America, let's pray she doesn’t change.

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An Exposition Expedition

I rode my dirt bike yesterday. I’m having a foot problem and can’t run, so it felt really good to ride. I left, I thought, early enough to make it into town for evening church. I put on my spandex…a disgusting sight I’m sure for anyone who gets a glimpse, but you have to wear them; baggy, loose clothing gets tangled up in the bicycle spokes. Around the neck of my bike, I carefully duct taped a change of clothes; something decent to put on when I got to church, stuck some toiletries and my cell phone in the zippered pouch beneath the seat, filled my water bottle and headed off to town. It’s 15 miles, counting the back dirt roads I take to keep lurking eyes off my seeping spandex. It was a great trip for the first 9 miles or so- only one vehicle. I know the neighbors along this route and feel safe as I ride along. Our church is located in a small town situated next to a large state lake, the back road I take ends next to the lake and is paved from the lake into town. This route too used to be a wonderful, quiet drive, ride, run or walk in 2007 B.C...Before Casino. It's opening put an end to my quiet, safe, retreat, turning it into a small city complete with a Wal-Mart type parking lot and everything that comes with one…use your imagination. When I reach casino proximity the landscape quickly changes from fields of sunflowers, cattle and milo to toothless, red-faced Dastardly/ Muttley looking types slowing down to gawk (at the spandex seepage I’m sure), rolling their windows down to laugh and share crazy statements with me. “Why in the world can’t there be a dirt road that runs completely to town?” I think to myself.
Naked. That’s how I felt. It reminded me of my first triathlon. During a triathlon there are stations. First you swim, then you bike, then you run. You make sure before you start the race that all of your equipment is laid out at each station, ready to put on for the next leg of your race. Brad was my cheerleader/coach. We had driven three hours so I could participate. However, when I got there, I lost all confidence as I watched sleek, smooth swimmers American Crawling back and forth across the pool. I wanted to turn around and go home, but he wouldn’t let me. I was relieved when my turn was getting closer as the strokes of the swimmers began to resemble mine. I agreed to complete the race and timidly slipped into the water with goggles and swim cap (an alluring sight) dog paddling off. I finished my swim, ran to the next station, dried off, jumped on my bike and rode the distance down a quiet road...with no audience. I then came into the final station to finish the last leg of the race; a 5 K run. The running course took us on a trail that ran alongside an interstate. As I transitioned from bike to running I realized my shorts were missing (due to a lack of communication with Brad who had helped me lay out my belongings). As I looked frantically for them, the transition person was yelling “Go...Go…Go!” I looked down at my legs, looked up at him, looked down again. In the distance I could hear Brad yelling “GO. GO!” I took off…lumbering along I -35 in my birthday suit, or so it seemed to me; cars whizzing by with curious gawks and stares. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that written in Sharpie up and down the length of one arm and leg is a large number, your entry number. Anyway "exposed" I felt that same way yesterday as I rode the last leg of my trip to church… in spandex.
As I awkwardly struggled to climb the last few hills that led into town, it was hard to hide my face from several couples I knew who passed me on Harleys. I made it to church... 30 minutes late... without my shirt, the one I'd carefully duct taped on. I slipped quietly inside while unpretentious and forgiving members glanced back and smiled. I headed for the kid’s class to dig for a “paint shirt” to cover my seeping spandex. Exhilarated I sat solitaire in the nursery listening to the tail end of the preacher’s sermon, thinking to myself that I should probably leave 30 minutes earlier next Sunday and use more duct tape.

The Summer Of Our Discontentment...or Discouragement...or Dismay...or Devastation...

The fire started July 10th. We are still shifting cattle around, fixing fence, and rebuilding.


Thousands of acres of grass was destroyed in the fire not to mention buildings, fences machinery, homes and cattle. Thank the Lord, no loss of lives.

The Lord Blessed Us With Rain All Summer Long

It's For Cetain

My Grandad Lenard always looked forward to this site-the equinox. Every September 20th or 21st you could count on the sun setting on the highway that runs in front of our houses...just like clockwork. Today nothing is certain, actually life has never been certain, but today's problems seem to be a little more haywire. But one thing is certain, we serve a Big God, and he's in control of all things.
"Whatever is has already been, and what will be has been before; and God will call the past to account." 1Thes. 3:15

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