Cliff Morrow's Blog

That Giant Sucking Sound

2012-01-24T14:51:00.000-08:00

It's my understanding that if the President got his way with taxes, the additional inflows would run the government 47 hours at our current rate of spending. Yet that is the all he cares to talk about, well that and class warfare.
The Republicans should go along with him on the taxes and then stand with their hands on their hips and say, "Okay, now what?" "What about the other 363 days, can we stop giving out entitlement funds now? Then yelling they should say, "IT'S THE SPENDING, DUH!"
The money he wants to tax at a higher rate has already been taxed over and over. But taxing and taxing again is how casinos make their money. They return 93-95% of every dollar bet but when you run the winnings through again and again, you eventually lose it all.
A federal government that vacuums up all of the capital from the private sector and uses it to buy votes with the use of entitlement and union payouts is not long for this world.
I hope in tonight's State of the Union address he lets us know which country we will fall to so we know which language we should begin learning. How much are those Rosetta Stone Cd's anyway? Do they have Russian?
The great part of having satellite TV is that we won't have to watch our leader put his nose in the air and stare into the distance.
Pawn Stars is on the History Channel tonight. Some good news after all.

The Chili Bowl

2012-01-18T06:59:00.000-08:00

It's New Year's Eve and the visions of sugarplums have quit dancing and are sitting on a chair and rubbing their little plum feet. Replacing them in my head are the memories of past New Year's Days. Here on this farm New Years Day has traditionally been a day of football. Years ago, I was the last of seven children still at home so Mom and I would take our Christmas decorations down, sometimes we'd accidentally tip the long-needled ponderosa pine tree over on Dad's bald head while he sat in his old rocker, then we'd finally throw the tree out the door, and put a big pot of chili on the stove. We'd sprinkle the soup with cheese and oyster crackers and then crunch down some of Mom's homemade dill pickles.
We'd spend the day watching the Sugar, Cotton, Rose and then the Orange Bowl. Nebraska would sometimes play in one of those. I recall well the battles with Alabama and the likes and once we even had to play Oklahoma for the second time in the same season in the Orange Bowl. The bowl games really defined my New Year's Day. The buildup to the bowl games was always a month long parade of emotions reported from both football camps and Mom and Dad's house became a huge game watching party for the family.
There were just three main channels and Dad had all of the times and games memorized. The Rose Bowl was just finishing up when the Orange Bowl began from Florida. It was an easy pattern that was followed year after year. There was not a plethora of bowls to confuse us unlike what we have now. There have always been some lesser bowls like the Liberty and the Sun and the Bluebonnet but nothing like today's BCS offerings.
Currently, every town with a corporate sponsor and an empty stadium can host a bowl game. Case in point is Charlotte, N.C., hosted the "Belk Bowl," featuring Louisville and North Carolina State. Not knowing what a "Belk" is and whether I might want to someday eat one or possible have an operation to have mine removed, I watched part of the game. No, I still don't know what a "Belk" is, but I've for sure decided to keep mine.
Dallas hosted the "TicketCity Bowl." I understand that one because I got a ticket there once. The "Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl" in San Francisco was a catchy title and Kraft does sell food products, so maybe that's what that means. In St. Petersburg, Fla., the locals hosted the "Beef 'O' Brady's Bowl" which I'm guessing is some kind of corned beef product for St. Patty's Day.
By the time this goes to print Nebraska will have played in the "Capital One Bowl" in Orlando on Jan. 2. There will be no college football games on our "pot 'o' chili day," Jan. 1, because the day was reserved for NFL games. Well you're thinking that by Jan. 2 Nebraska must be one of the last games. The short answer would be "No." There were nine bowl games after that including the "BBVA Compass Bowl" and the long awaited "GoDaddy.com Bowl." By the way, if your husband was watching the latter, it probably wasn't because he follows Northern Illinois with a passion, it's because he follows GoDaddy.Com commercials with a passion.
This is beginning to look like some kind of new entitlement program they're trying to implement. Everyone is equal and gets a bowl game whether they deserve it or not. It appears to be a way to keep the lesser teams "needy" by keeping them practicing in December for an extra game instead of letting their athletes study and the coaching staffs hit the road recruiting and thereby improving their chances of getting to a bowl game the following year that happens to have just one name.
In the future they should consider combining some bowls to fix problems. If the Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl would team up with the Chick-Fil-A Bowl, the Little Ceasars Pizza Bowl and the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl, they'd have their answer to hunger. How about combining the BBVA Compass, Belk, and Meineke Car Care Bowl into one called, "I Actually Have No Idea Who the Sponsor Is Bowl."
We may have taken our eye off of the goal of a diversion for students on their way to obtain a higher education, yes, a preparation for life and raising the collective bar for society has turned into who will put the most money into the coffers of the NCAA and the universities.
We need to get back to the basics. For me it begins with "Take one tablespoon of chili powder" ...

I Was Quoted...

2012-01-09T05:15:00.001-08:00

In this article on the website of the Kansas City Star. They failed to mention the words I said when my teeth were clenched.
http://www.kansascity.com/2012/01/06/3356513/missouri-river-management-plan.html

It's Been A Charles Dickens Year

2011-12-29T09:17:00.000-08:00

The following was written for the Midwest Producer Magazine which covers Kansas as well as Nebraska. That explains the mention of both states in the column.
It has finally come and gone. The long awaited day, the very object of our dreams, the goal has arrived for those in drought ravaged southern Kansas and the flooded parts of Nebraska and Iowa and beyond. What day am I speaking of, you ask? It's Christmas, or better yet the end of a long wearisome year. If this was a piece of music the word 'fine' would be in small letters on the calendar signifying the end or as one of my brothers likes to put it, "We finally wore it out."
It started as consequence of a particularly hard fall years back. It seemed that every day another big problem arose. We'd have to figure out how to get a loaded grain cart out of the mud when it had already sunk to its frame. The next day would lead to having to take the duals off of a tractor to clean the mud from between the wheels. Every day was a challenge and my older sibling answered my whiny question about when this is ever going to end by saying, "We're just going to have to wear the year out. Someday we'll wake up and it'll be Christmas and this will finally be behind us.
Well, it's Christmastime and 2011 is behind us and none too soon. It has been a Charles Dickens year in farming - It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I've talked to farmers from both states who expressed frustration at watching most all of American agriculture enjoying the best of times while others are, or were, hoping for the best from crop insurance companies to give legs to their hope that there indeed will be a next year for them.
The drought continues in Kansas. For those farmers, the drought isn't over, but there might be a bit of a respite while they wait for the hope of next year. Optimism reigns supreme if you're a farmer. As I type this, maybe the snow that is falling in Kansas will start the winter wheat crop.
Without being optimistic and having faith, farmers would be fairly reticent to hide several hundred dollars worth of inputs in the soil on each acre, each spring, without being sent to the loony bin.
We know the plants will spring from the ground in straight, neat little rows. They always have. It's simply too much work to believe otherwise.
The flood is the other story and I'll be the first to admit that I've avoided much mention of what has been the elephant in the room for us. As I've traveled, I am reminded that I have a connection to many folks across our great states of Kansas and Nebraska. It's a connection that is easy to overlook when the product is sent from my computer here on the farm to Terry Anderson's computer and then, well I don't know how it works from there.
I do know magic is involved to a certain extent. But the point is, I continually run in to readers who say something to this effect, "I've been reading about the river in the newspapers but how are you and Marilyn doing on your farm, you never say."

Happy New Years From The Morrows

The short answer is that it is one of those "best and worst" years for us also. The Missouri River has drained back into its banks and we were mostly left with few structural problems except for the trash that was left along the edges. The exception is one field that had 40 acres that was carved pretty badly. About the top 5 feet was washed away. We were able to hire a dozer to smooth it a bit and have worked it four times in four different directions and think the planter will be okay next spring.
Most of the ground I farm is flat. I've never farmed "gently rolling" before but now I have some. We lost another 40 to cutting by the river and sand deposits too deep to do anything with. We were the fortunate ones however. We have good friends who have lost their homes and buildings and some very large fields have hundreds of acres with sand deposits that have rendered the ground of no further use.
In small communities we know the people and the struggles that each one faces. The thing that really amazes me is that these are the same folks who greet you with a smile, a handshake, a question about your own well being as well as an offer to help. Yes, they want to help you when they are the ones who lost their home. The belief is always that it could be worse. Eternal optimists are everywhere in rural America. That's why we live here. It's not for the weather or the excitement of raging flood waters. It's for the people.
I talked to "Bill" at the big farm show in Lincoln. He came up to the Midwest Messenger/-Midwest Producer booth that I was in and looked at me for a bit and then tipped his cowboy hat back and said, "So, you're Cliff?" I admitted that I was. He continued, "I always read your article in the Midwest Producer." I thanked him. He continued, "That is if I don't fall asleep while I'm reading it."
I chuckled a little. He had a good belly laugh about it.
Yeah, it is the people.

The Focus At Christmas

2011-12-20T04:32:00.000-08:00

Our Baptist church choir has been working on a cantata suitable for Christmas. I believe working on special projects like this, and the one we do near Easter, is a healthy exercise for the well being of the choir, and a church body for that matter. It really helps us focus on what we're doing and why we're doing it.
Way back when I was directing the choir I couldn't help but notice the numbers in our choir would gradually dwindle if we didn't do two cantatas per year. The lesson for me was if you think things are beginning to stagnate, do something, and just get busy. It might be a temporary fix but at least it will be a fix.
For families, Christmas is that way, too. We should focus once each year on the reason we're here. Without that focus, some can become distraught with their family situation. Christmas dinner can turn into a hateful gathering of relatives. We can become lost. If we spend all our time filling the calendar with the wrong types of activities and shopping and the high expectations that this time of year can bring, then we're set up for failure.
Organized activities in churches and clubs and families is a healthy thing, don't get me wrong. The secret is to at least focus on something worth the time spent. Kids would be a good thing to home in on this time of year. Not the toys we plan to give them but a focus on the kids themselves. Give them time. Listen to them, and plan to show them how to spend their time to help others.
I began to notice years ago that immediately following a church service there were always certain folks who seemed to draw children like a magnet. It still goes on today. All of those adults with kids surrounding them have one thing in common: they all get their faces down on a level with the kids. They bend over or kneel down to speak to the youngsters face to face. Try it, it works.
Concerning gift giving, it used to bother me that when my folks reached a certain age, they began answering the question, "What do you want for Christmas?" with something like. "Please don't give me anything; I'm trying to get rid of stuff." "Just come for dinner if you can."
I've now reached that age myself. I know there is an unspoken obligation to give something to your parents for Christmas but really, think about it. I tell my kids, "I'm 61 years old, if I really wanted it or needed it, I've already got it." But stuff is gracefully accepted, I'll admit that I do smell better after I open a bottle of cologne on Christmas morning.
A few years back I received an envelope from one of our children. It simply said, "In lieu of other gifts, a monetary gift has been given, in your honor, to a named charity to purchase food for the needy." I wasn't ready for the instant effect it had on my emotions. It more or less knocked the wind out of me. It was thoughtful and heartfelt and exactly the kind of response Christmas time should evoke.
Don't misunderstand me, the Morrow family's trees will be filled with the usual fare and probably enough electronics to awaken us in the middle of the night and say, "What the heck was that." My wife will calmly say "something needs charging, go back to sleep."
But above all else we need to remember that those folks who are so loved by children that kids flock to them like sheep to a shepherd didn't actually invent the technique of coming down to their level in order to communicate.
That started about 2000 years ago near Jerusalem.
Marilyn and I wish all of you a Merry Christmas and Peace.

We've Been Put In Our Place

2011-12-11T22:05:00.000-08:00

This afternoon we made the 50 mile round trip to pick up my 91 year old Father In-Law from his senior home, brought him to our house and then later took him to our Christmas Contata presentation. We were pretty pleased with the way it went and thought all of our hard work and effort had paid off.
He indicated on the way home that he was duly impressed with our choir.
We took him back and he was greeted by a nurse who began asking questions about his day. As we left the building we could hear him explaining what a contata was and that, "It was pretty good, the choir members were pretty old, but they were very good none the less."
I'm not sure why that made me laugh all the way home but it did.

Getting Around

2011-12-09T07:28:00.000-08:00

I was just in a neighboring town. It was 16 degrees and another light snow left about 2 and half inches over the city. I saw a guy riding his bicycle with narrow tires, down an icy sidewalk.
I think I know what was going thru his mind.
"I'll never drive drunk again, I'll never drive drunk again, I'll never drive....."

Just Book It and Go

2011-11-29T04:51:00.000-08:00

When last we visited, Marilyn and I had spent two days as Nomads wandering around Boston. But on this day we had plans to return to Logan Airport and meet up with my cousin and his lovely wife from Maryland. They are familiar with the area and I eagerly dropped the car keys in his hand never again to ask for their return. A big load had been lifted from my shoulders, that and I was beginning to get the urge to do something about the people who had been honking at me. I’m too old to do something about people honking at me. Back home in Nebraska, folks honk but it’s to get your attention and then they’ll give you a wave. Okay, they also wave in Boston but it doesn’t resemble our farm waves. Only thing is, life is so fast paced out there that they drop letters from words when they talk and they drop fingers from their waves. I suppose it saves them time.

We had reservations for the next three nights at the Yardarm Village Inn in Ogunquit Maine. It was a fairly quaint little village with big square 2 and 3 story homes. We used Ogunquit for a base and traveled north into some low mountains for a color tour of fall foliage. Every fall is different back there and guarantees that the colors will be good do not exist. It was a below average fall for our tour but still pretty impressive.

One of our day trips went from Ogunquit up the coast a ways to Kennebunk and Kennebunkport Maine. We visited the beach and the shops up town. One of our most memorable lunches was had in the middle of the downtown area in Kennebunkport. We stopped at Alisson’s Restaurant and had a cup of her famous Clam Chowder and a Lobster Roll. You can actually buy a clam chowder kit from the restaurant online. We haven’t done that, yet, but we will, just in the hopes that we could duplicate that flavor. The restaurant and shops are all located near an inlet from the Atlantic Ocean and harbor area. It is fun to shop and relax in an area with boats floating nearby that are worth more than a new combine with a 16 row corn head. Sorry but that’s how farmers think. A farmer wouldn’t be able to walk into the Boston Gaaden without saying, “Man, this place would hold a lot of baled hay. “

Photo taken a few hundred yards west of Plymouth Rock.

We finally returned to our place in Ogunquit because the girls had booked us for a play in the local theatre. ‘Miss Saigon’ was playing and my cousin and I figured we were in for amateur night in a small town. We were wrong, most of the cast members had all played in the original Broadway production and it was pretty impressive. I’m not sure how they did it but I’ll swear they landed a US Army helicopter to evacuate soldiers’ right on stage in the second half.

The next day we headed for our final two nights to be spent in Plymouth Massachusetts. We toured a replica of the Mayflower and a museum that depicted a great deal of what life was like for the first settlers from the old world. I’m not going to say they were the first white people here from Europe because they were approached by two Indians who could speak English.

Our trip was about over and even though we loved dreaming about seafood at every turn and we did in fact find that it’s true, we were becoming a bit weary. Oysters, mussels, clams, lobster, calamari, and crabs, and they were steamed, stewed, fried, on the half shell, sautéed, and smoked. I knew it was time to go when I saw turkey and dressing on an airport restaurant menu and it sounded good. I was finally tired of things that swam in the ocean.

We left Boston 45 minutes late and when we hit our connection in Detroit we were told they ‘might’ be holding our plane for us. It was just 10 gates away. They did hold the flight but I could tell by the looks on the faces of the passengers that if it had been up to them, we would have been left to spend the night in Detroit. We got to Omaha on the same flight as our luggage so I’d call that a good trip.

Thinking back on this I think the overwhelming reason for farmers to travel is to cement the truth in our minds that the farm is the very best trip to be on. It reminds us of why we live where we live.

Just book it and go.

I WAS HOPING...

2011-11-22T06:39:00.000-08:00

that it wouldn't get so cold in Nebraska this winter that I would need to wear a coat.
Vain hope.

Our 40th Anniversary And Other Reasons To Go To Boston

2011-11-04T06:59:00.000-07:00

"Huzza, her sides are made of iron," yelled a crewman on the USS Constitution. Thus the name, Old Ironsides, was born. The crewman in question was on the USS Constitution, which was locked in combat with the British frigate Guerriere about 750 miles off of the Massachusetts coast on the 19th of August, 1812. The two ships were broadside at about 50 yards or less and the Guerriere's cannonballs were bouncing off the heavy oak sides of the Constitution.

The ship has had a long and storied career and retired undefeated. She is still commissioned and lies in port in Boston Harbor with a U.S. Navy crew of about 70. She is directly across the harbor from where she was first launched from the shipyard in 1797. In wartime she carried a crew of 450 crewmen which included 55 Marines.

I bring all of this up because my wife has had a fascination with this ship and its history and every year since I can't remember when has said, "We should take a fall tour into the New England states to look at the fall colors and maybe see the USS Constitution." Harvest being the devil that it is, has kept us from doing that. Early September would have been better for such a trip but all you would see is the color green at that time and I can stay home and look at a tractor or late season weeds to accomplish that.
This year was different. The Army Corps of Engineers had pretty well taken care of about 65 percent of our harvest with a slight miscalculation of the storage capacity needed in upstream dams to protect us down-streamers should it happen to rain or snow too much in the high country. Okay, slight is the wrong word but I wasn't sure how to spell gargantuan.
A few months back Marilyn suggested that this might be a good year to try our color tour since we don't have much left to harvest. "And besides, it is our 40th anniversary in September and we should do something memorable." "I guess so" was my long reply, and so we went.
Looking at the Google Maps satellite view made it seem like "well this big airport is here and the ship you want to see is right here. They were both in the same picture and it seemed possibly within walking distance were it not for this Boston Harbor which I later found the correct pronunciation to be Haba. Now if we can find some colorful trees nearby, possibly up on this Bunker Hill place, we'll be done in a few hours.
We could have made life easy for ourselves by getting into a taxi and saying, "We want to see the USS Constitution," and our cabbie would have said something like, "No pablem buddy, it's right across da Haba from heya." Nope, we're smarter than that, we rented a car. Those of you who have been to Boston are at this point slapping your hands to the side of your head and yelling, NO CLIFF, YOU DIDN'T REALLY RENT A CAR DID YOU? Yes we did and we later named it the "Albatross." We actually found a small parking lot about 10 blocks from our ship but later were shocked that it cost us $16 for the two hours we were there. The next day we backed out of a parking garage in downtown Boston after seeing their sign that began with "0 to 4 minutes- $6." We went back to our $16 lot.
Yes, we had learned the first lesson of Boston: come for a visit but we really don't want any more cars in our city.
We got tickets to a trolley company that stops at eight historic locations around Boston and you can get off, spend as much time as you care to and get back on. It was about $40 for all day and the drivers are as well versed with the history of the area as can be expected. Nothing can drive home the fact that we were at the birthplace of America than to have your guide say, "This is the historic Granary Burial Ground dating to 1660, here you'll find the graves of Paul Revere, John Hancock, Samuel Adams and Benjamin Franklin's parents."
The USS Constitution, the Bunker Hill Monument, the burial grounds, and many of the attractions are at no charge to the public.
We had some trouble finding our way around town, We went past the Boston "Gaaden" where the Celtics and the Bruins play, three times on purpose and five times accidentally. At one stop, I got out and walked behind our van. Marilyn asked what I was doing and I said I was going to remove the bumper sticker on the back, the one that says "I'm from Nebraska and I farm so please honk at me often." They don't like folks going a mere 5 miles over the speed limit, but it's hard to manage much better than that when a lot of the highways are under ground and you're trying to use a GPS map with no service.
The Boston area is a great place and I would encourage you to visit but use the 'T', Boston's subway line. Turns out you don't need to take your own drawn butter either, it comes with the 'lobsta.'
On our arrival at home, the two brothers who help me at harvest already had the soybeans harvested and had started on the corn. Now we need to find some place to go until the corn is done.
Next issue, we'll head up the coast to Kennebunkport, Maine, and down the coast to Plymouth, Mass., and talk about the food.

Harvest

2011-11-01T04:03:00.000-07:00

We got back from our trip to Boston and Maine on October 19th. I had missed the soybean harvest as my two brothers had completed that during my absence. (remember most of our farm ground was flooded all summer)
On Thursday the 20th I joined the battle of the corn and that was completed exactly one week later on the 27th.
Throw in County Board meetings, articles for a magazine, church activities and now regular field work as well as flood repair to come and I haven't been very good about getting around to see you guys but I assure you I will.

If you get the chance don't miss Alisson's Restauraunt in Kennebunkport Maine. The lobster rolls and clam chowder were to die for.

In the near future I might post a couple of pics with titles but nothing else to save time. I'll also post my latest article that explains our first few days in Boston also.

My Apologies

2011-10-21T05:49:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry to have been neglecting this blog but as of late we've been to Boston and Maine for a vacation and we returned to full harvest and dog grooming activities. I'll try to catch you up asap. I haven't forgotten anyone, I'm just busier than a one armed wallpaper hanger. cm

Meet Danica Leigh

2011-09-28T05:56:00.000-07:00

Danica Leigh already has a smirk.

Grandma Marilyn with her Grandaughters. 4 are sisters, the oldest one lives here on the farm.

Danica joins these folks at home. You can see where all the girls get their good looks.

From me of course.

Off Balance

2011-09-19T05:21:00.000-07:00

We had 8 Grandchildren. 4 Boys 4 Girls
Now we're off balance again. News and film at 10:00.

Booo

2011-09-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

I now have a Muslim Doctor. So instead of an apple a day I've found a bacon sandwich works best.
(yes, I am in possession of stolen intellectual property) (But I've always been told there is no such thing as original humor) You decide.

Now We're Talking

2011-09-04T18:41:00.000-07:00

This morning it was 51 degrees with fairly dry air. We had a high of 70. I'm in heaven. The flood water has gone down some, about 4 1/2 to 5 feet but we have a ways to go to get the fields dry but at least it has gone down. There are some bad things happening to some. I think some irrepairable damage in some places. One friend has a 65 foot deep channel cut through his lane to his house. He had a new house, now what.

Lucky Dad....Lucky Boy

2011-08-18T05:56:00.000-07:00

Happy Anniversary Tom and Steph!

Out of a thousand or so pics I usually get 1 good one. Here's two in one summer. I'm on a roll.

I Am Now Very Comfortable

2011-08-08T19:19:00.000-07:00

We just returned from a Morrow Family Reunion in Branson, MO. Although I was a bit uncomfortable on the way down there, you know, from sitting on my wallet; It was quite flat and just fine on the way home.

Debt Ceiling Vote

2011-08-02T04:42:00.000-07:00

Senator Ben Nelson of Nebraska said of the recent debt ceiling vote, “This plan sets up a maze of convoluted procedures that will only continue the chaos and political games Nebraskans are tired of seeing,” and said he will oppose it.
I assume he was referring back to the Health Care bill that he was instrumental in passing.

(I think I fixed it) I Participated In A Triathalon Yesterday

2011-07-25T05:24:00.000-07:00

Go to http://www.1011now.com/home/headlines/Holmes_Lake_Hosts_2011_CSG_Triathlon_126090038.html and click on the Holmes Lake Hosts Cornhusker State Games video.
The boat in the background of some of the interviews is mine. See. I told you I participated.

AHHH-August

2011-07-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

Scooping From Both Sides

2011-07-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

A Good Night For Colton

2011-07-05T07:29:00.000-07:00

On the left is our 12 year old grandson who is a resident on this same farm. In a game last week his Uncle Tom came up to watch a midweek game. Not an easy task as he brought his 3 boys along. His wife was closing at work that night so he was unaccompanied on this trip. The oldest boy is 3 years old but Tom handles it all in stride. Colton appreciated it and rewarded 'Unca Toms' 180 mile round trip with a win. Three hits and scoring twice made the smiles here pretty easy. By the way, I think these two are the same height at just short of 6 foot.

The Muddy Mo

2011-06-12T20:26:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry to say I haven't posted anything as of late, but I've been a bit busy. Most of you know we live on the banks of the Missouri River and it is an ugly river at this point in time. It is flooding and many folks are affected all the way from Montana to the Gulf of Mexico after it joins the Mississippi River by St Louis. We are fortunate and reports are that it's supposed to not quite reach our house. It is however dealing us fits with the loss of crop land. Below is a pic taken a few weeks ago when the river was about to begin it's big surge that is to last most of the summer. The second photo is of the same field taken yesterday. This is about 320 acres under water. The last pic is of another 140 that will be under water by tomorrow night. Here the water is beginning to back in on it. We have another 80 that is under and another 80 that is scheduled to succumb.

The bright side is I've always secretly wanted to live in a house by a stream but just not in a stream. I'm looking forward to being able to say, "Marilyn, I'll be on the porch fishing if you need me."

Also I've never had time to play golf in the fall because harvest concerns have kept me busy before.

As a precaution I've purchased a 53 foot dry van trailer and parked it behind the house. Yesterday, with the help of family, we pretty well emptied the basement in preparation for high water. Now if we need to scatter quickly, we'll simply need to get a lot of help, fill the trailer with our top two floors and head for higher ground which for us will be about any direction.

We're Not Raising Grass

2011-05-27T05:11:00.000-07:00

My grandson recently ordered and received a shipment of chickens to raise. Watching them learn to survive less than 24 hours after kicking their way out of the egg is pretty amazing. We improve their chances for success by making feed and water available but they have the intuition necessary to find it and begin to eat and drink. They are aggressive right out of the box, and have an instinct that makes their success almost guaranteed. Humans aren't that way. We need help.
This point between Mother's Day and Father's Day is a good time to remember those present and past who have helped to mold us into the people we are today. In our sometimes convoluted world of the modern family, the parenting roles being played can be peculiar at best but the results seem to work out okay, as long as every kid has a fully engaged family of some kind.
If you fly at passenger jet altitude for a couple of hours across our heartland and gaze upon the farmland below, you are soon filled with awe of the vastness of this country and the fact that for every little city and town and village below, there are families trying very hard to do the right thing by their kids and to carry on the tradition that their parents and grandparents started before them.
The fact that kids don't come with an operators manual (Marilyn would tell me that men wouldn't read it if they did), together with the reality that Mom and Dad come from different family histories, cements my theory that the family is the very fabric that holds this country and more especially rural America and rural communities together.
That's why most of the strong families stay strong. It was the way they were brought up. Mom and Dad or a parent and an aunt or uncle or grandparent became very involved in a child's life to ensure that the "instincts" of God, and family, and hard work were implanted into the next generation.
Chances are you had someone involved in your welfare as a child or you couldn't be reading this. You were educated. You were the most important thing going on in someone's life at one time. I recall the remembrance of Harmon Killebrew, Hall of Fame slugger for the Minnesota Twins, when he explained that his dad had taken him and his brother into their yard to play baseball and his mom came to the door to scold his dad, "You guys are tearing up the yard by playing baseball out there all the time." Killebrew's dad replied, "We're not raising grass, we're raising boys."
It's exactly that kind of thinking that has made rural America great. Every community has their share of solid families, setting an example for all to follow. The example is being set by the moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas and schools and youth program coaches, and scouting programs and pastors and servicemen past and present and the list goes on forever.
That's why this time of year is so important when we honor mothers and fathers on their special days and sometimes on Memorial Day if they've already left us. We also take the time to hold up our fallen soldiers who are responsible for our freedom. They for sure understood community as it relates to family. They served, some died, but all of them longed to return home to add to the family and community and to continue to set an example.
Our fabric needs continual care, everyone's experiences need to be intertwined to make the fabric strong. It's appropriate that we should pause and celebrate and honor our parents, our soldiers, our graduates and get the family together for an occasional picnic. It keeps the threads of our fabric tightly woven. We're not raising grass

You Must Visit Nora's Blog

2011-05-07T06:36:00.000-07:00

Nora has done a masterful job with some old photos. Her love for family and friends is really touching and should be a good example for all of us to try to emulate. You'll need to click on 'older posts' at the bottom of the first page to see the complete series. Good Job Nora!

The Creature in the Wall

2011-05-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

In the spring of 1971 I was attending what is now the Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture in Curtis. I'd like to say I spent all of my time on education but that wouldn't be entirely true. I had met a pretty brunette from Denver who was taking the Veterinary Technician curriculum at the same school and found her to be different from every other girl I had met: She would go out with me.

We dated and attended college classes, seemingly carefree while back at home spring was nearly ready to break out once again with all of its challenges. I'm sure my parents were probably alternately worrying about the mud here on the Missouri River bottom and how they were going to fit their youngest son into the farming operation when he graduated in a couple of months.
Dad was 66 years old at that time, 5 years older than I am now, and I can imagine that both joy and apprehension welled up in both of my parents' minds. Joy thinking that someone young enough to do the more physical tasks about the farm would soon be here to start life with that girl from Colorado, and apprehension that the farm would now need to support their son and that girl from Colorado.
I bring this up because this morning I got to thinking about the night of the "creature in the wall" that took place in our bedroom some 40 years ago. Today our bed is in the exact location it was in on that night back in 1971, when Mom sat straight up in bed, grabbed my sleeping father by the arm and yelled in a kind of whisper, (yes, you know what I mean) "Art! There's something in the wall."
Dad was a sound sleeper but this type of stuff will unsettle anyone. "What do you mean there's something in the wall?" Mom shook him again, "I can hear it." Dad shrugged it off and fell back asleep while Mom lay there for about an hour when something else caught her attention.
Another shake and then "Art … wake up, there's something in the wall and I can hear it breathing." The reply for her came in a rebuttal, "It's probably a mouse but I know you can't possibly hear a mouse breath. Just close your eyes and wake up in the morning." And morning was fast approaching. The scene repeated itself several times during the night.
Mom repeatedly said she could definitely hear heavy breathing coming from the wall and Dad dismissed it each time, with "You're just hearing things."
The day finally dawned for my poor mother and she got out of bed glad to be alive but very tired none the less. She went to the front door which is on the same side of the house that their bedroom was on, and looked out to see if any of the standing water from the spring thaw had sunk away.
I should interject right here that when our house was built they dug the basement and used that dirt for fill around the house so the house is elevated in relation to the rest of our farmstead. It is that high spot around the house that Mom saw that morning when she opened the door to find about 150 head of fat Hereford steers bedded down on the only dry spot for miles around: Mom's lawn.
Dad had left the gate unlatched when doing chores the day before and the cattle found the exit in the middle of the night. The high and dry lawn was a piece of Hereford Heaven if you will. As her head scanned to the left, there lay a gloriously large steer, physically leaning against the wall of the house right beneath my folks' bedroom window and yes, she could hear its labored breathing.
"ART! Come look at this."
I'm sure there was an "I told you so" or two that followed, but the result was a completely torn up yard and new Mercury that had been used as a scratching post by some pretty muddy cattle. They had left some of their winter coat tucked under the chrome strips on the edges of the car as a reminder to latch the gate.
I came home soon after that to begin life on the farm with that girl from Colorado. The first thing we had to do was start a new lawn for the folks.

A Spoiled Brat For A President

2011-04-21T04:49:00.000-07:00

"The Republicans are trying to balance the budget on the backs of the Poor." ....can be translated to mean "I'm doing very well giving money away to everyone so they'll support me with their votes." AND "If I don't get my money to give away to voters, I'm going to lay on the floor and kick and scream and stomp my feet until I get it, I don't care if we don't have it, I don't care if it brings the country down because by golly I like this great big house we live in."
Next time lets elect someone with just a tiny bit of business acumen. Somewhere in their background a President needs to have had several years of their personal banker looking grimely over the reading glasses and saying, "Cliff, If you don't get this turned around by this time next year, we may need to part company." OR put another way..."You're fired."
If we confiscated all of the income from all of the business men in our country, we still couldn't balance the budget. (and we'd run out of employers quickly) We must stop spending. Across the board cuts are the only answer.

We're Back

2011-04-06T09:44:00.000-07:00

We've been gone. All over the mid section of our great land. We stayed on Padre Island a bit with my Brother Ed and Shirley pictured below with my bride on the left. We've also been to Denver and back.

This is the view of the Gulf from their guest bedroom. Life is rough. We did have to leave here to play golf every day. There are no spring break kids in this pic but they were there. I told Marilyn she could take one of my shirts and make about 10 swim suits with it. Not to worry. I didn't stare.

much

We toured the USS Lexington that has been decommisioned in port in Corpus. I'll not go into her history as it is readily available online. The picture below this one shows the list of her actions and battles. She would have been a major target at Pearl Harbor but had left port a short time before the attack. We've read several stories and one book on her crew and aviators and I can tell you that the bravest men in world served America on her deck. Some were launched into eternity from her short runway. I recall one pilot who later related that he was dismayed at having left the ship in such a hurry on the way to battle that he only had 2 cigarettes with him. He decided to smoke them both on the way to the Japanese carrier group they were heading for, because he was sure this was going to be a one way trip. It turned out that he returned to the Lexington. Their target was so far away that several of the planes ran out of gas and fell in the water that night while circling our carriers waiting their turn to land. I urge you to look up the ship on line and see how she got her nickname the "The Gray Ghost."

I've Had To Have A Talk With My Wife

2011-03-06T16:17:00.000-08:00

I've had to have a serious talk with Marilyn. After a morning of writing and printing checks for cash rents for farm ground, repair bills, diesel fuel bills, grain bin electricity bills and basically half of our annual outflows for the farm in just one day... I was in no mood for her choice of stamps to put on said bills. It's just not right.

Corned Beef and A Fairlane

2011-03-01T18:22:00.000-08:00

The year 1991 was the 20th year reunion for our graduation from the Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture. When I say "our", I mean Marilyn and I graduated from that school in Curtis, Neb., and so we attended the 20th year reunion held in Kearney, Neb., that year.
We were traveling home with our family in the back seat, down old Highway 30. We had agreed to do that instead of speeding down Interstate 80 as a result of a deal I had made with our 14-year-old son, Dan. He wanted to find a classic car to fix up and we were both pretty sure that Highway 30 would be the place to look.
We hadn't traveled many miles when I spotted something that changed the direction of our family forever. Right in the middle of Gibbon, Neb., sitting in all of its faded out glory, was a black 1957 Ford Fairlane. I slowed quickly, circled the block and stopped to examine the old car with a 'For Sale' sign in the left driver's window. The car was mostly intact, had a little rust along the bottom edges but we deemed it to be perfect.
We went home, discussed the purchase amongst the family, also with some local experts as well as a body shop, and I decided that the deal was going to be too expensive to bring to a conclusion. Dan had 4-H calf money and was going forward with or without me. I decided that 'with me' was better so we contacted the owner, reached an agreement on price, hooked on to a flatbed and on March 17, St. Patrick's Day, we brought the old Ford home.
The Corned Beef and Cabbage was ready on our arrival at the farm, but what to do with the old Ford weighed heavy on our minds. We had much to try to learn in the next few years.
We learned that black was the color of choice for old car enthusiasts. Their body lines are straighter because the factories in the '50s would search for the cars on the assembly line with the most correct lines to paint black. Black paint, we found out, will show the slightest imperfections in detail.
Dan and I started on the project. We farmed out the body work and we took the Y block 292 V-8 out and had it rebuilt. Slowly but surely it came together. We did the interior work ourselves as well as the trunk and mechanical.
By June, two years later, he was ready to drive his Fairlane. It turned out very well and looked great but more than that it was one of the biggest influences to have ever hit that young boy. It took a lad who wasn't terribly interested in farming and who was pretty clumsy around an end wrench to someone who found they had real talent and a burning desire to be in the collision repair business. During high school, he began working for the body shop that had worked on his car. He graduated and attended auto collision repair school.
Now, 20 years later, it has led to marriage, building his own collision repair business in Lincoln, Neb., and hiring his brother as the shop manager. The place supports those families plus two others and, most importantly, helps support six of our grandchildren the boys are raising for us.
Spotting an old car back in 1991, in the middle of a small town, led to quite an adventure.
I often find myself listening to some parent talk about their son or daughter and the wild off the wall thing their offspring is involved with. It might be a part-time job, paid or volunteer, or a hobby that has them completely enthralled, or a group performing a song or a play or a speech they've been working on for weeks. I usually say, "That's good because, well, you never know."
I seldom can think about St. Patty's Day without corned beef and cabbage crossing my mind as well as a '57 Fairlane rolling off a flatbed into our shed.
I now know that when children ask questions or permission to do something that is out of the ordinary, "No," shouldn't automatically roll off your tongue because, "Well, you never know."

Dan's Fairlane left--On the right his award winning Probe he built and painted in his College years. The Dupont Paint Company featured it in their company publication.The paint process took 27 hours of non-stop work before he could stop.

I Had A Great Blog Planned...

2011-02-19T21:05:00.000-08:00

and it was going to include a movie from my sons' phone. But I couldn't get it sent to me so I'll tell you all about it.
The new Grandson pictured below, Boston, rolled over on his 13th day of life. Dad was sure he'd placed him face down on a blanket in the living room and went to the end of the hall and when he returned, Boston was on his back.
"Wait a minute" went through Tom's mind and some doubted the story until Mom yelled two days later, "Tom, come here, he did it again." Tom rolled the baby to his stomach again and immediately the baby rolled to his back so Tom got his phone out and sure enough, filmed him rolling over for the third time that day, on his 15th day of life. He's been doing it regularly since.
A bit early for this I'd say.
But on the other hand, he still isn't talking yet. cm

Yesterday In A Grocery Store Far From Home...

2011-02-18T12:42:00.000-08:00

Well it was 70 miles from home anyway, I saw a senior citizen coming down the aisle toward me. She was pretty ordinary looking and she shuffle slowly along the aisle as though her plan was to make this shopping trip last all afternoon.
The message on her T- shirt caught my attention:

I USED TO CARE.
....But now I take a pill for that.

I have either a finely honed sense of humor or it's 'sick' humor, but I laughed on and off all afternoon about the shirt. To me, the funny thing isn't what is said but it has more to do with who said it.

Valentines Day 2011

2011-02-14T09:48:00.000-08:00

This is pretty exciting. It's before noon, and I've been outside loading a truck. The only outer wear I had on was a pull over sweatshirt. I feel as though I've been set free. I don't know how warm it is but we're contending with mud so it must be above freezing which is just as good as 75 degrees to those of us who have been living in the locker plant for the past two months. I did hear 50 degrees plus, for a high in our forecast. Now, where's my speedo. (it was a joke so knock off the laughter)
I took this picture with my phone which isn't too good at sunlight stuff but I liked it just the same so here it is. Beautiful Nebraska. That isn't snow on the ground, it's the white that's left over after the snow melts.

This being Valentines Day, my wife and I exchanged pleaseantries today and then renewed our vow to each other as we are in the middle of our 40th year of wedded bliss. Actually we've agreed to stay married to each other so as not to run the risk of ruining two other peoples lives.

Let It Snow

2011-02-02T22:02:00.000-08:00

We find ourselves, once again, in winter's icy grip. There is no cute little name for this. We have the hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer; the dog days of summer; and cool crisp fall air but all January can give us is someone quietly singing to themselves, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it." … That's about all that gets out of their mouths before someone yells, "Hey! Why don't you shut your pie hole?" Yeah, nerves get on edge this time of year.
It seems that what should take 30 minutes to accomplish in July or August could possibly take at least all day or maybe two days this time of year. One mental error can slow you down significantly. Forgetting to plug in the block heater on a loader tractor, for instance, can cost hours of delay. A tripped breaker can have you off chasing electrical problems and frozen cattle waterers or bring you to the realization that you now have two tractors that won't even consider starting until after lunch. Just after lunch is the time you're supposed to be at the pesticide training session that won't be offered again until Monday, 200 miles from here.
The cold tends to freeze things in place, like the time I was hauling a wooden feed bunk with the loader and had to tell my dad that "we'll need to go back next spring and get the legs for this bunk, they're still out in the feedlot."
Aging has a huge effect on farmers and the winter cold. I've found that even at the age of 60, things I used to take for granted have to be planned for because of poorer blood circulation. Extra layers of clothing and mittens and boots and facemasks and stocking caps are necessary, and oh yeah, a stepladder to help you get into the cab of your pickup.
My buddy Paul related to me that a phone call to friends on a farm in North Dakota had revealed that we really don't know what bad weather is. They had had three feet of snow and high winds for days. The farmer said it was a sad situation and that his wife had just spent the entire day staring through the kitchen window. He said that at about sundown he began to feel sorry for her and let her in. I'm very aware that entertainment is hard to come by out here on the farm but that's something I'm probably not going to try. Marilyn didn't think it was a funny story, I didn't either and quit laughing immediately.
I do look forward to late December and January because of all of the college bowl games and the NFL playoff schedule. I got on the Internet and found a schedule of all of the games as well as a listing of the central time zone start times and what channel they would be on. I carefully set each one to record and told my wife I was set to finally "be a man." I'd be able to watch each game without interruption. My wife said, "Yeah, you'll get four hours of uninterrupted sleep during each game, that should be great." For some reason Jackie Gleason came to mind, "One of these days, to the moon Alice."
Through the entire football schedule I have also come to realize that I have marketable skills. The folks in Las Vegas will be praising me for my abilities some day. What are the chances that out of seemingly 50 or 60 games, I would not be rooting for one winner.
I will now make a prediction based on my vast knowledge of pro football. (ahem) Now keep in mind that I'm writing this before the last two playoff games so I've no idea who the teams are that will be playing in the Super Bowl. I'm pulling for Green Bay to win the Super Bowl. That information, knowing that I'm rooting for the Packers, can make you more money than knowing when the price of corn is going to peak. Place your bets.
Now I have to go unlock the door for my wife.

I Got An Email From Snapfish Today

2011-01-30T16:08:00.000-08:00

The computer generated email was an attempt to get me started using their Picture Printing Services. The email said:

Hi Cliff,

A few weeks ago, you uploaded digital photos to Snapfish. You earned a credit for 0 free 4" x 6" digital camera print in your account, but this credit will expire soon.

I became very excited. I need to act quickly. Like the time Ubawahna was promising me that $1 million for helping him hide from his evil relatives.
Life on the farm was never this exciting until I got a computer. Yea! I just might cancel my Directv. Who needs that when you've got the internet.

And Then There Were 8

2011-01-24T04:22:00.000-08:00

This is Boston Arthur. He is the latest Morrow born to our youngest this past week.

Mom is tired and beautiful, Dad is beaming and both are proud and should be.

Boston will join Hudson and Cooper at home.

8#7oz January 20th, 2011

This is a picture of Boston holding hands with Grandpa.

Grandma and Grandpa are BREATHLESS once again.

Communication May Be Overrated

2011-01-19T11:27:00.000-08:00

Last October during our soybean harvest, I ventured to town with my tractor-trailer with a load destined for our local elevator. It was windy, cold, and overcast and of all the things to worry about, flies or mosquitoes were down the list quite a ways.
But as I pulled to the back of the line, I could see a group of farmers swatting. They were swatting first their chests, then the sides of their vests, then their jeans in the front and then their jeans on the backside. If just one of them had been doing it I might have thought of the term the old timers used and called them teched (as in, he was teched in the head, meaning a bit unstable mentally) (I think they meant "touched").
What were these folks doing? It looked much like a training exercise for future major league third base coaches. ("Okay men, the steal sign will be 5 touches to the body, but only after I've first touched my hat.")
What could these folks be doing? I got out of the truck to investigate but on my arrival to the party, everything seemed normal. After a few minutes talking about the local farmers who had made some "public" mistakes during harvest - like who hit a tree with their unloading auger or how that truck on the county road had landed on its side while turning into the field or who had pulled the unload switch on the combine when they meant to hit the "auger swing out" switch instead and left 50 bushels of beans strung in a line, right by the side of the busiest blacktop in the county.
Well they weren't talking about me this time so I was feeling pretty smug when the swatting mystery was solved right before my eyes.
One person's cell phone rang and everyone started swatting at their bodies in search of their own phone. It looked like a group of TSA airport agents in training. It is indeed a problem for farmers because where their phone is, depends on how they are dressed and what job they've been doing. If they have on vests or sweaters or jackets or coveralls, the phone could be anywhere. And believe me, it could be hard to get to. No one recognizes their own phone when it rings because we all learned a long time ago that we can have a different ring for each person who calls us and so there could be someone whistling or my wife is calling. A band is playing a jazzy little tune on the radio or my buddy from Colorado is calling. A doorbell is ringing in this tractor cab or one of my sons from Lincoln is calling.
I've even been known to be driving down the road in my pickup while moving my hand around the dash trying to stop that incessant buzzing noise emanating from deep inside my gauge cluster, only to realize my phone is set on vibrate and is sitting in plain sight on my dash, and that my wife is calling wondering why I won't ever answer my phone. The short answer is that I couldn't hear it ringing. Because, well, technically it wasn't ringing.
Most meetings I go to have attendees seated at tables spread with note pads, calendars and their cell phones. If just one of those cell phones rings because it hadn't been put on the silent setting, everyone else picks up their own phone. It gives the appearance that they are doing the only polite thing and checking to make sure their own phone won't ring. In reality they've picked up their phone to check for text messages. I can only imagine how disconcerting it is to try to speak to a group preoccupied with their phones.
Old guys who have lost some of their hearing are particularly vulnerable to cell phone problems. More than once I've had someone interrupt a conversation we were having by saying, "Is that you." I answer, "You mean, am I me?" "I sure am." Next they ask, "Is that your phone that's ringing." I start swatting myself.
I'm not sure we're making upward progress in this technology arena, but at least we're busy. Give me a call sometime. I may answer but only after a quick pat search.

Changing Out an Insurance Company

2011-01-04T06:56:00.000-08:00

I've had my boat insurance with Progressive, but had recently heard some very disturbing news about it's CEO and his philantropy's.
I looked up his bio and found that what I had read is true and have decided that the ACLU and George Soros do not need my help bringing this country to an end. They're both succeeding in that endeavor with out my money.
He'll need to look elsewhere for my couple of hundred dollars.
It was as much fun as I could have had without laughing.
...Okay, I did laugh.

New Year: New Rules

2011-01-01T06:43:00.000-08:00

This might be my last column here. I just got an email from someone in Egypt, Ahcmed, who will send me $2 million and all I have to do is keep it and write a check back to him for half of it when he gets to the United States. If I'm a millionaire in the making I won't need to mess with this writing thing. Oh yeah, plus I also need to buy a ticket for him to get here but that's nothing for a rich guy like me. I'll not go into the awful thing that happened to his camel herd.
In case this doesn't work out, I've decided that I need to tidy up my act for 2011 with a form of resolutions list for this farmer.
When I was a kid, we got to stay up until midnight on New Years Eve. We looked forward to it. Nothing could be better. Then as a young adult, I did stay up until the clock struck 12. As I began to age I couldn't stay awake that long. As time progressed, midnight seemed quite the insurmountable objective. Perhaps a useless goal. Now, midnight is about the time we begin thinking about getting up. As nearly as I can tell, in a few years, a celebration beginning at midnight will be easy once again. Only then we'll be frying eggs and bacon for the party.
Now for some things that need changing…
I'll try to never ever again buy a bin floor, attachment or assembly of any kind that uses the words "sometimes it might be necessary," "some field cutting will be required," or my favorite, "If for any reason you have trouble with this product do not return it to the store where you purchased it." They always fail to add the words "You're on your own, baby." They instead want you to deal with their factory, which just happens to be in China.
I will no longer purchase products with instructions that will require approximately two days of leaning against my pickup and staring at papers trying to figure out where slot B and hole hh are and what country the dude was from who wrote these words.
I resolve to not be surprised by the first snow fall. After 60 years on this earth you'd think I would learn that it snows in the winter around these parts, so get ready for it.
I also resolve to never again try to run a heavy duty five-gallon can of gasoline through my snow blower. Let's just say I was lucky.
I resolve to quit reading labels on products like shampoo and body lotion. I've found that volumizing shampoo doesn't (I suppose there's little to be done with just a few strands of hair.) and why use a body lotion that promises to "relax my skin." Isn't that the problem to start with? We need skin that's at least just a little tense. Mine's kicked back in a "skin recliner" mode.
I resolve to find a machinery dealer whose shop manager hasn't looked up the credit balance left on my Farm Plan account and then tried to find enough work on my combine to somehow use it all up.
I hereby resolve to not pay $500 for a bag of seed corn. At least not yet.
I will fight the urge to put a $30,000 automatic steering system on my $15,000 tractor. But I could use the sleep. I'm worried though about the Missouri River that is at the end of one of my fields and not waking up to turn the rig around in time.
A Happy New Year to one and all. May your next year always be better than the last. And lastly, I think it best to align yourself with the man who said he had resolved many years ago never to make New Years Resolutions. He said that so far, that was the one resolution he'd been able to keep.

Contrast

2010-12-23T08:07:00.000-08:00

The word "contrast" is defined as "the degree to which light and dark areas of an image differ in brightness." It can also be explained as "to set in opposition in order to show or emphasize differences."
Contrast is why some of us farm and enjoy rural America so very much. We indeed have mundane jobs at times, even in farming. Just like a factory or desk job, running a tillage machine or a combine for the third week in a row begins to wear on the nerves.
But without a doubt, there is hope. We eventually finish what we've been doing and go on to the next job. Book work leads to taxes which lead to the planting season, certainly a nice contrast which leads to tending crops and on and on. It is the contrast that makes it all worthwhile.
Maybe it's the "grass is always greener" aspect of human nature, but it always seems that what we're about to do is much more interesting than what we're doing right now. The weather is going to be better next season. We love spring but it leads to summer which makes us yearn for fall and then here we are on the edge of winter and we've already begun to dream of getting the planter out of the shed.
It's all of this anticipation that makes life exciting but it can also ruin your very existence. We get so tied up with looking ahead that we fail to see the blessings we should be thankful for every day. We plan to get involved in Christmas programs, parties, shopping and when the time comes we say "Okay, we sing at 10 a.m., but we can't hang around after the program because we have to load up and get over to Sarah's for dinner "but Dear, you'll need to leave Sarah's early to drive little Bobbie over to the neighbors." … and so it goes.
I read this week that we need to be careful of everyone's feelings because each of us is carrying an unseen burden. The part about all of us having burdens is for sure true and with that in mind I decided to try an experiment a few days ago. I was walking through a crowded store in a neighboring town and being in a holiday mood I decided to watch folks carefully and see if I could get a smile out of them.
With the exception of one woman with three young children in tow, no one looked at me. She smiled but almost everyone I looked at just stared at the aisle ahead of them, or the floor or for the most part their husband or wife who were walking along side. They almost all had a look of disdain on their face. I didn't find many happy people except for the workers in the store who were being paid to smile. It was part of their job.
What have we come to? These folks need some contrast in their lives.
I think it's a benefit of age that we eventually figure out that money or what we have has nothing at all to do with being happy. We get around finally to learning how to be happy with what we have and who we are and what we can help others become.
For your contrast this season try taking a deep breath, think of your family and friends and think of them as the gifts to you that they are. Handle all with love. Keep your finances and emotions in check, slow the pace down and decide to be happy.
Getting back to that store. They were decorated all the way to the ceiling fans in red and green and trees and toys but yet the word Christmas was missing. Not to be found anywhere. How is it you can try to make a significant portion of your yearly income by selling Christmas presents, yet you're afraid to use the word Christmas. I think they're afraid of the contrast. That being the dark world lit up so brightly by a star over a small city a couple of thousand years ago.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL!

2 7 3 - J 1 2

2010-12-15T12:10:00.000-08:00

That was our phone number when I was a kid here on the farm. The phone at that time was a black wall mount with a receiver and a button on the side and nothing else. The last of the hand crank phones were being phased out of service on the farms and the new technology was upon us.
The button on our phone was so you could pick up the receiver and listen to see if anyone else was using the phone. It was a party line so if the line wasn’t busy, you could simply push the button and you’d get a lady who sounded as if she had a clothespin on her nose saying “Operator” and then you’d simply say the number you wanted. “273-J12 please.” The neighbors couldn’t hear you ‘pick up’ so you didn’t disturb them if you listened for a moment and then hung up and waited for a while. No one I ever talked to had ever listened in on the neighbors phone calls, that was a no-no in those days, but on the other hand everyone was also convinced that the neighbors were involved in some kind of covert action and listening to every word.
We couldn’t use the phone on Monday mornings. That was when the neighbor lady called everyone in the township for news for the newspaper. She was paid by the word so we had some trouble getting the line. When she called here, Mom had news for her. Dad never, ever, had any news for her. He didn’t like seeing his name in the paper. “Nope, we haven’t had any company, bye,” and click the conversation was over. When Mom had to be gone on news day, she would return and immediately ask if we had talked to anyone on the phone. She was fearful that we might have spilled the beans about someone coming to visit as a ‘Saturday evening dinner guest’ when it was not their turn to be here. She didn’t want to offend any of her friends. She would say “Oh no, you didn’t tell her that did you?” to which we replied, “Mom, I told her we didn’t have any news but she asked about last Saturday night, she said she had seen Blanche and Harold’s car go right by her house on the way down to ours.”
The J 1 2 on the end of our number, was meant to inform the operator that it was the J side of the line and she should ring us by one long and two shorts or RING-ding-ding. One neighbor was J 1 which was one ring and the other neighbors were J 2, or two quick dings. There was an R side to the line but we didn’t hear them ring. But we were all trying to use just the one line.
My sister was an operator and so we didn’t get by with many shenanigans. If we called too late in the evening to give her a number, she would ask “Are Mom and Dad gone?” and then she’d say “you should be in bed.”
The operator was the original 911 call center in our town. We had a flashing red light mounted on the lumber yard on the east side of main street in the middle of town where a bank is now located, and if someone needed the police the telephone operator would turn the light on and when the constable finally saw the light he would drive to the pay phone by the Octagon Restaurant and use the town’s only pay phone to call the operator to find out where the emergency was.
I remember another time when a severe thunderstorm marched through town on the evening of the 4th of July and everyone called the operator to see if the fireworks had been rained out.
They had been.
Long distant call start and stop times were written down by the operator. Believe it or not, we would call ‘person to person’ meaning if the party you wanted to talk to wasn’t at the location you were calling; then you didn’t have to pay for the call. Those calls however, if connected, were charged at a higher rate than station to station.
As circuitry capabilities advanced, they eventually ruined all of the communication technology by going with some new fangled rotary dial phones that effectively put the operators out of business. It was pretty neat stuff though, once we got used to it, no more operators telling us when it was time to go to bed or that we might get in trouble if we called her that late again.
To top it all off, along with the new phones, the phone companies had the nerve to require all of us to get a new phone number with, (wait for it) another number added. That meant everyone now had to learn a 7 digit phone number. Then of concern was how big the phone books might get with all of these new numbers, after all, ours was already as big as a church bulletin with 20 pages. These were all big changes but we were assured that the new number, even though incredibly long, would probably be the last number we would ever need to learn.

What If?

2010-12-04T13:25:00.000-08:00

A few Sundays ago we were in Church. We, meaning Marilyn and I and our daughter Juli and her two kids were there too. Juli plays the piano and organ for our church and did, that day. After services we planned to go home, eat lunch and travel to Blair to watch Colton play the first of a few of the play off games his team participated in.
We had been in the house a few minutes and a neighbor called to say Juli had rolled her pickup and had been thrown out as it rolled over. We don't really know how many times it rolled but think it was two complete rolls. It landed on it's wheels and she was found walking in a daze in the cornfield by her truck. It was a Ford F-250, the doors still shut and top crushed down to the top of the seats. She was walking around the corn field looking for her kids but she didn't realize one was at the farm where we were and she had just dropped Colton off at the neighbors house so he could get to the game early for warm ups.
We got there as fast as we could and the EMT's and the squad arrived shortly after we did. They transported her and she was eventually released after a c t scan. A concussion was the result and some pretty sore core muscles. She still has a hand that bothers her when she plays the piano for the school system but she thinks time might eventually cure that. (soft tissue and tendon tear)
The culprit in the accident was the left rear wheel. It came off while she was still on the gravel road and it pulled her into the ditch. I guess the What If factor is what has gotten to us. What if she hadn't survived...which looking closely at the truck, it's easy to say she shouldn't have. What if she had been belted in? In that case she certainly wouldn't have survived. Also, how did she get out?
It would have ended life as we know it and that's for certain. I don't know how we could have carried on... or even why.
But the good news is that we don't believe in luck. She's with us still, obviously for a purpose. We had a good Thanksgiving and now you know why.
The truck was here on the farm for a while. People who saw it were stunned, very quiet, and then found Juli to give her a hug. But none of them have been as big as the hug God gave her that day.

How Long Does It Take You To Harvest?

2010-11-16T04:42:00.000-08:00

That question pops up from time to time. Of course farmers wouldn't ask that. We know the question is akin to asking how much rain do you usually get or how big are the fish you catch. Harvest depends on stuff like weather and the amount of bushels you have to harvest.

Now, at the end of 2010, I have the answer. We finished in record time on October 22. Exactly 3 weeks and 2 days after we started. We didn't have a day off because of the weather. That's a first at least on this farm as far as memory serves the harvest crew I work with. And my harvest crew consists of two brothers, Ed and Francis, who go back as far as the family has been on this farm (1948) and I go back to 1950, the year I was born.

I've mentioned I use this blog sometimes for my own reference or diary if you will and so I wanted to remember a few things.

1. A wetter than normal planting season and we didn't get everything planted because of the Missouri River.

2. A REALLY wet summer that included 17 inches of rain in June, July, and August. It was the second year in a row that we never even started one of our 6 irrigation wells.

3. The fall weather was so great it was almost unbelievable. No rain, cool bright days, chilly nights, not much wind. Deep breaths of the morning air has been almost intoxicating to this farmer. I loved it.

4. The yields where there was a little altitude, were good but the low spots were zero. We had whole farm averages of corn go from 227/A on corn down to 33/A on another farm where the drainage was poor and down to zero where it never even got planted. (good thing too as it was still under River water at harvest time.

5. It's now November 16th, our field work is completely done and the equipment has been bathed and put away. I have mounted the snow blower on one of the tractors and now will begin work on certain pieces of equipment for next season. I'm waiting for bad weather but hoping we won't get snow this winter. Yeah, right.

For this farmer this year has been historic in many ways. Some cell phone pictures follow.

The biggest event of the year was the miraculous survival of our daughter during her pickup crash. I'll cover that on the next post.

Loading a bin, using our old truck for a gravity box.

Brother Fran bringing in a load of soybeans he got from the combine. This picture is squished up and I don't know why.

I was loading a bin with the fan running on the bin. We got into a 'white cob' vairety and this was the resulting chaff blowing out of the bin. This usually happens but it's easier to see white.

I opened the combine door one afternoon while I was waiting for the grain cart to come back so as to enjoy the view, and that more of that great fall air.

Tuesday November 2nd

2010-11-02T04:06:00.000-07:00

I predict this will be a GREAT day.

Cap Waving and Other Signals

2010-10-17T21:24:00.000-07:00

"What happened to you?" I asked my brother, "You look like you've been Ultimate Fighting and took a kick to the side of the head." "It's quite a story," he replied, and so he began.
I've mentioned here that the Missouri River in these parts has been running bank full most of the summer. The brother in question lives on the banks of said river from the time his spray plane hits the air in the spring until he finishes running my combine in the fall, and then they high tail it for the Gulf Coast.
After heavy rains upstream, there will be assorted pieces of trees floating past their river cabin. A few weeks ago one such event washed a large cottonwood tree, top first, part way up his boat ramp. A gentle push from his little acreage tractor would be all that was needed to break the tree loose from its mooring.
Yes, his tractor is small, but it does have a loader, a rollover protection top and front wheel assist. Fearing nothing, he guided the tractor down the ramp to the point where he met the top of the tree and began to push. His front wheels came off the ground a bit but he didn't want to stop since the operation was working so well. As the tree set sail, his front wheels settled into what he thought would be about 2 inches of mud on the ramp.
The only problem was the shallow mud wasn't shallow. It came all the way up to the frame of the tractor. And there he sat, up to the motor in mud on the banks of the Muddy Mo. The mud was so deep that he couldn't even use the loader bucket to ratchet himself out.
Right here is the point when any farmer who has been paying attention will avoid going to the house to ask for help. Why, you ask? Because if you get another man to help you, he'll be willing to forget whatever stupid statement you might come up with while pulling the tractor out of the mud. Women on the other hand realize that there will be a "transfer of blame" just because they participated. It will become their fault that you got your tractor stuck. This makes it so the man must ask nicely when he's so mad at himself, he could chew nails.
"Honey, do you have a second to come help me? Please?"
Which in turn will bring a response which refers to the last time she helped pull you out of the mud some eight years ago and that sounds like this, "Is it something you think I can do right this time?"
And so it went. He got his nice 4-wheel-drive F-150 backed down the ramp, hooked a chain from drawbar to drawbar and then gave very explicit instructions. "Get in the truck, tighten the chain, and after I get on the tractor and am ready to go, I'll wave my cap and that will be your signal to go."
He again waded through the mud, started the motor, pushed the clutch in, found reverse and waved his cap with his right hand. It was right then that he noticed the approximately two dozen paper wasps that he had dislodged with his waving cap. They had a nest up under his sunshade. He now began waving his hat with a vengeance in an attempt to kill the wasps that had already landed a couple of punches (stings) to the side of his head.
Meanwhile in the truck, his better half has made the decision that crazy hat waving can only mean one thing: go faster. And so she did. The more he waved the hat in what she thought was his disgust with her slow pace, the faster she went. After the stings began, he quickly decided that his cap waving now needed to mean, STOP! I WANT TO GET OFF THIS TRACTOR!
He told me later that he thought about bailing off of the tractor, but he didn't think he could have survived it. He'd never gone that fast on a tractor before, especially in reverse.
Thinking back, he said, this was at least as exciting as the time the cam shaft broke on his spray plane and the propeller quit turning.
Doing some research I've found that paper wasps aren't considered "aggressive" unless you do something to aggravate them, like for instance waving your cap at them.
I guess in that respect, they're similar to women.

And The Best Actor Award Goes To:

2010-10-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

the oppossum that's been laying in the road in front of our house for the past 3 days. Alright already, you look dead, now get up and leave.

This Guy Doesn't Know What He's Talking About.

2010-10-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

There's a few seconds of a commercial message before it plays.
http://www.ketv.com/video/25307935/detail.html

My Latest Article In The Midwest Producer (MidwestProducer.com)

2010-09-20T05:38:00.000-07:00

Behind the door

If you're anything like me, you get a little giddy this time of year. Harvest is approaching and we must begin preparations for it. Almost each week of the year brings new duties to farmers and memories of that which happened on this date way back when. When September rolls around, the blackbirds begin their 'schooling up' for a flight to a better clime, the weather moderates and we get that first intoxicating breath of cool, dry, fall air.
My thoughts turn to farm town football this time of year. What a tradition to carry forward for our communities. All across the Midwest the locals have gathered to run and tackle, throw and sometimes 'throw up' during two-a-day practices.
My football career began when I was a freshman. I was a "country school" student through the first eight grades so I had virtually no knowledge of the game save what an older brother had taught me. That and I had learned through eight years of country school recesses that it was a great idea to get rid of the ball as soon as it came into your possession.
I began football as a freshman probably a little bigger than most freshmen, enough bigger that much was expected of me. It was apparent right away that our head coach had great hope for me. Vain hope on his part. Yes, I was big but … that was about it. Our freshman team practiced by ourselves a bit and with the varsity some. I learned to try to act tough like the seniors on the team and still stay as far away as I could from making one of them think I was some kind of threat.
I'll never forget our first game. I had a brand new helmet (special order ... fat head), what looked like a brand new uniform and nicely polished shoes. I had polished my shoes whilst I labored at polishing the shoes of five seniors. The coach always had freshmen shine the shoes of seniors. The seniors got to pick their "favorite" freshman. (Hmmm, five pair, I must have been a popular guy.)
We met at the field house at 6 p.m. We dressed as we had been taught and then assumed the attitude of a really tough guy, but not as tough as the senior boys or for that matter the juniors, but by golly almost as tough as the sophomores. I had an almost sick feeling as I began to get worked up about venturing out onto a field to hit someone who actually wanted to hit me back. I suppose I shouldn't have worried because the reality was I wouldn't be playing, so all I had to do was look the part.
I did what was expected of me. I was dressed about 30 minutes ahead of time and then did what any good freshman would do. I leaned against the wall by the door to wait for our team to run out onto the field and to try to scare the daylights out of anyone who would dare to be on the same field with us.
As the upperclassmen finished dressing, they came up to the front of the building where we were located and we moved down the wall. Since I was the first one dressed I was closest to door but hadn't planned on being first. Maybe second, but for crying out loud a senior should go first. I thought we were ready to go when the coach came out to the middle of the big group but then it got quiet. Very quiet. He began quietly to deliver what was probably a carefully choreographed speech complete with arm waving, foot stomping, fist and teeth clenching, and some swearing. Boy, we were going to have to keep that from our mothers.
What started out as a quiet dissertation on how much time we had spent together and that we had become family through the last three weeks and no one, absolutely no one, would get in our way, turned into a wild and dramatic ending. Nothing ever equaled the crescendo of that speech. He finished by screaming, "Now let's go get 'em." He pounded his fist on the overhead heater nearly knocking it off of the ceiling and the seniors all yelled like they were chasing hogs up a loading chute, then rushed to the door.
That's where I was standing. They shoved me to their left which was the corner behind the door, they slammed the back of it in my face and everyone ran out while I examined the doors backside. My plan to be one of the first ones out of the door turned into dead last. Even the 7th grade student managers beat me onto the field carrying their big bags of footballs and athletic tape.
In spite of trying to play high school football, I still love it. High school athletics is easily the best value for your entertainment dollar, AND you won't need to leave someone a tip.
This weekend, shut down the farm equipment and go watch your local team and cheer real loud, especially for the kid who trots onto the field last. He may have had some recent trouble.

Loveland Co.

2010-09-14T05:44:00.000-07:00

We spent part of last week traveling to the Denver area. We stayed with Ralph and Char for a few nights. Marilyn was in preparation for her Dad's 90th Birthday party. These pics were taken on our way up to Loveland for the party on Suday last. It was mostly a grass fire and they seem to have it contained.

We made an overnight jaunt into the Palisade, Co area on Friday and Saturday with all 4 of us. I'll get to that and the party, next. The Campbells are always great hosts with a really nice home. I'm guessing they got up this morning to make sure we were still gone then gave a cheer.

"dad...DAD! You Can Run A Forklift?" "Dad I've Never Been Prouder of You.

2010-08-30T20:36:00.000-07:00

The boys at the body shop have had to add more compressor power. They bought a new one and built a rack to get the old and new compressors up off of the floor and the rack will also hold the shops air conditioner.

Here Hudson is watching Dad, (our son Tom) operate a forklift. This handsome little boy idolizes his Dad. This didn't hurt his image of Dad.

Now, you can add your own caption.

Old Joke

2010-08-18T10:26:00.000-07:00

My brother who is a crop duster and who is sensitive to pilot jokes about rough landings, reminded me of an old one last night.
A little old lady shuffled up the aisle of the plane on her way to get off. She stopped by the pilot at the door, tapped him on the leg with her cane and said, "Sonny, are you the pilot?" He replied politely and proudly that indeed he was. She said, "Well then I have a question about our landing, did you actually land the plane or were we shot down?"

Birthday Party!

2010-08-15T04:46:00.000-07:00

I wrote Breathless, 6 years ago. It's a short post that explains the beginnings of the little girl front left in this photo. Her birthday was last month and we had a great time at their house in Lincoln, NE. (notice the good looks of the little girls in the photo. I think they kind of take after me.

Below is our son Dan's Indian Motorcycle that he restored. Here he had just received a trophy for his class in a big car and bike show in Fremont, NE. The birthday girl is clinging to Daddy.

Who's The Boss

2010-08-11T13:29:00.000-07:00

For The Midwest Producer Magazine

The 800-pound gorilla in the room for those of us from the eastern parts of Kansas and Nebraska is the Missouri River. We've developed a love/hate relationship with the Ol' Muddy Mo. This year she's been running bank full almost all summer. That in itself is a major cause of problems for those who farm in any region drained by the big ditch. This year, the experts say the Sandhills of Nebraska are saturated and the soils there must release, as runoff, any excess rain they receive. And they, like us, have received a lot of it.
The basins that eventually drain to the Missouri are all, also, running bank full so it's a bottle neck that only time and a lack of rain is going to solve. The big river as I know her is like a spoiled rotten child. Say and do anything you want, but she'll stomp her feet and do as she pleases. There is no controlling her. But isn't that the case with all rivers no matter the size. They can seem so peaceful and sleepy and then in one dark and stormy night turn into an unrecognizable creature.
I suppose I'm a little more sensitive than some to the problems all of these large and small rivers can cause. As a county board member I witness it first hand here in our county, and I have spoken to many officials from across our state about the damage caused by rampaging water. The costs of trying to control water, or at least trying to keep it from bringing commerce to a halt, is overwhelming to most governmental bodies, even on a dry year.
Some of my first remembrances were of the rock trucks that were hauling rock to our portion of the Missouri River as part of the Pick-Sloan Flood Control Act of 1944. Part of that plan was to make the Missouri navigable from Sioux City, Iowa, south. They hauled limestone, truckload after truckload, day after day and month after month to teach the big river a lesson. As if to say these are now your boundaries, stay there. The meandering river eventually was turned into what some folks refer to as an oversized drainage ditch. The river water sped up and cut deeper as the Army Corp of Engineers carried out the plan. They've spent a lot of our tax money trying to mitigate the damage ever since. They continually try to lay claim to more and more property in an attempt to slow it back down and make fishing what it once was.
But the fact remains that years like these demonstrate to the Corp of Engineers and those of us farming along streams and rivers who really is in charge … and it's not us. The river has now reclaimed most of the land it lost back in the 1950s. At least it has for this growing season.
There's been a lot of water under the bridge since all 8 grades of the kids at District 19 were loaded in three cars and taken on a field trip down to the river to tour the big dredge christened the Meriwether Lewis. It was obviously named for the captain of the Corp of Discovery. It was an impressive display of power for all of us impressionable country school kids. But the most memorable fact for all of the little boys on the trip was the sex education thrown in by the captain. He had a picture of his girl friend taped to the back of the door of the bridge. I know he didn't think to take it down before all of us arrived and I'm just assuming it wasn't a picture of his mom.
I went down to the river tonight and sat in my pickup for a bit and watched as the river ran south with all of its incredible power. Nothing is going to stop it. Nothing will control it. But it runs silently like all of the memories it welled up. The water was right up to the road my truck was sitting on, reminding me of the time my dad had to move all of our possessions out of harms way back in 1952.
Having a big river for a neighbor is like having a really strong parent. No one asks, "Who's the boss around here?" We all know.
You can leave a comment here or go to the magazines website and leave it there . My boss needs all the clicks he can get.

Dog Days

2010-08-03T05:03:00.000-07:00

People in these parts try to get their work done and money made so they can vacate the region in January and February. I think this might be misguided thinking. July and August might be better months to bail out. I know it would be some kind of trick for a farmer to be away from the farm this time of year but if possible, it would be a good idea. In my memory we’ve had a couple of ‘delightful’ summers. In those years, the temp only hit 90 degrees a couple of times and of course the corn crop suffered from too much rain and a lack of heating degree days. This year we’ve had too much rain at times but we’ve been into the mid 90’s several days and at the same time the humidity soared making it difficult to draw a breath. I fully expected to hear that someone actually drowned while mowing his lawn. These conditions make it hazardous to open your pickup window while driving because of the immediate fogging up of your glasses.
But there may be other drawbacks to Kansas and Nebraska in July and August. It’s vegetables and what to do with them. We plant tomatoes and cucumbers and just one zucchini plant. (We’ve all learned our lesson there, haven’t we?) Then we wait, and weed, and water and ask our friends if they might have a tomato we might have because ours aren’t ready yet. We operate under the theory that there are just a couple of folks in the county raising tomatoes and everyone else is waiting to hear the words, “Okay, they’re ready, come and get em!” It’s at that point when you realize that there are a lot of folks capable of raising tomatoes and they went ahead and did it. Now, just try putting a 5 gallon pail full of the red beauties in your car and giving them away. “Oh isn’t that nice of you, but Fred left a bushel of them in the back room.” Or they say, “No thanks Cliff, we just got done canning 20 quarts and we didn’t even need to raise any.”
Then there was the year early in our marriage when Marilyn wanted to raise Zucchini squash. I’d never heard of them. We bought a packet of seeds and it planted a row about half the length of a football field. They all came up and flourished. We had enough zucchini for the city of Tekamah. Two days later we had enough pounds of squash for the city of Omaha. I’m surprised that the government doesn’t require some kind of warning on the packets.
Warning: Planting more than two of these seeds may cost you all of your friends. The neighbors lights will suddenly go out when you enter their driveway and worst of all, everyone in town will begin to lock their car doors. And forget about feeding them to the hogs, they don’t like them either. Best if picked at about 8 inches in length and we mean 8 inches. The following day you will need a tractor and loader to harvest.
Our cucumbers are coveted here on our place but we have trouble raising them. The cucumber beetles or blight or bad luck always seem to kill ours just after we pick our first cuke. But not to worry. The same rules apply for cucumbers as they do for tomatoes and we just go get the bushel in some businesses back room in town. The one someone else raised and couldn’t get rid of.
August should be the month to go sit on the bank and see if you can trick a catfish into captivity but alas it’s been almost too hot and sticky for even that. Arizona has been on my mind a lot lately as the perfect vacation spot and maybe those who travel there have the right idea. It’s a dry heat this time of year and it’s a dry 60 degrees in January and February.
It’s okay to dream. Right?

Excuses

2010-07-17T04:46:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't been keeping up in the blog world. It has been a very busy summer with oppressive heat and humidity as of late. I can smell mold in the air everytime I go ourside. It's been good for growing corn. Well the corn that didn't drown out.
THIS is my latest article (every two weeks) in the Midwest Producer.
The one about The Great Nebraska Tractor Ride that I attended is HERE.

How Much Rain Did You Get?

2010-06-25T08:05:00.000-07:00

The biggest drawback to being a farmer is the constant worry about the weather, but on the other hand everything we might choose to do in life has worry associated with it. Worry is not something we can easily escape, nor should we try to do away with all of it because it does tend to keep us organized. Nothing matches the year to year and day to day concern of our moisture supply and the temperature as it relates to agriculture. “What if it doesn’t rain?” “Will we get an adequate stand of corn or beans or wheat?” “Okay it rained but now it’s too cold and the seed won’t germinate.” “If it doesn’t rain in the next week we’ll lose everything!” You’ve heard them all haven’t you?
I bring this all up because of something I’ve noticed my entire life. Rural communities are and must be consumed with the weather. It means everything to a farmer and the main street businesses. As an example we had 2 inches of rain yesterday. I had to go to a meeting in town right after the rain and the first discussion topic I had with everyone I came into contact with involved the weather. “Did you get a nice rain?” I think if you lived in the middle of the city you wouldn’t understand the use of the word ‘nice’ when describing rain but it’s pretty simple. We didn’t need much rain right now and what did fall is pooled and likely hurting the young plants by cutting off their oxygen supply. Mostly the plants will survive and it is the middle of June and we could be short of moisture by now so “Yeah we had a nice rain but we won’t need any more for a while.” “Any wind with the rain?” “Did the rain come too fast?”
Rainfall has been used for bragging rights in farm communities for years. When I was young we had an old neighbor named Fred who always got more rain than everyone else when it was dry, and if it had been too wet then he would report less than everyone else. The neighbors would say things like, “Oh I got a Fred half inch” meaning they got a little over a quarter of an inch of rain. On the other hand Fred probably had the right idea of seeing things as he wished them to be.
The weather influences even our children. My two sons live in Lincoln Nebraska and both have rain gauges at their homes and at their body shop. Rainfall is important to them if for no other reason than they grew up aware of the fact that as the weather goes, so goes the family. Their friends from the city don’t have gauges and so probably tend to look at the boys a little funny when they’re able to report the amount of rainfall from last night’s shower. I did mention their body shop so suffice it to say that weather is still important to them in other ways, especially ice and hail storms.
At golf league last night I couldn’t help but notice that it was as though all of us were trying to get enough information to write a book and the one with the best details would be declared the winner. Here’s what I learned by listening. If you lived just south of town you had 2 inches of rain but you already had too much and the gumbo (gumbo isn’t a technical term) soils have begun to hold water on top of the ground, so it wasn’t a nice rain. If you lived further up the Missouri River bottom where it’s been a little dryer, you had 1.75 inches of rain but it was a ‘nice’ rain because it was needed. If you lived south of town and west toward Craig Nebraska then you didn’t need any rain at all because their last ‘nice’ rain came in the form of hail and they all need to replant something at this late date. Now if we give everyone involved a week of hot, dry winds; then we’ll be nearing July 4th and we’ll all be able to use a ‘nice’ two inch rain.
We’re all pretty fickle when it comes to the weather. A perfect scenario for the weather in my mind is different from yours and so the old adage that “He wouldn’t be happy if they hung him with a new rope” really does apply here. Some need rain right now for their corn, but not until tomorrow night after the second cutting of hay is in the shed.
This is also the time of year that area farmers with hail insurance begin praying for rain on certain farms and hail on others. I can tell them that it won’t work. I’ve tried it.
NEXT UP: The Great Nebraska Tractor Ride

This Is Not Good

2010-06-12T06:38:00.000-07:00

Farmers dread late June and July and August for one reason. It can quit raining and never start again until fall. That leaves us pretty vulnerable to the hot-hot lazy days of summer when the corn and soybeans are trying to mature. The worst summers are those when we are very short of rain going into June.
Not the case this year. We were almost too wet and cold to plant in April and May but we did get most of the crops planted. Not all of them. I still have about 50 acres of unplanted ground due to water.
To top all of this off, last week we had 2.0 inches of rain at a time when we were waiting for it to get dry enough to finish planting. Exactly 2 inches.
Last Monday night June 7th we had exactly 2 inches again.
Last Wednesday night the 9th we had exactly 1 inch.
Last night the 11th we had another 1 inch exactly.
First, isn't it curious that every rain is on the inch mark exactly?
Second, this is one July we will go into, not being short of moisture.
I have plants, many of them, who are currently holding their breath until the water gets away from their roots. The forecast is for more rain. glub-glub
Suday June 13th: I just dumped exactly 1 more inch.
Monday June 14th: The cycle is broken. I only dumped .75 this morning.

Dance Recital In Lincoln

2010-06-01T06:33:00.000-07:00

We recently attended a voice and piano recital here in town for our local Grandaughter. It was a really nice event held in the home of the instructor. We forgot our camera so trust me...it was good.
Then the next deal was in Lincoln where 2 more Grandaughters had their dance recital. They got all painted and purtified and did great. They are pretty good dancers. I think they got my talent for being light on their feet and of course I couldn't help but notice how cute they are and that they obviously got their good looks from me also.
Oh yeah, the last pic is of their Mom. I snapped it in a local eatery after the show. I suppose she could possibly have had something to do with their good looks too.

My Kind Of Politician

2010-05-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

I love this video. It was shot during a press conference.

Learning To Drive On The Farm

2010-04-22T03:52:00.000-07:00

Cliff Morrow
Midwest Producer

I've been driving a long time. I can't remember the time I didn't know how to drive. It started with a 1940-something, Willys Jeep. The brother next oldest to me in age, by four years, taught me how to start, shift and steer the old rig. He was about 11 at the time. You're right, I was pretty young but it was in the days before the words "child endangerment" had been thought of and I was the last of seven children spread out over nearly 20 years. Looking back I don't think it was some kind of evil plot to reduce the number of children in the family but rather it was the fact that kids who could drive were handy.
My dad was pretty disgusted the day he found out that I'd been taught to drive. He had the Jeep sitting along the lane where it was being used to pull a wagon full of seed oats. He was alternately seeding and walking back to get the wagon. I pulled it up for him and he came unglued.
"Who taught you how to drive?" He already knew, but parents are required to ask questions they already know the answer to. "Well, don't do that kind of stuff again and while you're here you might as well pull it up; count off about 10 fence posts, and then shut it off.
"And don't slip the clutch."
From that point on I learned to find things to do that would require the Jeep and a driver. One was driving around the farm delivering lunch. Lunch back then meant the two breaks between breakfast, dinner and supper. The problem being I wasn't tall enough to be able to see out any of the windows. The old Jeep had a full cab and a vent door that opened wide, in the center of the dash. It was just below the windshields and that allowed me to lean to my right and see what was coming.
Our cocker spaniel, Taffy, always accompanied me and would sit in the passenger seat in the upright position. Yes, she sat up and leaned back like a human, and that made her taller than me and so she could see out. She was looking for rabbits and I was straining to see through the hole in the dash to see what was up ahead. I think she liked the way I drove because she never said anything about my driving. To this day, my older siblings remind me that they knew who was driving when they saw the Jeep coming with no apparent driver and a dog in the passenger seat. I'm sure it looked like a rural mail carrier dog.
I soon graduated to an Oliver 77 pulling a spike toothed harrow with all of the warnings that went with that and of turning too short on the end of the fields. I was soon raking hay and doing anything and everything else that required a child who knew how to let a clutch out without burning it. Looking back I probably should have stayed in the house and watched black and white TV on one of our three channels. Life got pretty busy for me after I learned how to drive.
I was seated in the back with the dog the day Dad taught one of my sisters how to drive the Jeep. She was probably about 13 at the time and I was the "smart aleck" little brother who already knew how to shift that vehicle. I watched as Dad carefully explained about giving it a little gas with your right foot and letting the clutch out with your left. "Not too fast…but not too slow either."
The Jeep was pretty short in the available torque department so it had a tendency to lurch and almost die and then lurch and then almost die again, causing the driver to also violently go back and forth making the problem with the pedals even worse. Over and over this went on while Dad practiced patience, something he had very little of, and he sat back and got out a cigarette and his lighter.
The lighter he had back then was more like a hand-held bonfire. When he would spin the wheel the entire top of the lighter would be engulfed in flames. He held it carefully by the bottom of the lighter. I know it didn't work correctly but it was effective in a strong wind. While my sister was trying to keep from killing the Jeep, Dad's hands went back and forth with the jerking of the Jeep while the fire licked his eyebrows and eyelashes, and the flame even temporarily cured his nose hair problem. It was the only time I ever saw Dad get a cigarette out, try to light it, and then put it back in the pack.
I've since decided that in these days, teaching young children to drive is not a good idea if you're concerned about the child. My reasoning comes from what my mom told my wife when she drew her aside almost 40 years ago and whispered, "Whatever you do, don't let either one of those two men teach you how to drive a truck. You'll be driving one the rest of your life." My wife took the advice to heart, so I taught my daughter how to drive the semi. You can't start them too young.

A Class Act

2010-04-18T04:40:00.000-07:00

I think this article is a must read. Just one page. It'll just take about two minutes but you'll be glad you did. Go have a look. It pretty well explains why I've always been a fan.

Doing Their Homework

2010-04-07T12:07:00.000-07:00

Like the Federal Government, the people of California have been scoffing for years at those who have said you need to be careful not to spend more than you can pay for.
It would seem the grim reaper is honing his cutting edge with the State of California in his sights. I hope the citizens of the state take a look at their local governments and schools as well as the state house, decide who has been in charge while this wild spending spree took place, and then vote the bums out.
The same will apply for the rest of America in November. Paying everything, for everyone, is a cute way to get votes but the day of reckoning always comes. It can't be avoided.
I would reject any attempt of the feds helping the states out. They are facing the same problem of wild spending by an out of control regime, with no one to hold them accountable.
I think having a space for a garden and enough room to raise a couple of hogs will eventually pay off for those who do.

Easter Sunday at Grandma and Grandpa's Farm

2010-04-06T06:26:00.000-07:00

"Okay girl, I don't care if you are my little cousin. I'm going to count to 3 and when I open my eyes, that green egg had better be back in my bucket!"

The Candelabra War

2010-03-24T20:14:00.000-07:00

Cliff Morrow
Midwest Producer

I’ve always been a fan of southwestern U.S. history. The so-called Lincoln County War has been of interest to me for some time now. It took place in Lincoln County, N.M., and had to do with different cattle barons and bankers and lawmen. The feud resulted in the death of a young hoodlum named Billy the Kid in the small town of Fort Sumner. He was gunned down one evening in a dark room by Sheriff Pat Garrett of Lincoln County. Interesting to study if you wish to look it up.
I bring this up because of the title of this column. I have dubbed it the Candelabra War and it took place in the First Baptist Church in our small town. I was a small child at the time and the easiest way to explain what happened is to convey the crux of the Sunday dinner conversations that went back and forth between my parents.
I first was made aware of trouble when the folks began to discuss, with some consternation, that two elderly ladies in our church were having some disagreement about the set of candelabras that adorned the top of our baptistry. The baptistry was set in the wall in the front and center of our sanctuary and the top was about the size of a sheet of plywood and for all I know it was just that, a sheet of plywood. It was adorned with our churches big Bible and two candelabras.
When the Sunday School dismissal bell sounded, the class that seemed to have most of the elderly women of our church would file from their classroom and be seated in the pews just outside the door of their room.
On this first Sunday of the war Blanche had set the candelabras even with the back of the Bible, one on either side. They were straight with the world.
Sunday 2: Suzanne came to Sunday School and on the way in, stopped over and pulled the candelabras forward and slanted them both toward the Bible.
Sunday 3: Blanche came out of Sunday School and pushed the candle holders back and straightened them out knowing full well she had foiled Suzanne. It was obviously too late to do anything else before church started.
Sunday 4: Suzanne came out of Sunday School and as the organist played the prelude, pulled the candles forward and turned them just so. I’m sure the same logic applied here as was used last Sunday.
Sunday 5: Blanche pushed the tapers back and straightened them out before Sunday School.
The same day: Suzanne went up again during the prelude and pulled them forward and turned them again. By all appearances, she got the best of Blanche again.
The same day: New rules of engagement are obviously being written on the fly because after the prelude, the opening prayer, and during the last verse of the first hymn, Blanche marched up, pushed the candelabras back and straightened them out. Suzanne rose from here seat, shuffled to the aisle, turned toward the door, threw her head back and went home.
Truthfully, I’m unable to declare the winner here and even though there is definitely a lesson to be learned, I’m not sure what it is. I don’t think any corrective action was attempted because the Deacons and the minister were all men and well, you know … something was probably mumbled about ‘choosing your hill to die on’ wisely.
As of late, the trend in larger churches is toward big media centers that immerse the senses in sights and sounds and are meant to aide worship and in some cases, provide entertainment. Small congregations across farm and ranch country are usually left out of these improvements because of the hefty price tag for the equipment. The Candelabra War proved the “entertainment” part has, and always will be, available to small congregations.

Belly Up To The Trough

2010-03-22T04:14:00.000-07:00

The pigs at the trough, having gained control, have asked for and recieved unlimited slop.
The fact that the local auctioneer stopped to talk to the farmer, and left with a long list of equipment, seems to have escaped the pigs notice. The poor pigs. Their future looks grim.

The thrill of survival

2010-03-15T14:14:00.000-07:00

Midwest Producer

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

I've been watching the Olympics in Canada. Watching the curling events to be a bit more precise. I felt like I needed to sit down and type a while and let my nerves unwind from the excitement. I've never understood why I am not a big fan of these Winter Games but I suspect that it has partly to do with the fact that I'm from Nebraska - where the greatest winter opportunities are to brag about how far south you went on your winter vacation or how you survived that fall on the ice last week. But it hasn't fazed your thinking a bit. You still want to live here.
And you're here partly because of your strong will and belief system. The basic tenet that life shouldn't be too easy. Remember, this is building character. Surviving here will put hair on your chest.
The Winter Games are a combination of grace, strength, beautiful lifts and moves, and the hope that gravity will somehow take over so they can get those skis back on the snow and make that next turn going 70 miles per hour. Just like living in Kansas and Nebraska in the winter, success in the Olympics is sometimes measured in mere survival. Just try to be the only one who didn't land in a twisted pile of humanity and you'll be the winner.
Opportunities to improve our character have come in many forms this winter. We've had several power outages. Mostly they were brief, but one lasted into the next day. Not bad by most accounts and ice storms standards. We've had copious amounts of snow fall and freezing rain. The locals have pushed it, scooped it, thrown sand on it, spread salt on it and even blown it up into the wind by mechanical means just to give the neighbors more character building opportunities. The season has elevated our snowplow operators and electric company lineman to legendary status. It has closed schools and postponed a great number of games, concerts and social events.
We live where hope springs eternal in the hearts of all Midwesterners. We know that if we persevere, that if we can somehow just "wear this winter out," spring is right around the corner with its warmer temperatures, muddy roads and flooding. The adversity will be there but we won't need to wear so darned many clothes while we face it. By then we'll be thinking about planting, raising crops and killing weeds and we'll have the comfort of knowing that last winter was about as bad as it could have been and next winter will be better. At least we can hope.
But through it all, we must survive. We find entertainment where we can. It might consist of a diversion at the local schools with their games and concerts, or going out to eat on occasion if we think we can get home before the wind blows the road closed again or we stay home, invite the neighbors over and watch television. That's when we realize that even though the satellite serves up 200 or 300 channels, there's really nothing to watch. Two nights ago I narrowed the choices down to the Winter Olympics or an infomercial called "Get the Body You Deserve." Since I already had the latter… I watched the games.
Wow! How does sweeping make that curling stone move like that and should I start carrying a broom in the truck for my wife to use when we're trying to stop on ice?
It really has been a long winter.

A Mere Miracle--I Think Not

2010-03-04T19:15:00.000-08:00

You need to read THIS ARTICLE from our local paper. It's about my sister Mary. You'll likely not forget having read it.
Besides this incredible story, I must say that the journalist who wrote this did a masterful job. Katie is the gal who sits through all of our county board meetings and reports it to the local paper. She's a friend of mine and talented indeed.

Just Wondering...

2010-02-28T06:44:00.000-08:00

..what Ralph is going to do in the morning after he gets Char out the door and on her way to work.

I have a sister in-laws father who didn't go to work one Monday morning. He hadn't missed a day in years. A lot of years. His wife asked him if he wasn't late for work. He said, "I retired Friday."
News to her.
Char knew about this one.

Bike Show

2010-02-21T16:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was pretty interesting. We went to a motorcycle show in Lincoln Nebraska. It was huge. I never realized the interest there is in this sort of thing. The main reason for us attending was to see our sons entry into the restored bikes section of the show with his 1947 Indian. This first pic is a pic of a picture. It shows him sitting on the bike circa 2002 when he first began working on it in his spare time.

The next pic was taken yesterday at the show. Same bike. Same kid.

This is the one who did my Allis D-14 along with my other son.

The above red bike is also a 47 Indian and was also painted by him. It belongs to a friend. Most of the bikes in that 'Old Indians' display were infact painted by him. The ones sitting behind the red bike.

The red side-car that you can't see very well is the same one featured below holding two of my grandchildren. The family photo is missing the youngest. Georgia was sleeping like a...well a baby. I think mostly because she is. We stopped at our other sons place to see if Hudson (green shirt) could come out and play with Grandma and Grandpa. We took him back home sporting a leather vest and a tie dyed head scarf. They agreed to let him go with us again, anyway.

District 19

2010-02-17T19:15:00.000-08:00

Midwest Producer

Wednesday, February 10, 2010 9:47 AM CST

I recently went to a funeral for an old friend. She was 97 years old and only struggled in the last few of those years. Before the effort it took her to exit this life, she had spent a lifetime of clear thinking and planning. It seemed she was totally in control and I suppose it was her masterful ability to or-ganize everything in her life that made her stand out to so many of us. Those of us who were pallbearers stood in the church foyer talking and reminiscing about Almeda. We soon discovered that we had all been asked to be a pall bearer at this funeral, about 10 to 15 years ago, by her personally. We talked about the impact she had had on all of us and hundreds of others of us, long ago when we were children.
You see Mrs. Hurlocker was our country school teacher. I was fortunate enough to have her for grades 1 through 5, after which she went to another school. I don't have the exact figures but I think she taught about 20 students spread out over the eight grades, all at the same time.
While attending "Tobin" School District 19, I don't recall having any free time to dally. I was always busy doing assignments. Each grade would take turns coming up to the bench by her big desk to receive instruction and the work she expected us to do in the next hour or so. If we needed some help, an older student would be asked to pull up alongside and take command of the problem we were having. I don't believe this was a bad thing for either the "student" teacher or the student having trouble. By this we learned that we can all have trouble in certain phases in our life and we can all assist others out of their dilemmas. This all took place before political correctness, it was for us to learn the lesson well that if we tried hard we could succeed and if we loafed, we were going to lose. But say what you will, we had the basics of reading and writing and math down cold. Mrs. Hurlocker liked repetition.
I fondly recall that she knew who the baseball fans were in the school and would afford a couple of us the opportunity to take advantage of the latest in technology. One crisp fall afternoon, she opened the window on her Ford Fairlane and turned on the radio so we could sit on the school's porch and listen to the last few innings of the World Series. That was where I sat on Oct. 13, 1960, with one or two others and listened to my beloved Yankees lose the seventh game of the Series to the Pirates when Bill Mazerowski hit a ninth inning home run off of Yankee reliever Ralph Terry. The ball blasted over the head of Yankee left fielder Yogi Berra, to end the game. It was the first walk off home run in Series history and I was crushed, but I at least got to hear it, thanks to our teacher. She could see the stress it had caused this ten year old boy and she was kind. She always was.
At the funeral, I began to recall all of the pretty successful folks in this world that she helped get started. I thought of farmers, doctors, scientists, teachers, salesmen, mothers and fathers, and the list goes on, all solid United States citizens that she had pointed down the right path. The little folks she gathered around the flag pole each morning to give the pledge and raise 'Ol Glory' had turned out just fine.
As we continued the conversation in the foyer, we talked that none of us had ever witnessed Mrs. Hurlocker lose her composure. She was always in control. She was always organized. She had to be, to accomplish what she did.
Thinking back on that period in my life, the system was pretty simple, the local farmers were on the school board and their charge was straight forward: take care of the building and hire the best teacher they could find.
It makes one pause and wonder at the money we spend on education in today's world and just how we got to where we are now. I do know that every child needs a caring, well-organized and intentioned teacher who can make a difference. District 19 sure had one.

Wild Blue Satellite Internet and Great Plains Communications

2010-02-17T14:59:00.000-08:00

I have today officially fired Wild Blue and Great Plains Communications of Blair Nebraska.
I lost my internet signal on January 30. That day the service ticket was sent from WB to Great Plains.
Today is February 19th and I finally got a call from Johnson Communications who ultimately got the ticket. They are probably the ones to blame but there is enough blame to go around. They wanted to come out tomorrow to fix my dish or my modem.
I asked the lady if she didn't think 3 weeks was too long of a time to go without service expecially when the internet is such a integral part of doing business. We have two business' and my job as a county supervisor to think about. We file all of our tax forms to the state online.
I told Johnson Communications not to bother coming out because I had already cancelled my service and promised to do all within my power to warn everyone about the troubles with all three companies.
I will just say that if you do business with Wild Blue, or Great Plains Commuications of Blair Nebraska, or Johnson Communications of Iowa, you like me, are a fool.

I Need Your Advice

2010-02-13T06:24:00.000-08:00

I think I've found a great solution to Wild Blue. I'm going to fire them. It's now been 2 weeks of no internet service without an offer to come fix it. I've cajoled, pleaded, yelled, and tried messing with their brains. They flat out don't care.
Soooo..I bought a new cell phone and have hooked it to my computer for a modem and it is fast. I mean instant. It's probably what you are used to, but I've never had anything fast. This is fast.
It's about $5 bucks a month cheaper too. No contract to boot.
Since the plan is specific to my cell phone and we have no internet when it's with me, I plan to switch to a local company's micro link type service in the future but until then, I'm going this way. Also it will allow me to run our laptops while traveling.
Here's where I need your help. For email I started with Juno then changed my address to dial up then changed my address when I switched to satellite and now I'll need to do it again.
This time I want to go to my last email address. (ie, yahoo or google or whatever.)
WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST??

Crabby Cliffs Krabby Dip

2010-02-09T05:34:00.000-08:00

I’ve had an idea for a dip for a couple of months now. I’m sure there must be one just like it somewhere but as for this one, I made it up and put it together for the Super Bowl get together that we had. It seemed to disappear quickly even though it really was a pretty large amount of dip.
Keep in mind that for a recipe to appeal to me you have to be able to dump an entire package or container or can, in at once or at least leave the measurements up to my judgment. So here it is.

16 oz carton of Sour Cream

12 oz package of Imitation Crab Meat (shredded with a knife or cut with a pastry cutter) (Or you could try stomping on it.)

8 oz pkg Cream Cheese (softened)

About 6 oz of a bottle of Cocktail Sauce. Or more. Or less.

Mix it all together and season to taste. I used garlic salt, onion powder, and white pepper. . Then chill.

TIP: Reserve 2 bites of the crab meat and 2 tablespoons of the sauce. Before mixing, dip the meat into the sauce and eat both pieces. Tell folks that this was to check the integrity of both the sauce and the meat. You can’t be too careful when it comes to the health of your family and friends. Then try the dip on a number of different crackers and chips and veggies. If there is any dip left, serve to your company.

For a printer friendly version of this recipe, retype it and print.

I'm going shopping till Friday nite. Well, isn't that what you'd call a supervisors workshop?
See ya.

Wild Blue Satellite Internet

2010-02-07T05:10:00.000-08:00

I have spent 10 days without an internet connection. The thing seems to be miraculously working this morning so I wanted you to know why I haven't been around. The problem has been determined to be an equipment problem. The dish, or its aiming or the modem. I've been needing a service call. I've spent about 4 hours on the phone, being passed from city to city to town to technician and even to different countries all in an attempt to avoid having one of their non-existent service men come out. WildBlue doesn't seem to even have someone who can call me about coming out. Maybe sometime this week.
In the mean time I have contacted a different company who will be out to install a new system. I can't wait to make the phone call to Wild Blue saying "I know you just had someone out to fix my system, but You had your chance."
I did find out something that would be of help. If I had purchased my Wildblue service thru Directv, one of their service people would have come out. I've had nothing but perfect response from Directv since I started with them in 1996. If this new company isn't able to provide good enough reception here, I will cancel my Wildblue and then call Directv and have it re-installed and bundled thru them. At least they have an army of skilled service people to help customers. Great Plains Communications also bears a great deal of the blame for all of this. They are the local distributors for W.B.
Now to go answer some email. I was over my quota (because I couldn't get my email) so most of it was returned. I do have 55 new messages to do something with. Later kids.

IF

2010-01-27T08:00:00.000-08:00

If I owned or managed an office supply store in one of Northeast Nebraskas larger towns. And if I had 3 aisles of high end office machines selling for between $100 and $500 each.
And if there were say six people all about 40 to 60 year old and standing and reading tags in those aisles and more or less looking lost. I would assume that because of their age they probably could afford any machine they were looking at and that they couldn't get all of the info they need from a little tag that has 4 lines of writing on it and a sticky note on the front that proclaimed 'Out of Stock!' Therefore I would assume people browsing in the pencil aisle could wait and I'd have someone trained to "LEARN ALL YOU CAN ABOUT EACH OF THOSE MACHINES AND IF YOU SEE ANYONE OVER THERE GO SEE IF YOU CAN SELL THEM A MACHINE."
I'd also go to the two young men leaning on the counter and talking to the pretty customer service girl and say something like, "Here, let me lean on this counter and stare at this lovely thing, that should free you two guys up to go help customers." (said thru clenched teeth)
And if I were the manager I'd be in the store to see that it was accomplished.
Now excuse me, I need to get busy online to buy a new printer.

Conflict Resolution

2010-01-22T19:46:00.000-08:00

So. I've been to a 'conflict resolution' training class in my capacity as a county Supervisor. It's designed to be used in thngs like contentuous hearings, employee strife and or negotiations and stuff like that.It was in Lincoln. It was taught by a Prof from the U.of N.
Also, Silly me, taking a class like this AFTER already having been married for nearly 40 years.
It has already come in handy. I left for Lincoln on Wednesday afternoon, We had lost our power (ice storm) on Tuesday nite. We went to a funeral on Wednesday morning and since there was no wind and it was 31 degrees, I felt safe taking off for the State Capital secure in the belief that the power would be back on before sunset. I was right. It came back on before sunset...today, Friday. Marilyn was home alone without power Thursday night but was able to work at the kennel all day Thursday and Friday as the power was still on there. The problem was using a candle for entertainment while at home.
The way I handled this was to get the generator out of the shed one more time and hook it up at about sundown yesterday. The good news there is that I found out it will run for at least 5 hours on a fill of gas. I've always wondered that. The bad news is that when I shut it down about noon today it was leaking enough oil to be a concern. Unattended motors shouldn't be allowed to leak oil.
Did I mention our phone is also out? It is. The good news is that we have forwarded the home phone into my cell phone. The bad news is that my cell just barely works here at home. I may have to tavel to and spend time in Cabelas or Pro Bass Shop in Omaha to answer our home phone. Bummer.
The frozen snow packed roads that are now melting to a depth of about 1 inch are more or less a watery mixture of mud. The south winds will cover the car with a dark brown frosting everytime we hit a watery mudhole. For a brief moment it turns the van into an unlit cave. It is our version of the Califonia 'brown outs' of several years ago.
All of these problems have folks around this farm a bit on edge and so I've decided to resolve this conflict by trying to keep my mouth shut for a few days. I know I'm not able to do that but I don't think Marilyn's interested in hearing about seperating 'Positions' from 'Interests' in a conflict. At least not yet.

Winter Time Diversions

2010-01-11T07:26:00.000-08:00

Cliff Morrow
My wife has been a lifelong ardent lover of horses. She grew up in Denver and had spent much of her childhood free time and money by renting and riding horses. That is up until she received a horse for a birthday gift when she was 12. That ownership led to a lifelong attraction to the hairy beasts.
Most of my childhood horse experience was gained in front of a black and white television, watching the Lone Ranger and Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Not a lot of practical experience was gained from observing the Lone Ranger unless of course you think horses should be at a full gallop, all of the time. I think "Silver" was an old barrel horse.
At our farm, we ran out of Dad's work horses in the early 1950s. The last two horses spent their final days here on this farm doing what horses do best, converting hay into fertilizer.
We did 'winter' a horse for a man for a few years back in my middle school days. Uh, middle school would have been the middle two rows of desks in our first through eighth grade country school.
Back then you could get a free horse to use doing your cattle chores in the wintertime so long as you fed and watered the mare from fall through late spring. (Incidentally I would now make that same offer to someone else who needed a horse to look at in the winter time.)
These horses were broodmares and expecting young ones, so they became too wide to ride by about April. Those few years were the extent of my horse experience. It did prove successful in getting me over the "romantic" notion in my mind of being able to ride into the sunset strumming my guitar while singing Happy Trails in two-part harmony. The main reason for my lack of continued enthusiasm is that I didn't know what I was doing, and the horse did know what she was doing. And besides, neither one of us could play a guitar.
Case in point is the day I was at a full gallop in a field of cornstalks and heading to look at the cattle on the east side of the 160 acres. I noticed that the cinch was flapping in the wind on the south side of the horse and that the big leather cinch strap was doing the same on the north side of the horse. I felt like the coyote on the Road Runner cartoons who always looked straight into the camera lens after accidentally running out into mid-air, on a chase.
I really didn't know how to ride but I gained valuable experience that day. I knew I could ride that horse at a gallop without a cinch, and that I could ride her at a walk without a cinch. I had my doubts about the 'trot' one must go through between the two. My doubts were well founded.
As my stunt riding career came to a close, my future bride was in Denver becoming proficient at riding hunters and jumpers. After we met and married, it was my desire to try to impress her with the idea of something that I had seen in a Courier and Ives painting. I was going to make a sleigh, and I would have her buy a single harness and train one of our horses to pull it. I did build the sleigh. It was sturdy and very, very heavy. I had welded it together. Farmers shouldn't build sleighs. It turned into what a training sleigh for an elephant might look like.
Marilyn was successful with her part of the bargain and the big day arrived. We harnessed the horse, placed a set of sleigh bells on the harness, put on all of the clothes we owned, (it was about zero out) and started over to the neighbors to say "Hi neighbors!" Then we answered some of their questions, "Oh sure, the sleigh, yeah we thought we'd save some money and come visit under horsepower." "Well, we were walking because the mare can't pull the sleigh with people in it, it's too heavy." "Yep, she is a stout sled." "Thanks."
As it turned out we had lunch with the neighbors and the horse then had more than enough power to pull both the sleigh and my wife and I, after we had made the turn toward home. Horses are like that. By the end of that frosty trip, I also learned that as romantic as riding in the fresh air on a sleigh might sound, it isn't. Horses constantly shed hair in the wintertime, and they don't have catalytic converters on their exhaust systems and it's so cold that the word "survival" begins to have clear meaning.
If you want to try this yourself, pick a really cold day, put on all the clothes you own, then roll the window down on your pickup for the next 20 miles. Don't forget the bells. Quite romantic, eh?

Out For A Drive

2010-01-07T11:27:00.000-08:00

We went for a drive the other morning. Marilyn took the Canon along and snapped a few shots. The temperature was a minus twenty two degrees and it was foggy, mostly because of the still open Missouri river just a short distance away. The fog and temps account for the frost on the lone pine tree along the road to town. The neighbors grain bin is backlit by the sun.

The shot above is taken on our lane looking south toward home. This last one is a pic of our main road toward town.

They Can't Scare Me

2010-01-04T07:53:00.000-08:00

The local radio stations are trying to unnerve those of us living in Nebraska. But I'm not blinking. This morning as I drove Marilyn all over eastern Burt County helping her to pick up dogs to be groomed, the radio kept warning of impending wind chills nearing 30 degrees below zero with the upcoming wind and cold. I wasn't shaken because the temperature read-out on our van stayed right at a -27 everytime we ventured away from the towns and out into the bottom grounds east of US Highway 75.
By my calculations you won't need much wind added to 27 below temps to make it 'feel like' it was 30 below.
I'm sure glad I didn't move south for the winter. I could have missed out on this.

AH IT'S CHRISTMAS, THAT SPECIAL TIME OF YEAR

2009-12-29T08:26:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday morning past, the forecast was for freezing rain late in the day to continue through out all day on Christmas Eve. Thoughts always turn to the loss of power when they forcast freezing rain. By Christmas morning we had escaped (we thought) because the rain had quit just before the temperature began to drop below 32 degrees. At least we wouldn't lose our power but we still had heavy snow coming for two days accompanied by three days of high winds.
We called the sons in Lincoln and told them that Christmas was postponed a day. Actually we left the decision up to them. I explained the worst that could happen is that would be snowed in with me for three or four days. Dan was unwilling to take that chance.
Christmas Eve services were called off at church, we let the Courthouse close for the whole day, and we had the snow blower tractor plugged in and ready to clear the area. Everything was great.
So, on Christmas Eve, our daughters family came down the lane for a little party. The power went out. The blizzard was raging outside. Information from the neighbors indicated that the kennel was also out of power.
We sat and layed in our living room all night where there was enough auxillary heat to keep it about 55 degrees. (a propane heater on the porch that will kind of heat the house if you open the window.) We started the blower tractor and let it run all night knowing that it wouldn't start if it weren't plugged in.
The first pic is of me, about 6 AM on Christmas. Marilyn thinks I'm out there clearing snow so I can get my generator out of the shed, loaded onto the pickup, and hooked to the power pole behind the house.
I am in fact doing that, but mainly I'm trying warming up in the tractor. It has a great heater and the house was cold when I left Marilyn and the grandchildren sawing logs under a lot of blankets.

In the pioneering spirit, I got out and did what needed to be done first thing Christmas morning, I hooked up the generator, and then dug out the satelite dish so the big screen would work. We have had to clear snow from the dish several times before but we've never come close to having to dig our way down to it through the snow.

The pic above on the right is of the dog getting ready to help me unload my small snow blower so I could load my generator. On the left is proof that we were successful in our labors. Our power came back on at noon on Christmas day. The only casualty was a ballast on one of our flourescent fixtures in the kitchen. I don't think it appreciated the 149 volts of power my generator was putting out. The ballast is now replaced, we continue to blow out our lane everyday because the stinking wind won't go down, and Christmas is going to happen next Saturday. Maybe.

The Art Of Gift Giving

2009-12-21T06:42:00.000-08:00

Cliff Morrow

Midwest Producer

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Christmas was almost torture for little boys, as I recall. I always had trouble getting to sleep because of course the presents under the tree would make my imagination run wild. I do not recollect that the black and white television we had had indoctrinated me into wanting anything in particular except possibly a Cowboy Bob gun and holster set which I did receive from Santa one Christmas.

Our tree would be surrounded by presents of every shape and size. Mom wasn't into elegant gift wrapping. She didn't have the time to do that. She was a farm wife and I think her main goal was the same as mine is today, to disguise the gift. That's all. To camouflage whatever was in the package.

After I had learned to read well enough to figure out what my name looked like on a tag, I became very sneaky about casually laying down by the tree and glancing over at the gifts to see if maybe my name was on one of them. Sure enough, I always had a few gifts that said TO: Cliff FROM: Mom and Dad. That information - that my name was actually there under the tree - would make it hard to get to sleep for the next five or 10 nights before Christmas.

I don't recall my age when I started wanting to reciprocate with the gift giving but it finally happened and I told Mom about it. She would remedy this by taking me along to town the next time she went grocery shopping. Somehow I had a dollar in my Cowboy Bob billfold and would have my head on a swivel in search of a gift.

Mom stopped in front of the chocolate covered cherries and told me a story about how her mother always loved them and as a matter of fact, they were Mom's favorite too. "Well, let's buy some" I would say and she would reply "They're 59 cents, maybe next time."

Hey, I have a plan, I would think to myself, and as Mom was checking out I would circle back to the candy section and grab a box of chocolate covered cherries. Somehow my Mom would lose track of me and stand at the front window of the store and stare out, looking to see if Cliff had already gone out to the car. That gave me enough time to take my box to the cashier who was always discreet about my gift purchase and would carefully bag the box and give me my 41 cents change before Mom turned around to see her six-year-old buying a box of candy. Probably the best part was being able to get to the car and into the house back at the farm, without Mom noticing that I was carrying a small bag of groceries.

Mom got chocolate covered cherries for Christmas and her birthday for several years in a row. They were the most thoughtful and best gift she had ever received. At least that's what she said. Mom was always very happy and sometimes moved to tears when she opened them. But not as proud and happy as I was to be standing there and watching her open a gift I had thought of myself.

A lot of water has passed under the bridge since those days and I'm afraid I haven't been able to think of a gift to give anyone, to make them as thrilled as Mom was with those cherries. Mom did understand the true meaning of Christmas and showed it. She truly knew how to give and receive as well as anyone I ever knew. I think sometimes we aren't very good at the receiving part, as we could be.

A few years ago, I stopped by a live nativity scene to watch and ponder what was going on. The center of attention was the real baby they had laid in the manger. Even the livestock they had hauled to town seemed to realize that something special was happening in the center of it all.

Contemplating the scene made me realize that Mom hadn't invented gift giving at its finest.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

2009-12-15T09:10:00.000-08:00

When I need to get into the Christmas spirit, I watch this video. The soloist is David Phelps. I've been a tenor all of my life but when I listen to him sing it makes me feel like maybe I shouldn't try.
This version of 'O Holy Night' has a brief story at the beginning but if you'll watch the video to the end I think you'll see why I like it. I do believe there was a deal made between God and David for that voice and its use.
If you want to hear a bit more from this artist, look for the song 'The End of the Beginning' by Phelps. There are a lot of versions of these songs on youtube but you'll need to look to find the one with the best quality.

Views From The Porch

2009-12-09T20:19:00.000-08:00

The weather outside is frightful, but inside it's nice but I didn't have time to be in there much.
The global warming dropped about 10" on the area last night and then the 50 MPH winds took over.
Marilyn snapped this pic as I was beginning to coax one of my John Deere's into running in this cold weather.

Most of the fields had blown clear and the snow more or less went until it found my place to pull up and rest a while. Here I'm trying out the snow blower I bought last year. It's a good idea to stay upwind from this machine. I'm supposed to be in Lincoln at a convention but our roads were plugged. School will resume one day soon.

THE DOG FIGHT

2009-12-06T04:21:00.000-08:00

What are the chances that on our farm, we would have the two most worthless dogs in America. Don't get me wrong, they like being dogs. They love being petted, playing, running, barking and they'll sneak a quick lick to your hands right when you least want it.
The problem is that they love to spar with each other. I just finished harvest which included a lot of time watching our auger here at the home place. All of the days I spent watching my grain bins fill, the dogs spent fighting with each other. When one would take off on the run toward a cat, the other dog would take the first dog down from behind and then they would growl and roll in the dirt, take turns getting each other by the neck and then the process would reverse.
They would trade places taking the dominate roll and the other one would end up on top with her mouth on the throat of the one, now on her back on the ground. They would sometimes stand on their back legs and face each other and fight standing up like they might be practicing for Dancing With The Stars.
Very seldom did they get serious enough to actually mean what they were doing. The funny thing is that while they fought, the cats were eating their food and any wild animal that cared to, could have strolled on to the property unnoticed.
The two really don't do a very good job of protecting the farm. But then again, it's our fault. We took them in and failed in any attempt to make them accountable. We got what we deserved.
As you've probably already guessed, I'm talking about our politicians. They seem to love to wrestle and fight and snarl and take turns grabbing their opponents by the throat when they should be talking out the problems related to the latest in legislation.
Just a little bit of give and take would have made the current health care bill palatable to 75 or 80 of our senators and this could have been over with.
Instead, they all want to be the top dog and have it their way. I personally don't think we want our federal government with more involvement in the medical profession. Governments of any size seem to be good at helping citizens with police protection, educating the next generation, and building and maintaining roads.
They go astray when they delve into any social program that requires taking money from one citizen to give to another. The money always seems to disappear before it gets to its target.
I'm guessing Congress could get everybody covered with a bill 50 pages long instead of one that is more than 2,000 pages long. The long version adds more and more layers of bureaucracy. It adds layers upon layers of folks who aren't accountable to anyone, or at least anyone you could find if you needed to.
I think the insurance companies, although partially at fault, shouldn't shoulder all of the blame. The best way for me to explain it is if you traded cars every year since 1950. Ignoring the effect of inflation, you would still need to add more money each of those 60 years because the product got better each year. Then add in inflation and that's how we got there.
Likewise, I don't care to return to a time when aspirin and penicillin are the two things doctors had to offer. I appreciated not being able to remember my operation for cancer because we now have anesthesia. I also am thankful for my insurance company who paid for the $100,000 worth of chemo drugs my doctor tried to kill me with. (At least I thought that at the time.) It all saved my life some 15 years ago.
We're not that far off of our mark. Let's regulate insurance a bit to make it competitive, get serious about tort reform, help those who need help with insurance coverage and then get out. There'll always be time later for rolling around in the dirt and grabbing each other by the throat.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

2009-11-23T18:42:00.000-08:00

If you have the time, please stop by my latest column over at the Midwest Producer Magazine. We could use the 'clicks' if you have the time to look around the site for a while.
I hope your Thanksgiving Day will be filled with the gratitude due our Creator.

The 2009 Crop Year Has Been Put To Bed

2009-11-22T11:23:00.000-08:00

As of yesterday, Nov 22nd, it was officially too late to be picking corn.
We do still have everything full of corn. Examples would be the semi, the straight truck, the combine, and the auger wagon. But it's all inside buildings so not to worry. At least we're done.
The corn harvest was a record breaker in this area due to the copious amount of rainfall throughout the summer.
The soybean yields were also above average.
The planting was timely. The early growth was excellent. The early harvest period was tedious because the crops wouldn't dry down in the field.
We finally wore the growing season out.
I need 10 days of dry weather for field work. (which we probably won't get)
We have important folks coming for lunch on Thursday so we might just take the whole darned day off.
If ths seems like a dumb post...remember who wrote it and keep in mind it's really a diary entry for my future reference.
But best of all, Marilyn has laid in a supply of whipping cream.

Practice, Practice, Practice!

2009-11-12T03:18:00.000-08:00

From Hudson I've learned that if you want to be able to have great facial expressions...You'll need to practice.

1958 Allis Chalmers D-14

2009-10-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

The big city life just wasn't meant to be for 'Spooky Ol Allis' but she came back from the tractor beauty parlor looking pretty good.

This tractor was purchased new by my father back in 1959. Here it is pictured a long way from home in the parking lot of Morrow Collision Center in Lincoln, NE. My son's own and operate this shop.

The tractor spent most of it's years on the farm hooked to a feed wagon. Most years it was busy feeding cattle from October to the following May when the fattened cattle were usually sold. It has always spent it's summers mowing weeds in and around the farm.

Here she has been dismantled a bit and is in the early stages of sandblasting.

Here they have moved it inside to begin the process of replacing several seals that were leaking. "Dad, you can't put a nice paint job on a tractor that is going to be leaking oil all over." Point taken.

They've moved it into the paint booth for the beginning of the painting process. They first applied an epoxy primer to ensure good adhesion of the final coats.

The gauge cluster was one of the first things to be finished. They obtained many new OEM gauges to make the old tractor look as it did when it was new. They ordered new, custom wiring for the tractor and installed it, making allowances for the alternator that had been installed by me years earlier. It originally came out with a generator.

They've brought it back into the booth and taken off the wheels for the main frames' two coats of paint. It was a single stage urethane. Very costly paint but my son guaranteed it would outlast me, and him and his children.

A picture of son Tom after finishing one of the final coats. They did apply three coats to the seat and running boards for extra protection in high wear areas. Tom is in the space suit.

Here I'm seen making good use of visiting hours. Son Dan on the right.

The tractor is completed here and secured to their trailer. My two sons pose for a nice photo before it leaves the big city for it's life back on the farm.

The first driver back on the farm is Colton, our grandson who lives here on the same farm. He is now the fourth generation of Morrow's to operate this tractor.

Daughter Juli and I pose with the Allis. Juli uses the tractor now for mowing road ditches. Or at least will when the goody wears off of the restoration.

Marilyn was impressed with my 'like new' tractor. I thought she looked a bit excited like she wanted a kiss or something.

I guess not.

Hold Up

2009-10-22T08:10:00.000-07:00

Lovely day. Steady light to moderate rain. Forty degrees. North wind @ 35 to 40 mph. We are at 2" of rain and counting.
The lower fields were already too wet. We'll likely have to wait for the ground to freeze to finish harvest. After Christmas. But look at the bright side... okay, there isn't one.
This all reminds me of the two farmers talking: "If it keeps raining so we can't harvest, I'm going to need to rob a bank."
The other farmer replies: " If it keeps raining, I've already robbed a bank."

All I can say is "Put your hands up!"

MY NEW FRIENDS

2009-10-19T04:27:00.000-07:00

Midwest Producer
October 23rd Edition

I’ve found new ways to offend people without leaving my computer. It started about three weeks ago. It began the day I feared that my eyesight was failing me on a permanent basis. I sat down to check email. I did get some email. I get a lot of email because I have just two options on filtering email through my service provider. I had the choice of Option A: Don’t allow anything to get through to your inbox, or Option B: Allow absolutely everything. I apparently clicked on the everything option.
The day in question I couldn’t focus on the email, everything was blurry. No matter how many times I held my readers up to the light and re-cleaned my left lens, I couldn’t get it clean. The right one was fine. Clean as a whistle. I cleaned the left lens over and over and looked at the computer between each attempt. It was still very blurred. I began to think of the diseases that suddenly take your eyesight when you near 60 years of age. Was this the end of my visual years? Was I destined to look at life as one big impressionist painting? No by golly! I got up from my desk and stepped on something. It was the right lens from my glasses, problem solved.
I found a different pair of glasses and things were better. I then started deleting email as is my habit but found a couple of letters from a computer at a company called Facebook telling me that certain people, people I knew, wanted to be my friends. All I had to do was confirm by clicking here and I’d be on my way to Facebook.
I decided not to click on these letters from friends for the same reason I won’t click on the ones from Xynana and Carlah and Bob W offering to take me off their list if I’ll just click here. Or the folks with stranger names offering good times in faraway places with Tonya. The two Viagra ads I get everyday get deleted. Don’t tell him but I do that without asking my Doctor if I’m healthy enough to delete them. My wife says I am healthy enough to delete them.
No, these new emails are from the new friends at Facebook that I didn’t even know I had. After asking, I found that my wife had signed us up on Facebook in order to look at pictures on Facebook that her brother from Texas had published. So I therefore, did indeed, have a Facebook account.
What does that mean? As far as I know, without my knowledge or consent, I now have about thirty friends waiting for me to confirm that I’m their friend. I’m getting more friends daily. I guess I should call these friends of mine but I don’t have the phone numbers I’m going to need to call and tell them that I like them too. I must be hurting their feelings.
I called my son in Lincoln for help. He owns a body shop and has hundreds of friends and customers on Facebook. Turns out he doesn’t need his Dad as a friend. “It’s just wouldn’t seem right Dad, but you should learn how to use the account.”
I said, “Dan, I’m on the county board, I wouldn’t feel right about telling everyone what I’m up to every minute of the day.” He said, “You’re in the phone book Dad, everyone knows where you live, you’ve been there for almost 60 years now.” “Get over it and get on with the future.”
Well I feel guilty about all of these folks wanting to be my friend and me not responding. If I do learn to do this, what would I say? What could I write? Let me practice. Let’s see, I would write:
Me: I’m writing my column for the Midwest Producer.
You: What are your columns about?
See! I was afraid someone would ask me something I couldn’t answer.
I liked computers better when I only had the one lens.

Societal Insanity

2009-10-16T07:42:00.000-07:00

You've all probably heard about the New York Eagle Scout who has been suspended for first 5 days and then an additional 15 days for having a 2" pocket knife locked in his survival kit which was locked in the trunk of his car which was parked on school property.
The same people who made this hard and fast rule against weapons of any kind, would be defending his rights if he had been attempting to perform late term abortions with it in the backseat of that same car. At least he would have had the ACLU to help him in court.
Every good parent knows that judgement, discretion, and common sense must govern the administration of every hard and fast rule.
Hopefully this kid will achieve his goal of attending a US Military academy. I would follow him into battle at any time and trust him with the future of this country.
As for the Superintendent and his school board...I wouldn't follow any of them to a restroom.
cm

Great Article

2009-10-11T21:48:00.000-07:00

If you have two extra minutes I would encourage you to read this article written by my boss, Terry Anderson at the Midwest Producer.

The Nobel Peace Prize

2009-10-10T05:05:00.000-07:00

President Obama has won the Nobel Peace Prize.
**
He says he was surprised.
**
I'll bet he was.

**
When the President travels to Oslo to accept the prize, I'm guessing the Secret Service will have Kanye West under observation.

Eating The Bait

2009-10-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

Midwest Producer
9-11-2009 Edition

September is my favorite month of the year; that is until October arrives on the scene. The farm sort of goes into a holding pattern while we wait for crop maturity to get here. It affords the opportunity to do things you’ve put off all summer, like fishing. We wanted to go fishing this afternoon so after church we hustled home and hooked the boat onto to the Chevy and headed for the levee. (Sorry, I just about broke into song there) The pontoon boat that we purchased last winter didn’t have a depth finder and that explains why we hadn’t caught any fish the first few times we had the boat in the water. Any self respecting fisherman is aware that you must know the depth of the water before making a good presentation of the bait. Presentation in food is everything, right? I know I heard Julia Childs say that back in her days and I’m sure it also applies to catfish.
We had zero fish to show for our first two times out and that only served to validate my need for a trip to Cabelas for a depth finder. I didn’t need anything fancy. I just wanted to know the depth and I wasn’t planning on trying to find sunken treasure boats or the Titanic. “The cheapest one you’ve got will do me just fine, I already know how to fish.” I said smugly. The man wanted to sell me one with GPS and mapping capabilities so I could easily return to a new found hot spot any time I needed to. “Nope,” I told him “I’ll just paint an X in the bottom of the boat if I have a need to mark the spot. No sense of humor for this guy. I bought the cheap one.
Well I must say it was a pretty nifty installation I performed yesterday and it worked flawlessly. I proudly pronounced that we had eight feet of water right behind the boat as we pulled away from the dock. We hit 18 feet and I shut the motor down and gave the command to drop anchor. As Marilyn sighed she said, “I suppose you want me to do that” as she went to the front to ease the anchor down into the water, she asked if this was the depth we were looking for. “Yep this should be perfect.” I was confident, I am the Captain after all.
I repeated those same words over and over throughout the afternoon as we tried 12 feet and 22 and eight and everything in between. We used worms and chicken livers as well as commercial prepared bait and not to mention a feather covered varmint from the bottom of my tackle box. We anchored some. We drifted some. Not a nibble.
Before long I had yielded to the temptation of that big couch across the back of the boat. I stretched out and before falling asleep in that crisp autumn air; I explained the big mistake we had made to my still eagerly fishing wife. “Catfish will bite on chicken livers and night crawlers but we should have brought bait shrimp along too, they love shrimp.
“But we didn’t have any bait shrimp at home,” she replied. I said, “No but we have that two pound package of ‘people shrimp’ in the freezer, the ones we’ve been saving for something special.” “We could have dipped one of those shrimp in the lake to find out that the catfish weren’t biting and dipped the rest of them in cocktail sauce.”
We now have a plan for next time and I’ll bet we won’t care how deep the water is.

What About Ralph

2009-09-28T06:15:00.000-07:00

Most of you know Ralph of Homespun Headlines fame. He's a good friend of mine. Our wives think we have nothing in common but they don't need to know everything. I talk to Ralph on a regular basis. That means 4 or 5 times one week but maybe once in the 2 weeks after that. We usually pick up right where we left off. Ralph isn't afraid to give is word on something and when he does he keeps it. That's what this post is about.
This is Char getting ready to 'net' Ralph who appears to be bringing in the big one. They're standing in the front of our boat. The picture was taken 9 days ago.

Here is Ralph making breakfast in the cabin we rented for the weekend.

Here is our traditional goodbye picture we always take one. We always stand in this order. I'm on the Right, Marilyn is in white and the other two are Ralph and Char.

I bring all of this up because they had to drive about 6 hours to get to this spot which is about half way between our homes. He took Char home Sunday nite the 20th. Then on Wednesday the 23rd, he drove the ten hours back across Nebraska to see our new Grandson in a Lincoln, NE hospital. All by himself. BECAUSE? Well, because he promised Tom and his wife several months back, that if you have that baby on my birthday, Sept 22nd, I'll drive out to see him in the hospital. They did and he did. When told to stay home and that it was too far to drive, he simply replied, "I gave my word."

The Campbells and Morrows both have grown and married children and what is kind of different here is that we parents are also good friends with each others children.

I guess Ralph and I are both pretty fortunate and we know it. That's what we have in common.

One last thing, it seems that this summer has been so busy with weddings, reunions, fishing, bithday parties and etc, that everytime we say goodbye to the Campbells, it's followed by "See you in two weeks." That's not always been the case this summer but close.

See you Thursday Campbells.

It's a Boy!

2009-09-23T06:17:00.000-07:00

We snapped this picture of son Tom and his family on Sunday afternoon. We were on our way home from the lake and had stopped to see their recently completed kitchen project. Hudson was all smiles and Steph was, well, still pregnant.

This is the same group two days later, yesterday the 22nd. The only difference is Hudson has a new baby brother. This was his first meeting with his little brother and he didn't offer to knock him down or take a toy back or any of that stuff that will be reserved for later. These are two loving, firm, but patient parents and two very lucky children.

This is one of the four lucky grandparents holding an as yet to be named boy. I am expecting a call about the name very soon. You can suggest a name but I can tell you that Cliff and even Ralph have been suggested and rejected. This in view of the fact that yesterday was also Ralph's birthday makes it even more... well, probably not surprising.
I don't know how long it will take for that smile to disappear from Grandma Marilyn's face but when it does, it will return everytime she picks up a grandchild.
UPDATE:
Cooper Leo
8# 9 OZ-

20.5" Tall

The Last of the Wedding

2009-09-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

Let me explain something for those who asked. The reason the Campbells and the Morrow's know each other is that my bride Marilyn (L) and Char (Mrs Ralph) have known each other most of their lives. You know, same neighborhood and schools and such. I think the fact that Ralph and I both have an attraction to good looking women is why we're all friends. By him self, Ralph, like me, is nothing to write home about.

Ralph toasting his Son and new DIL Desiree and family. It was delivered with the eloquence we've come to expect from this man.

His new Grandaughter also thought it was touching...OR...she didn't much like it judging by her tears. It was the former btw. She is a lovely, mature young lady.

Me and my buddy Ralph. An umpire's uniform made me feel under dressed. However if anyone had mentioned it I would have ejected them from the party.

The cutting of the wedding cake by the Mr and Mrs Campbell.

This whole thing, the wedding, the reception, were all fun. I don't care who you are.

2009-08-24T05:40:00.000-07:00

I sometimes wonder what kind of boring existence I would lead were it not for the Campbells. There doesn't seem to be a reason why we even know each other let alone having them be more than friends. I guess the mutual admiration comes mostly because of the entertainment value we find in each other.
If you can't find it in this picture then I guess I can't explain it. The Co-Best men posed for a picture with the 'officiant' as they are described by Colorado law. The officiant doesn't need to be an umpire but if the wedding is going to be on a baseball field, then it's okay. The umpire isn't really an umpire but he plays one during weddings.

Several months ago I got a call and was told that I was going to be asked to perform a wedding ceremony. One side of me wanted to say no. The thinking being that I didn't need the chance to mess up someone else's wedding. But the overwhelming sentiment from within was a feeling of honor that these two, Desiree and Nate, would think as much of me as I do of them. Nate is Ralph and Char's son and Desiree and her children have together become part of this farm family and we to theirs. All of this coupled with the fact that it was so far in advance of the wedding that it was really something that would never happen. Maybe with luck I would succumb to Blog Flu or perhaps cancer, well in advance of the event. No such luck.

Some of you know I do my best work when under extreme pressure and although I traveled to Denver with the words I wanted to say, all in my computer, the segments were not arranged in proper order, nor were they until game day morning. Err..the day of the wedding. The grooms mother, Char, who is a computer genius, and who had too much to do that day, calmly helped take product from my laptop, converted it into something that would work on her computer and then printed it out. Sorry Char for being such a pain at the last minute, but you are good.

You see, these two, Nate and Desiree, are ardent baseball fans and wanted to be married in a replica of Coors Field where the Rockies play. It indeed was a sceinic venue for a wedding. The grounds crew had done a marvelous job and had the field prepared for play, or a wedding, whichever came first.

The crowd was told to come dressed casually and fun was in the air.

I must say that the wedding had a good balance of fun and deep meaning. I had scores of folks come to me and say that it was the most meaningful and or best wedding they had ever attended sighting the venue, the message, the ballpark organ music and on and on. I am so happy for the couple and know this is done deal. What a great concept they started with.
I should have told them "There's no flowers in basefall." Here I am in the stands waiting for the wedding to begin.

I'm going to start with some photos in no particular order because, well, that's the way blogger treats me. I tell it to put the picture here and it ends up there.

The first pic is of the field in it's ready to go state.

Next is Bubba posing. The third pic was taken during the wedding vows.The last shot is of course the lighting of the "Unity Baseballs."

The lovely girl standing behind Desiree is her daughter. These three along with Bubba make the new family unit and I must say they are all winners.

My next post will be five photo's from the reception.

I'll leave you with the last paragraph from my message to the couple.

'Live, Laugh and Love, like there is no tomorrow, because eventually, that will be the case. Turn to God often, put your trust in him, and he will surely Bless this marriage from now until time immemorial. Be childlike, wonder at everything, Be in awe of Gods goodness.'

Disagreement

2009-08-23T06:19:00.000-07:00

Marilyn opined that she thought I was 'Out of Shape.'

I said "No...you're incorrect;... Round IS a shape."