Editorial / Opinions

Both of our sons were home at the same time recently, each having just finished their semesters away at college. We were sitting around one evening and they were both whining about how tough the next few months were going to be for them. Seth, the oldest, will finish up his Masters degree at the end of this summer, while Zach will begin his senior year in college this fall.

For better or worse, the garden is in the ground. I have a love hate relationship with gardening. I love the produce, and honestly I don’t even mind the work it takes to get the plants set out and cultivated. But I hate all the effort it takes to ward off the rabbits, beetles, aphids and blight that always seem to strike, despite my best efforts. And I get tired of coming up with effective watering ideas. It always seems like, for better or worse, I end up hauling five gallon buckets back and forth from the water spigot, thinking, now WHY have I not set up my watering system yet?

Monte Ritchie – Part I

I can remember only one thing from the first psychology course I took in college – Pavlov's dog.  This Russian scientist, Pavlov, determined through experimentation that by ringing a bell consistently, right before he fed his dog, that within just a few weeks, the dog was conditioned to start salivating at the mere tinckle of the bell, food or no food. This stimulus-response experiment earned him a Nobel prize and a place in psychology textbooks throughout eternity. I found the whole thing kinda cool.

We worked cattle the other day at my dad’s farm. Dad can use all the help he can get at the farm, since he’s one of those “flashlight farmers,” as many of you have described the part-time farmer to me over the years. I knew I needed to be helping out at the farm, even though Meg, one of my “city friends,” was in for the weekend. So I drug her and Ryan, my boyfriend, out to help, guaranteeing fun times.

There is an old adage that spring travels north at ten miles a day. Last week Pat and I drove to Magnolia, Arkansas to speak to a library group and taking Highway 71 south to Texarkana. We could see that spring does travel northward at that rate. Driving down to that border city and then 70 miles southeast almost to the Louisiana line we noticed several things on our way.

About seven weeks ago, underneath the steps that lead to our garage, our only remaining barn cat gave birth to a small litter of only three kittens. Grizz, my cow dog (and I use that term loosely), grabbed the first one and took it outside to "play." Even though Grizz was as gentle as a 75 lb. dog could be with a minute-old kitten, I doubt the little feline could have lasted ten minutes. That left the momma cat with only two.

We worked cattle the other day at my dad’s farm. Dad can use all the help he can get at the farm, since he’s one of those “flashlight farmers,” as many of you have described the part-time farmer to me over the years. I knew I needed to be helping out at the farm, even though Meg, one of my “city friends,” was in for the weekend. So I drug her and Ryan, my boyfriend, out to help, guaranteeing fun times.

A drive through our beloved Ozarks hills is always inspiring. Until, however, I begin to see the "developed" areas just outside Springfield and when I hit the Branson area.

About seven weeks ago, underneath the steps that lead to our garage, our only remaining barn cat gave birth to a small litter of only three kittens. Grizz, my cow dog (and I use that term loosely), grabbed the first one and took it outside to "play." Even though Grizz was as gentle as a 75 lb. dog could be with a minute-old kitten, I doubt the little feline could have lasted ten minutes. That left the momma cat with only two.