Just 10 Photos? Mission Impossible

I was nominated for the 10-day farming/ranching family photo challenge by my friend, Millie. You may have seen it on Facebook. Several of my rural friends have been participating.

The challenge is this: Every day for 10 days, post a photo from a day in the life of farming/ranching that has had an impact on you and post it with zero explanation.

 

No problem, right? I have lots of pictures.

 

Except that is a problem. My blog posts probably average five or six photos per time. My Tuesday post had 13 photos plus a graphic. That's not unusual. Weeding through my thousands (tens of thousands) of farm photos and choosing just 10 is daunting, to say the least. (Nobody said I couldn't cheat just a little bit and create a collage.)

 

And, really? I'm supposed to post photos without commenting on them? That's kind of a tall order for a writer, don't you think?

I never seem to complete these Facebook challenges just as they are presented. (Case in point is the Love Your Spouse Challenge.) I am a rule follower, but I'm not without my stubborn streak. (OK, I've admitted it, so you don't have to poll my parents or Randy, OK?)

 

So, here's my attempt at selecting 10 photos that reflect our life on the County Line. I've tried to provide a representation of seasons, crops and people, but this is one of those times when diversification of crops is not my friend. (I totally left out milo, silage and sudan.)

 

On second thought, here's a baker's dozen. If you want an explanation of anything I've chosen, just ask. Really! By all means, ask!

 

Another part of the challenge is to nominate 10 people to do the challenge. Please view this as your blanket open invitation. (Maybe you'll have better luck following the rules.)

 Well, at least a few of the photos won't have some sort of commentary blanketing them. 

Who Needs the Lottery?

I don't play the lottery. So why am I taking a photo of a PowerBall ticket?

It was a gift from someone who said I had to be the luckiest person he knew. I really am fortunate. But I am not going to attribute my good fortune last week to "luck." Instead, I've been thanking God for His protection.

I had a 4-wheeler accident last Monday (January 14) while we were moving cattle. I probably should have been hurt badly. Instead, I'm just a little bruised and battered.

I wasn't going to tell anyone about it. I hate mistakes.This first-born perfectionist especially hates my  mistakes. So I was going to cover it up. I told Randy to tell the other two people who witnessed the accident that they were to keep their mouths shut.

As far as I know, they did. But one of them is the purchaser of the lottery ticket. He stopped Randy on the road the next day and said it was for me ... for the aforementioned luck.

The lottery ticket was not a winner. In fact, it didn't have even one matching number. But that was OK. I didn't think my "deliverance" from major harm had anything to do with "luck" anyway.

It took me two days to confess the accident to anyone in my family. I took a backwards vault off the Peace Creek bridge with the 4-wheeler. It's not easy to get the 4-wheeler into reverse. My inexperience with the reverse button and the bridge location collided. However, all that rain and mud we've been frustrated by likely helped cushion my fall. I vaguely remember pushing the 4-wheeler away from me as I fell, and it didn't land on top of me. That helped, too.

I had some bruises - inside and out - and I wasn't too comfortable for a few days. But even the bruises are fading now.

Farming is a dangerous job. Sometimes it's dangerous because we make stupid mistakes. Sometimes animals don't react the way we anticipate. We are around big machinery and moving parts and chemicals, and accidents happen. We're sometimes tired and impatient - two things that can lead to mistakes.

I could have just showed the photos of moving the cattle. Believe me: I considered it. We moved two groups that day and things went well until the end. We had one "escapee," and I was trying to go help retrieve that one left behind when the accident happened.

I've been privately thanking God for His protection for a week. If I'm not willing to say that and to show all sides of farming, then I'm not being an honest representative for agriculture or for my faith.

In the adult Sunday School class I facilitate, the chapter theme last week was "Revealing Authenticity." Hmmm ... I have to admit it was another nudge to be honest. One of the quotes from the book, "#struggles: Following Jesus in a Selfie-Centered World," was from Mother Teresa. Really? Who can argue with Mother Teresa?

Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway.

In this world of Instagram filters and pithy "tweets," it's become our "norm" to edit our images and our words. We crop our photos to show our best features. We only post photos of ourselves and our families when everyone looks their best. We write, then edit, then edit some more until we have what we hope will translate into the maximum number of "likes."

Author of the book Craig Groeschel says: "The more filtered our lives become - the more we show others only the "me" we want them to see - the more difficulty we have being authentic. ... If we can't be real, are we really living?"

So here you have me: Unfiltered and authentic. I am not the perfect farm wife. I'm far from it. But you know that saying about getting back on your horse after getting bucked off? I'll be back on the 4-wheeler again. (But I will probably do everything in my power to keep from having to use the reverse. Just saying. And just being real. For sure, I won't use it if I'm on a bridge.)

Here are the photos and the story of what happened before the accident, It really was a pretty day: 

There's at least one in every crowd. It's the guy (or gal) who doesn't join the rest. You know the type: It's the one who is insistent about not following the carefully-prescribed plan of action. While others follow a straight line toward a common destination, that obstinate non-rule follower will willfully mess up the carefully-detailed plan of action.

 

This cow who didn't walk down the cattle trail is kind of like that toddler who looks over at his/her mother while doing the very thing that she'd just said not to do. It's like the kindergarten student who can't seem to remain in single file on the way to the lunch room. Honestly, these cows were well-behaved.

Once we got them moving in the same direction with the 4-wheelers, they went willingly.

Cattle - like humans - are creatures of habit. It took awhile for them to realize that the electric fence was no longer there. Even the enticement of a big round bale of tasty hay didn't have them crossing the line where the fence had been.

They finally crossed the "demilitarized" zone.

And with a little urging, they were across the road.

We ran them into the corrals until the roads froze enough to move them. Thankfully, that happened on Saturday. It was before the heifers started calving. While the "due date" is January 28, we had our first baby calves by January 23 last year.

Since there's another cold snap with potential flurries or a "wintry mix" coming, it will probably happen soon. Randy is already making trips to "the girls" to see if we have any early arrivals for the Class of 2019. Alert: Cute calf pictures soon to come!

Harvesting Memories: Take Two

A note from Kim:  I have been having some internet issues the past few days, so I am reposting a blog from 2010, the first year of Kim's County Line. Television isn't the only thing with re-runs these days.

I've been around for my share of harvests. In fact, I entered this world at harvest time more than 50 years ago. However, back in 1957, it had rained enough that harvest was momentarily stopped just in time for my arrival into this world. So my Dad didn't even have to get off the combine to take my mom to the hospital.

However, I was not around for the harvest pictured above. I rediscovered the photo when I was digging through a box, looking for some other photos. It was one we brought home from Randy's folks' house. When we were going through all the "stuff" of their lives, we got down to the photos and everyone was tired of sorting.

As an admitted photo fiend, I didn't want to throw them away, so I said I'd take them home and store them until people wanted to go through them and divide the rest of them. That day never came. So here they still sit, taking up space in my basement.

Anyway, with harvest in full swing, I thought it was perfect timing to find a photo of a harvest from days gone by. I don't know who the people are or the year it was taken. I assume they are some of Randy's relatives. My Grandpa Leonard, who was also a farmer, had a similar photo hanging in his home office in Haskell County.

It does make me thankful for modern equipment. And I also appreciate that I don't have to feed a crew that big. Sure, I have a couple of extra people at the table or gathered around for our impromptu field "picnics." But I count at least nine people in the long-ago harvest crew. That would be a lot of meat and potatoes!

The combine pictured above was owned by my parents. It was a 1957 model, just like me. My Mom and Dad gave all the grandkids a history book several years ago and included family and farm photos and stories. It was a great gift (and one that I haven't yet passed along to my kids. I am storing the books for safekeeping. My sister says her kids have to be 30 before they get their books. I think that's a good idea, since I pull them out all the time and use the photos and information.)

My Dad, who is also a saver, kept sales receipts and other records. I think it's fascinating that a brand new combine had a $6,275 price tag. Let's just say the price for new combines has gone up faster than the price of grain.

In 1964, my sisters and I posed with my Dad in the photo below. I would have been 7. I hadn't debuted as a harvest helper yet, but by this age, I was already driving the pickup in the field while my Dad picked up fence posts. My sister, Lisa, worked the foot pedals on the pickup, since we needed to use the clutch. I do remember it took us a little while to get the hang of it.

Maybe that's why my Dad had me helping in the harvest field at about age 12. I was the oldest child and the first to qualify for harvest duty. I began moving the grain trucks around in the wheat field before I was old enough to make trips to the elevator. After my Dad would make another swath with the combine, I'd move the truck closer so he didn't have to take time driving to the truck. I don't know whether that was really helpful or whether it was a job to get me used to driving the truck.
I can't remember for sure, but I think this old truck was still around the farm when I started, though we had bigger and more modern trucks, too.

When I had my license, I was promoted to a "real" truck driver and took loads of wheat to the Iuka Coop. I remember being coached by my Dad and also by another truck driver named Ed, who taught me the fine points of waiting in line, unrolling the tarp, how to dump the truck and instruction in the fine art of elevator etiquette.

My Dad always said I was a better truck driver than any teenage boy would be. I don't think he was just "saying" that. I know I wasn't whipping the truck around corners to show off, gunning the engine or anything like that.

That's not to say I wasn't trying to impress. I distinctly remember putting on makeup and eye shadow before going to the field for the day. Those cute custom harvesting crew drivers might see me when I got out to unroll the tarp at the coop.

When I think back about that now, I can't help but laugh at myself. I doubt those drivers were looking in my direction - other than to see if it was their turn to drive onto the scales at the elevator. And any efforts to "doll" myself up were probably lost in a cloud of wheat dust anyway.

But I think it's a natural phenomenon among teenage girl truck drivers. I seem to remember a certain truck driver named Jill who was definitely interested in the whole seeing-and-being-seen part of trips to the elevator.

Yes, the truck driving skill was passed down to the next generation here on the County Line. She was all about working on her tan while waiting on Dad to load the truck.
There also was some multi-generational teamwork going on at my childhood farm during harvest. My Mom took these photos from the Moore family harvest, featuring my nephew Brian as combine driver. My Dad was his personal consultant. My brother kept irrigation systems going, but he happened to be available for a three-generation shot.
The equipment has changed. The technology has changed. But the teamwork to accomplish the harvest is still there. Brian was driving the combine on ground homesteaded by his great-great-great-grandfather. He's the sixth generation to work the Pratt County land.

Brian, Kent & Bob Moore

Randy is the fifth generation of his family to farm in Stafford County. I'm proud to be part of this century-old tradition on the Kansas plains.

***

More from Harvest 2015 is sure to come.

Old War Horse

I cringe when I see farmers depicted as country bumpkins. You know the drill: They are in overalls with a wheat straw in their mouth, but it doesn't matter anyway because they sound like uneducated fools. It's the "Green Acres" syndrome.

Of course, there is an increasing number of people who actually want farmers to take a step back into the early 1900s. While they bite the hand that feeds them via their latest version of iPhone and tweet their opinions about how farmers are poisoning the world, they would rather farmers use a horse and plow ... while wearing their overalls, of course. (By the way, my Grandpa Neelly wore overalls, and he was no country bumpkin either.)

So, when Randy fires up the old Ford 8N tractor and I share a photo of it on a Facebook post, I hope people don't think it's the way we farm.  We have our Case STX 375 tractor. (It has 375 horsepower, compared to about 25 horsepower for the Ford tractor.)

We have finally joined the army of semi trucks that take grain to our local co-op. (It has 425 horsepower.)

And we really went the Army route with our new-to-us feed wagon.

But, this past week, Randy again used the Ford tractor. These days, we have a wire winder on the back and use it for building and rolling up electric fence so we can move cattle there for grazing.

A photo from fall 2013.

 I think the rust is the only thing holding it together.

But there is something about tradition. That tractor seat has been occupied with five different generations now.  Melvin and Clarence bought the tractor back in the 1960s, when Randy was in grade school. They used it to load silage for feeding cattle. Randy remembers using it to pull a two-row John Deere planter when they planted milo. He also cultivated milo with it when he was junior high age.

Clarence (Randy's Grandpa, seated), his Dad Melvin and Randy holding Brent in 1988.

Randy was insistent that the tractor served as a focal point for a 2012 Easter-time photo with Kinley and Jill.

April 2012

We'll see if the weather is good enough to get both granddaughters on the old Ford this Thanksgiving.

It may be tired, but it's not retired.