Editorial / Opinions

I got asked to volunteer for quite possibly the best volunteer position there ever could be a few weeks back. I was asked to judge the Polk County Fair's pie contest.

I thought these old remarks of mine, written in the '70s, might be of interest today, especially considering many Americans compare our extended involvement in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan to Vietnam. I presented these thoughts to a graduating class at Willard High School. These were my thoughts then, on a war that held America’s attention. Sadly, there is much more to hold our attention today, and the Afghanistan and Iraq war gets much less media play, and therefore people are much less concerned about it. Or are we less concerned? Are we just less vocal about our concerns? Now there's something to consider.

For 58 years, now, I’ve proudly worn the uniform of the American farmer and rancher; denim blue jeans made by one of three major manufacturers, plaid work shirts with button-down collars made by one of two companies, caps given away by any number of feed stores, implement dealers, other farms or any one of a thousand agriculture related enterprises, cowboy boots made by either one of the major boot makers, and, when I really have to dress up, my cowboy hat (straw in the summer and felt in the winter).

I’ve spent some time close to the earth in the past few weeks. From sewing grass seed, to picking blueberries, to mulching the family garden with old hay, I’ve been sunburned, tick-bitten and hot and sweaty. My mom and I weeded the potato patch a few Fridays back, and as the sun beat down on us, and sweat ran down our faces, she reminded me that sometimes you have to really spend time in the sun to appreciate the shade.

Summer is here. Temps turn up and those afternoon thunderheads pop up on the horizon and somewhere a shower appears. Deep green colors paint these hills. Round cylinders of hay stand out parked in the fresh cut meadows and polka-dot calves buck and play. A yearling doe had a fawn in my backyard during the first days of June. I went outside to get something in the predawn and spooked him across the flower bed. She found him later in the morning and re-hid him. If a person can’t count their blessings living in the Ozarks, I guess they’re plumb hard to please.

When I grow up, I want to be a weatherman. What else, besides being an economist, can you be wrong more than 50 percent of the time and still keep your good-paying job?

I’ve spent some time close to the earth in the past few weeks. From sewing grass seed, to picking blueberries, to mulching the family garden with old hay, I’ve been sunburned, tick-bitten and hot and sweaty. My mom and I weeded the potato patch a few Fridays back, and as the sun beat down on us, and sweat ran down our faces, she reminded me that sometimes you have to really spend time in the sun to appreciate the shade.

Some years back, while reading of one of the west’s reputation ranches, I spotted a picture of the ranch manager. The eyes, I am told are a direct extension of the brain; the closest one can come to determining what goes on in the mind is by studying the eyes.

When I grow up, I want to be a weatherman. What else, besides being an economist, can you be wrong more than 50 percent of the time and still keep your good-paying job?

It was one of those evenings when you really want to just sit down in front of the computer or the TV and let the evening slip quickly away. Instead, I let Ryan coax me out of his house to go for a walk. On a place he rents, a wet-weather spring had sprung, and I was a little intrigued to see this phenomenon myself.