Building a Bridge: A 14th Blog-iversary

From a trip in 2020

It took 14 years for Mount Rushmore to be translated from idea to stone. Brooklyn Bridge construction took 14 years before it spanned the river, connecting New York and Brooklyn. But we don't typically make a big deal about a 14th anniversary.

And while 14 isn't a magic multiple of 5 - the hallmark of anniversary celebrations - I still want to mark this day as the 14th year since I first pressed "publish" on my inaugural Kim's County Line blog post. As I've said before, I began blogging for that reason every mother hates hearing: Other people were doing it. In my case, it was my sister, my niece and my daughter. (None of the rest of them are still blogging.) I also was recruited to write a monthly post for a women's devotional blog for a local church. Having my own "spot" to write and share photography seemed like a natural evolution. So, Kim's County Line was born on January 24, 2010. In those 14 years, I've published 2,220 blog posts.

December 27, 2023

 

For the past 14 years, Kim's County Line has helped me track our lives on a five-generation Central Kansas farm. Having this avenue to collect words and photos has helped me to connect with our  heritage and this life in a new way. 

 

And back to that Brooklyn Bridge analogy: It's been a way for me to connect with people far away from the plains of Kansas and share our story.

 

 

It isn't just my story and Randy's. We stand on the shoulders of our ancestors who came to Kansas for the promise of land ownership and a desire to dream big and work hard on the Kansas plains. That seems fitting as we approach Kansas Day next week, celebrating 163 years since our state joined the Union. 

 

And, with our retirement from active farming in August 2022, the blog evolved again. I'm still writing, but the frequency and the content have shifted. But that's been happening my whole life. I remember "writing" my first story at a women's church meeting (WSCS) in the basement of the Byers Methodist Church. My mom handed me a little notebook and I scratched out a few words and pictures on the lined sheets of paper. With Kim's County Line, I've substituted my crude hand-drawn illustrations with clicks of the camera shutter. 

 

The Class Prophecy for Skyline High School's Class of 1975 predicted I'd be a writer at The New York Times by now. Since I'm a small-town girl through and through, I never bought into the vision some creative classmate penned 49 years ago.

 

At the time, I suppose we all envisioned that success was measured far, far away from Kansas. But maybe our 17- and 18-year-old selves were a little short-sighted. (Imagine that.) But the writing - in one form or another - has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I even chose it for my profession. 

It was a way to share the story of a 5th-generation farm family. It gave a platform for our voice telling about agriculture and didn't depend on a fast food restaurant or animal welfare group to define who we are and what we do. It was a way to record family history. It offered a glimpse of the work we were doing to our landlords and to anyone else who decided to follow along. 

 

 

And it changed me, too. The blog has given me the eyes to see how small, simple things are really the most important things of all. Even the most mundane, everyday things can cause us to pause in wonder.

 

 I hope it's created positive ripples in this world. 

 

I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples. 

Mother Teresa

 

Each quarter, I've compiled my blog posts into hardcover blog books. I got my latest one on Monday and added another volume to the bookcase.

 

For now, I continue to write and share photos. I continue to tell stories. And I want to thank those of you who come along for the journey - whether it's every time I post or whether you just take an occasional jaunt down the County Line.

It's my blogiversary, but to celebrate, one person will get a gift from me ...

• a selection of my photo notecards, or ...

 

•  a copy of "Count on It! Adventures from a Kansas Farm" my rhyming, farm-themed counting book, ...

• OR a revamped version of my farm alphabet book

To qualify, either comment about this blog post in the comment section of the blog or on my Facebook page, Kim Moore Fritzemeier. If you use the blog for comments, you'll have to type in your name or it will show "anonymous." Or, if you have trouble with either of those avenues, you may email me at rkjbfarms@gmail.com. The winner will be chosen at random from the commenters. Enter your comment by January 31 for a chance to win.

Again, I thank you! 

***

UPDATE: Winner of the drawing is Jan Blasi, who commented on Facebook. She has chosen to receive photo notecards. Thanks to all for your comments and for your support!

 

 

 

Out of the Shadows?

For the first time, my name was mentioned as a seller at the sale barn last week.
It's only taken 38 years.
It's about the best Valentine's present I could get.

It may seem like a silly thing to celebrate. But, if I'm honest, my exclusion in years' past has really stuck in my craw.

"Thank you, Randy and Kim," the sale barn manager said as the sale wrapped up and our feeder calves surged through the doors to be loaded out. I almost fell off my chair.

For the past several years (at least), my name has been included on the sheet we present to the sale barn. I know because I've typed it! It's an information sheet that says when the calves were weaned, what vaccinations they've received and how they've been cared for.

And, yet, each of those years, Randy's name was the only one mentioned as the seller on the day of the sale. And I was sitting right there, too!

I fully admit that I'm not as involved in the day-to-day care of the cattle as Randy. But I am definitely a partner in this enterprise.

October 2011

Later, I joked to Randy that I only had to have my life flash before my eyes during a 4-wheeler accident while moving cattle for me to actually get mentioned at the sale barn.

I know one didn't have a thing to do with the other.
It was just a joke, I quipped to my husband.
Maybe it was a joke?
But not really.
I said I was going to write about it.
He said I should.

 

I know that Randy values my partnership on the farm. But it seemed the surrounding ag world didn't necessarily see that value. I'm not getting a paycheck.

Therefore, my contribution must be negligible, even though I perform every task to the best of my ability - and, often, with better skills and less drama than extra helpers who are getting paid.

My mother-in-law Marie, Jean Newell Fritzemeyer & Marjorie Giedinghagen on a cattle working day back in the 1950s.

So, every year at the sale barn, as only Randy's name got mentioned, I thought, "This is no different than 50 years ago when my mother-in-law was Mrs. Melvin Fritzemeier and my mother was Mrs. Bob Moore."

From the kids' memory/history book from my Mom & Dad. Note the caption - the first tractor Janis drove doing field work.

And, for the record, I learned a lot about cleaning house and making meals because my mom was on a tractor when I was an elementary-aged kid. (See the photo above.) She's been a major part of the farm partnership for all their married lives - 65 years and counting!

 

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to be Mrs. Randy Fritzemeier. But I also have my own identity and name separate from my husband.

Other women's names were mentioned as sellers at the February 7 sale, too. I asked Randy later, "Do you think someone else complained?" For the record, we didn't. But I still wondered what precipitated the change.

Just like other women in today's world, 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.

Taken while filling up a diesel tank at the Kanza Co-op, Zenith branch

Some work at off-farm jobs to help supplement farm income. I drove to Hutchinson to work for more years than I wanted early in our marriage, and I've had part-time employment of some sort for most of our married lives. All of those things have been essential to the success of the farm.

 

My friend and classmate, Diana Hemphill, got these at an auction and then gave them to me. Thanks, Diana!
 
And that doesn't count the hands-on work - cattle gathering and sorting, truck driver, chauffeur, go-fer, fertilizer deliverer, fuel retrieval, secretary and landlord correspondence, meal planning and execution ...and that just scratches the surface.

I did a Google search for "value of a farm wife." Honestly, I didn't find a lot. (That probably is telling in itself.) But a 20-year-old article in The Producer gave an annual value of $19,000, based on a Canadian judge's ruling after a farm wife's fatality accident on the farm. Even 20 years ago, Manitoba Women’s Institute past-president Barbara Stienwandt said it was too low. In the article, Carolyn Van Dine, president of the Canadian Farm Women’s Network, said her group was trying to make people realize how crucial farm women are.

“If you were to take farm women out of the agriculture business in Canada the impact would be huge. We’d lose an awful lot of farms.”

Winter sunrise at my sunrise tree

I don't want to leave the impression that I'm complaining ... at least, not too much. I know that I am truly blessed. My payments come in the form of having a beautiful place to live and work on the County Line. They come in having a front-row seat for the changing of the seasons and the splendor of God's handiwork - spring, summer, winter and fall. They come from a husband who invites me to grab my camera and come to the pasture to look at bluebirds. (Photos from that next week!) A quick phone call from Randy telling me that the sunrise or the sunset is worth a trip down the road is better than a dozen roses to me.

But getting a mention is still nice. Isn't it interesting how the smallest things can make a big difference? That's true on Valentine's Day, too.

Check out this little calf. I think it looks like he has a white heart on his chest. So there's my Valentine. Randy's Valentine from me will come in the form of a homemade blueberry pie today. Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, too! May you find joy in the small things, too!

My, How Times Have Changed? Or Have They?

My mother-in-law Marie, Jean Newell Fritzemeyer & Marjorie Giedinghagen

In an old scrapbook, this photo was labeled "3 cooks for cattle round up day."

I didn't wear my apron or my crisp cotton dress for our latest cattle round up day. I may have been the cook, too, but I was breathing in more than soup from the slow cooker ...

Like dust from an old barn's alleyway ...

... and eau de toilette (I know lots of consumers are into "organic" these days. This was organic all right! That's what happens when you're trying to push baby calves into the trailer!

While the trio of cooks from the 1950s were busy putting together a meal, the fellas were rounding up and sorting the cattle.

L to R: Clarence Fritzemeier (Randy's Grandpa) Milton Giedinghagen, Ben Fritzemeyer, Melvin Fritzemeier (my father-in-law) & Harve Fritzemeier. Yes there are two different spellings on Fritzemeier - it's not a typo!

My, how times have changed!

I'm certainly not denigrating the role my mother and mother-in-law fulfilled as farm wives and partners back in the 1950s during the early days of their marriage. The times were different. And I've had reminders of that as I've been reading the final book in my book challenge - a book written in my birth year - 1957. (I'll talk more about the book challenge in another post, but just to name a few differences - making phone calls in a phone booth and a $90 weekly salary as a secretary.)

But even though gender roles during the cattle sorting, working and moving process may be different in 2018 than they were in 1958, for example, some things never change.


Mamas protest from Kim Fritzemeier on Vimeo.

Mama cows still protest being separated from their babies ...

... even if it's only for a short time and even if it's for their baby's own good!

Back when Melvin and Marie were first starting out, they raised horned Herefords.

Today, we still have Hereford blood in our herd, but it's provided by two polled Hereford bulls.

And we've added Angus genetics to our crossbred herd as well.

We still sort the baby calves from the mamas, but it's no longer a men's club doing the separating ... hence the organic matter on my jeans!

Some mamas form "picket lines" and protest when their babies leave for their doctor's appointments.

Mother and calf, 1952

They were just as glad to be reunited then ...

... as now.

 A woman may be the person handing the ear tagger and syringes to the chief cattle "worker" these days. But at many farms, it's probably the woman doing it all herself.

But some things on our Kansas farm haven't changed during the five different generations that have been living and working along the Stafford/Reno County line.

 

And that's the desire to do our job to the best of our abilities and to make a difference in our community - man OR woman!

***

And, this morning, it's time for more of that hands-on cattle work. We're moving heifers and bulls. Wish me luck! And Happy May Day!

Ag Day 2018: Farm Partner? Farm Wife? Farm Homemaker?

"Farm Homemaker:"

At first glance, the terminology may seem as archaic as wearing pearls, a perfectly-pressed apron and high heels in "Leave It To Beaver"-style while making dinner for the family.

But on this Ag Day 2018, I will wear the label with pride.

I started life as a Farm Daughter. I moved into my role as Farm Wife and Homemaker almost 37 years ago. But I, too, can get caught in the trap of thinking maybe farm women should change their image. Before I went to my first National Master Farm Homemaker Guild conference back in 2015,  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.

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

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. Earlier this month at the annual convention in Manhattan, I ended my term as treasurer of the Kansas organization and started my duties as secretary. Randy is doing a similar stair-step procedure through the Master Farmer offices. We'll be presidents of our respective arms of the organization at the same time.

Since 1927, Kansas farm couples have been chosen as Master Farmers and Master Farm Homemakers for their commitment to agriculture, family and the community.

My thoughts about changing the name or the organization itself flew away as swiftly as chaff separates from wheat in a Kansas wind once I saw the National Master Farm Homemakers Guild Goals.

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 restaurants say they are making, I want to be one of those farm homemakers who is speaking out and telling the truth. (I refuse to give any "ink" to name those restaurants, and I won't use my hard-earned money at them either!)

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, on this Ag Day 2018, call me what you'd like. 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.

For a previous post on Ag Day, click on this link.

 

This post was revised from an earlier one on Kim's County Line.

Farm Wife Secret Code

21 - 17 - 0.
It's the secret code. It's the secret handshake. It's the right combination.
 It's my overactive imagination at work again.

The "secret code" is actually what kind of fertilizer I'm getting at the Kanza Co-op. It stands for 21 percent nitrogen, 17 percent phosphate and 0 percent potassium. (Why do they have to include something that's 0 percent? It's the law that fertilizer be labeled with the percentages of those three ingredients.) We are applying about 12 gallons an acre.

Randy began planting the 2017 winter wheat crop on September 26. He was hoping for an inch of rain before the planting began. But while areas around us have gotten some moisture in the past couple of weeks, the rain has skirted our fields.

Meal delivery is my specialty. But during these wheat planting days, I add fertilizer delivery to my list of chores.

I take the pickup and trailer to the Zenith branch of the Kanza Co-op to get the next tank load of fertilizer. First stop is the scales, where the pickup and fertilizer trailer are weighed empty. (After it's full, I weigh on again.)

It's there that I offer the "secret code," telling them what kind of fertilizer I want. They then hand me a ticket, which I take to the fertilizer shed and give to the co-op employee there.

One time last week, I had to wait for my turn. It was my version of a traffic jam - country style!

Once it was my turn, I pulled the pickup and tank into the fertilizer shed. The co-op worker hooks a hose from the co-op's tank to the trailer, then pulls a series of valves to get the right mix of nitrogen and phosphate.

 

They are used to me wandering around and taking photos. (Sometimes I wonder what the new employees think about the crazy lady with the camera. On second thought, maybe I don't want to know. But I'll bet they forgive me when I bring cookies!)

After the tank is full, I pull back onto the office scales so they can bill us for the fertilizer we receive. Often, the trips to Zenith include filling up the fuel tank with diesel for the tractor. Since the tank holds 100 gallons, it takes awhile to fill, so I try and remember a book to help pass the time.

Then it's back to the field, where Randy can then apply the starter fertilizer blend as he plants.

Randy refills the yellow fertilizer tank on the drill by hooking up the trailer that I brought from Zenith. The "nurse" tank holds 1,000 gallons of fertilizer. Kind of like a big "measuring cup," the tank is marked. That way, Randy can look at the tank to see how much fertilizer he's applied to each landlord's field. The co-op can then bill everyone accordingly. (When I go for fertilizer, I always tell them how to bill the previous tank.)

It means plenty of trips back and forth to Zenith during wheat drilling season. (And it means a hefty bill will soon appear in my mailbox. But we hope it pays off down the road for the 2017 wheat crop. Time will tell.)

Willie Nelson has nothing on me: "On the road again ..." This morning, I'll make three trips "up north" to help get the drill, wheat truck and fertilizer trailer moved to a new location. Early this afternoon, I'll bring Randy lunch when it's also time to get another load of fertilizer and diesel. I will sandwich in a trip to Stafford to deliver a meal for a family with a new baby and cookies for a memorial gathering tomorrow.

There is a fringe benefit to all the time in the driver's seat:  I have a front-row seat to the arrival of fall.