Editorial / Opinions

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.

You might recall a few issues back we asked the question, “How do you keep an orphaned bottle calf alive?” in our “What Do You Say” section, found on the first page of Farm Help. I will go ahead and admit, that was a very self-serving question, but I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one trying to keep a bottle calf alive right then. My boyfriend had a baby calf whose momma wouldn’t take it. And to make matters worse, the calf's front leg got broken while he was being pulled. He was walking around with a pvc pipe “cast,” orphaned, but despite a bruised nose and swollen head, he sure was ready to live. He was a red calf, so appropriately, we named him Red.

I guess everyone has dreamed of winning the lottery, well not everyone, but many of us have good plans for the use of the money, should lady luck hand it to us – we’d sure fix things. In my youth I spent lots of time looking for the Lost Dutchman Gold Mine in the Superstition Mountains of Central Arizona.