She Was Beautiful

"Farm Homemaker:" At first glance, the terminology may seem as archaic as wearing pearls, a perfectly-pressed apron and high heels while making dinner for the family. 

But, after spending two days with farm women from Kansas, Iowa, Colorado and Kentucky, my perspective has changed.

I started life as a Farm Daughter. I moved into my role as Farm Wife and Homemaker more than 34 years ago. But I, too, can get caught in the trap of thinking maybe farm women should change their image. Before I went to the National Master Farm Homemaker Guild conference at the end of August, I thought to myself, "Maybe they should change the name to Master Farm Family or Master Farm Partner. Maybe it shouldn't be Master Farmer and Master Farm Homemaker any longer."

Being a "homemaker" may not be society's ideal job for women any longer. But whether a mom goes to work at an 8-to-5 job at a city high rise office building or is trying to figure out yet another meal to take the harvest field, aren't we all trying to do the best for our families?

Just like other women, farm women come in all shapes and sizes. They are young and old and in between. Some work in the field alongside their husbands. Some keep the books. Some have dinner on the table at 12 noon without fail. Some load up the meal in the car and deliver it places that no Pizza Hut delivery guy could ever hope to find, even with GPS. Some, like my ag-vocate friend, Jen, have a Take Your Child To Work Day on a regular old Friday, not some corporate day designed to assuage Mommy guilt.

Photo by Jenny Burgess, Follow burgesshillfarms on Instagram. Used with permission.

I'm fairly new to the Master Farm Homemaker Guild. We were one of six Kansas farm couples named to the Class of 2013 Master Farmer/Master Farm Homemaker, and we were officially welcomed into the group in March 2014. In Kansas, farm couples have been chosen for this honor for their commitment to agriculture, family and the community since 1927.

The convention in Hutchinson was my first national convention. My mom, Janis Moore, was one of the co-chairs for the convention, along with Lois Schlickau of Haven, so there was no question that I would go and help where needed. My parents have been to several of the national conventions since they were selected as a Kansas Master Farmer/Master Farm Homemaker in 1989.

When I opened my program book and saw the National Master Farm Homemakers Guild Goals, my thoughts about changing the name or the organization itself flew away as swiftly as chaff separates from wheat in a Kansas wind.

The No. 1 goal is:

Place a greater focus on the family and create a greater awareness of problems that are affecting family life today. Demonstrate the highest possible standards of living in our farm homes. Emphasize the positive aspects of farm life.

Who can argue with that? I can't and don't want to.

Other goals that resonated with me were:

2. Encourage our members to be aware and come to the aid of farm families in the U.S., whose livelihoods are threatened by unexpected crisis.
3. Encourage and motivate younger people to become involved with agribusiness.
9. Encourage and assist women to actively participate in community and agricultural organizations.
11. Encourage women to use and promote all farm products.
      A. Be aware of and talk about their nutritional and economic value.
      B. Be more aware of adverse/false statements made about farm products and make every attempt to correct them. 

When I see my Facebook feed stuffed with anti-GMO rhetoric or applause for the "moral decisions" that businesses like Chipolte and Panera are making, I want to be one of those farm homemakers who is speaking out and telling the truth.

Despite using modern technology here on the County Line, we are not a "factory farm." We, like 99 percent of the farms in the U.S., are a family farm. 

It's one reason I blog. I realize I'm not impacting that many people with my little slice of the Internet, but I keep plugging away, trying to make a difference. And the terminology isn't what's important. Call me a Farm Homemaker. Call me a Farm Partner. Call me a Farm Family. It's living out the goals that define me and my peers, not a name.

Photo I took of a farm couple at the 2010 3i show.

During the memorial service at the national convention, Sandra Roberts from Princeton, Kentucky, read the F. Scott Fitzgerald poem, "She was beautiful." (See the photo illustration at the top of this blog post.) Simply put, I loved it.

She also read Sierra Shea's "So God Made A Farmer's Wife." Shea, a South Dakota farm wife, was inspired to write the prose after seeing the Ram truck commercial during the Super Bowl, which featured "So God Made a Farmer," written by Paul Harvey. Click on the link for the whole thing, but here are just a few of the phrases:

And on the 9th day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, "Oh, dear, the farmer is going to need help." So God made a farmer's wife. 

God said, "I need somebody who will get up before dawn, make breakfast, work all day in the kitchen, bank, school or alongside her farmer and then come home to fix supper and wash up the dishes." So God make a farmer's wife. 

Somebody who'd sew a family together with the soft strong stitches of sharing, who would laugh and then sigh and then reply with smiling eyes when her daughter says she wants to spend her life "doing what mom does."

So God made a farmer's wife.

So, call me what you'd like. Call me a farm wife ... or a farm partner ... or a farm family .. or a farm homemaker. It's not the terminology that's important. It's the job itself.

My friend and classmate, Diana Hemphill, got these at an auction and then gave them to me. Thanks, Diana! They are beautifully framed, but since I wanted you to be able to read them, I just focused on the cross-stitched words.

Find Gregory St. Amand: A Book Review

Beth Harrison St. Amand never expected to write a book about death by suicide. As a registered nurse for 25 years, she had walked with patients through death and health crises, some suicidal in nature.  But Find Gregory St. Amand is a story no mother wants to tell. Still, it is a memoir she believes she needed to write after her 20-year-old son, Greg, died by suicide.

Though the book’s goal is suicide prevention and help for other families, Beth found a way to bring Greg to “life” for readers through using his artwork for chapter dividers and by sharing stories and photos from his friends. Adding those personal glimpses of Greg offers a far greater impact to readers than a laundry list of suicide statistics and resources.

The book’s name comes from the Facebook group the St. Amands formed when they were searching for Greg. Later, after Greg’s body was discovered, the Facebook group became a place where Beth and Greg’s friends shared love and encouragement. Those stories provided a touchstone for his family and friends as they worked through their grief and offered a way for readers to "get to know" Greg. 

“Personal need may have initiated my writing, but it was the desire to warn other parents about suicide’s silent risks that motivated me to finish,” St. Amand writes in the book.  “One suicide survivor’s book may not challenge the misinformation circulating about suicide, but if enough of us share our stories, we may indeed help increase awareness, transform prejudices and dispel the secrecy and shame that obstruct so many from diagnosis and treatment.”

Society places a stigma on suicide. Mothers whose children are diagnosed with cancer or Type I diabetes find people lining up to support them. And yet, St. Amand contends that the mental processes that drove Greg to suicide were driven by a biological malfunction, much like an aggressive cancer or unmanaged diabetes. Suicide is the third leading cause of death in people aged 15 to 24 in the United States.

“I share Greg’s story to help put suicide on parents’ radars,” St. Amand writes. “I share it to help change the misconceptions and prejudices that keep our loved ones silent. But if this book does one thing, I hope it inspires comfortable, nonjudgmental conversation about emotional pain and suicide PRIOR to crisis. ‘If it can happen to the St. Amands, it can happen to any of us,’ said a community member. She is absolutely right. Greg could be any parent’s child.”

Much as she’d like to change it, Greg is a suicide statistic. She can’t change that reality. Nor can her husband, Paul, or their other two children, Allie and Daniel. But she hopes the book will keep other families.

Hindsight is 20/20. As the St. Amands looked back after Greg’s body was found, they could see a few warning signs. But many youth navigate similar setbacks without ending their lives with suicide.

“It was not Greg’s death that rocked my world so harshly. It was his unspoken pain and suicide. How could I not see what was happening to him? Where were my professional instincts? Where was my mother’s intuition? Paul and I were conscientious, nurturing parents to Greg, and he was smart, capable person. I counted on these things to carry him successfully into adulthood.”

In the book, St. Amand talks about her crisis of faith after Greg’s death, working through anger at God and at herself.

 “What happened to my son? What happened to my towheaded, imaginative child with penetrating green eyes? What happened to the teenager with big plans and the infectious laugh, whom we affectionately called Sugar-man because he was sweet and Stud-muffin because he was handsome? What happened to the happy boy who loved life and adventure?

“… At first, I thought Greg died because of a series of immature personal decisions that worsened his depression, causing him to spiral down into a darkness ending in death – a rational person choosing his fate. I think differently now. Choice played a role in the decisions that led to his suicide, but choice was not the underlying problem that made him vulnerable to self-destruction in the first place. Suicidology, the scientific study of suicide and suicide prevention, is in its infancy. We have limited knowledge about the brain, thus we do not have conclusive evidence to explain why suicide occurs in some people and not in others.”

In the book, St. Amand examines some of the latest research into suicide risk factors, acknowledging that “suicide is too complex for a single study or theory to adequately explain the cause(s).” She also offers resources for parents.

In 2014, the National Alliance for Suicide Prevention set this goal:  “Foster positive public dialogue; counter shame, prejudice and silence; and build public support for suicide prevention.”

“Talking about suicide can potentially save lives: Avoidance cannot,” St. Amand wrote in the book.

And that, in a nutshell, is the reason she wrote the book. It is available for Kindle and in paperback at Amazon. 

525,600 Minutes

I've had a song tumbling around in my head since I heard it again this week. The Stafford High School choir performed "Seasons of Love" at its spring concert. The song is from the Broadway musical, "Rent," which I've never seen, but the song transcended the stage.

Having songs on automatic mental repeat is normal for me. Thankfully, this one has both a beautiful melody line and message. And, as it has underscored my days since Monday night, I've thought about how it perfectly illustrates this coming weekend for me.

Brent & his dog he named Lucky, because he was so lucky to have him.

Brent has a birthday on Saturday. For 26 years, I've shared Mother's Day weekend with a special guy. Each of those years represents 525,600 minutes. How do we measure a year?

 Seasons Of Love

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

in daylight,

 in sunsets,

in midnights,

in cups of coffee,

in inches, in miles,

Photo by Gina Dreher

 in laughter, 

in strife

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure a year in a life?

How about love?

How about love?

How about love?

Measure in love...

Seasons of love...

seasons of love...

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Photo by Stan Reimer, Pratt

How do you measure a life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned

Photo by Gina Dreher, Wichita

or in times that she cried

 

in bridges he burned

or the way that she died

It's time now to sing out 

though the story never ends

Let's celebrate - 

remember a year in a life of friends

My Mom and me

Remember the love...

(oh, you gotta remember the love) 

Randy and his mom, Marie, March 1956

Remember the love...

(oh yeah, it's a gift from up above)

Remember the love...

(sing out, give out, measure your life in love)

Seasons of love...

Photo by Emily Brensing of Emily J Photography

seasons of love...

Happy Mother's Day to my Mom, to my daughter, Jill, and all the women who have played such a vital role in my life. I'm also remembering my mother-in-law, Marie, and the Grandmas in my life who'll be waiting at heaven's gates.  I've been blessed beyond measure!

Enjoy the beautiful song, if you'd like! 

A Father With a Mother's Heart

Thanks to Morgan Hildebrand for allowing me to use her chick photos from Priority Ranch, Stafford, KS. Check out her blog, Priority Ranch and see more photos of the chickens and other animals they raise on their farm.

... How often I have longed to gather 
your children together,

 as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings ...

Matthew 23: 37

The animal kingdom at our farm doesn't include hens and chicks. But as I read those words from Matthew 23, I think back to my grandparents' farm. Each spring, they would purchase baby chicks and put them under heat lamps in the brooder house until they grew big enough to survive without the extra pampering. When I was a child, I loved seeing those little balls of yellow fluff huddled together. I loved touching their downy feathers. They weren't nearly as cute when they grew up to be hens, and we had to move them out of the way to get to the eggs in the hen house.

Photo by Morgan Hildebrand, Priority Ranch

But even as I remember the pecking and racket of the hen house, I think about it a little differently now as a mother and grandmother - and I as read the words from Matthew. 

While most often we hear about "God the Father," the Matthew 23 verse gives us that maternal essence of God.

The birthing process is God’s idea. He’s maternally given birth to the universe, birth to our planet, and birth to us. Most importantly He’s given us re-birth. Simply stated, He is Father God with a mother’s heart. Waiting to wipe every tear; sitting up with us through the night; and listening to our troubles—solving them while we are yet speaking. 

Christian Author Susan Watkins

Each year, I am mystified by motherhood as we work with our cow/calf herd on our South Central Kansas farm. When we move the cow/calf pairs to different corrals or pastures, we separate the mamas and their babies to keep the babies (and the humans) safe.

The mamas don't realize we are doing it for a purpose. They protest - LOUDLY - when they are on one side of a fence ... and their babies are on another.

They bellow at the barn because they know their babies went that direction on the way to the trailer. Then they move the protest to the fence and watch as the trailer leaves them behind.

It's always amazing to me when it's time for the mamas and babies to reunite. The babies barrel out of the trailer in search of their mamas. 

It doesn't take long before the "lost" is again found by each mama and welcomed home for a nuzzle and a snack.

And isn't that how God seeks us? Our Heavenly Father has a mother's heart.

He seeks us when we're lost. (Luke 15: 3-6). He numbers the hairs on our heads (Luke 12: 6-8). He rejoices over us. His thoughts about us outnumber the grains of sand (Psalm 139). Isn't that just like a mother?

Happy Mother's Day to my Mom ...

Me and my mom, 1957

and to my daughter. She did the important job of making me a grandma.

 

It's a pretty wonderful job description! I think there's a little Grandma in our Father God, too!

Kinley & me at the Topeka Zoo - April 2013

***

Since 1988, I've shared Mother's Day weekend with Brent's birthday. Happy Birthday today to Brent! He's celebrating today by working a Morehead State University baseball game. As far as I know, there won't be any Teenage Mutant Ninja turtle-inspired cakes in the press box. But he did get homemade Chex mix in the mail from me.

 ***

Be sure and check out Morgan Hildebrand's blog, Priority Ranch. Again, I thank her for allowing me to use her chick photos. We have our share of cattle and cats here on our farm, but you'll want to see the menagerie of animals that live at Priority Ranch and the people who care for them. Click on the link to "visit."

***

This is a version of my Food for Thought blog on the Lovely Branches Ministries website, where the theme this month is "The Mystery of Motherhood." My friend, Suzanne, talks about the power of a positive Mom on her blog, Heart and Home Matters.  

If you're anywhere near Stafford, you'll want to visit the Taste and See Coffee House, also a ministry of Lovely Branches. Click on the link for hours of operation.  

Oh Baby!

Just like a human mama's role evolves as her baby grows, so does the life and times of a Mama Cat.

Only one of a litter of three kittens born on the County Line in April survived. But the little gray kitty is now venturing out from the hidden recesses of the old backyard fireplace and exploring the world with its Mama.

The two are hanging out in the backyard with the other farmyard cats these days. Randy is diligently working on taming the baby. He is the Pied Piper of cats. The little kitty comes running when he steps outside.

The baby is exploring new food options. 

This last weekend, Jill sent us a photo of Kinley exploring her world in a new way, too. She was a big girl and sat up during a shopping trip with her Mom. (Actually, they were exploring new food options, too. They bought some sippy cups and some bowls and spoons for Kinley's new adventure - rice cereal and water when she turns 6 months at the end of June.)

Isn't it amazing how many changes happen in such a short time? Whether it's a baby kitten or a human baby, life changes in the blink of an eye.

Babies grow.

And mamas are there to stand by and help us learn and laugh through it all.

Well, I'm not so sure about the laughing part when it comes to cats. I think they work on their looks of disdain.