Editorial / Opinions

Usually I try to study the weather and cut hay when there is a 3-day window of calm conditions.  In this unusually wet spring and summer when there are no 3-day windows, I’ve changed my habits and have tried to cut the day before a rain, hoping that it will dry enough in the 2-day window that follows in order to bale before the next rain.

Out in these rural Ozarks, where I spend a lot of time, I’ve found a little family of foxes. They’re living either in my boyfriend’s barn or under the highway in a fox hole. These little guys are so cute and funny to watch. I’ll crest the hill in the evenings and see five or six little heads pop up, ears alert and intrigued, and eyes watching my car turn onto my boyfriend’s farm road. On several occasions we’ve come upon them in the barn lot at night, frolicking with each other or celebrating their successful hunting venture of late. They sure are cute, and we couldn’t help but celebrate them being back this season, after the highway killed most of them off last year. A celebration I fear is halfhearted now.

Somewhere I once read a novel about Rome in the pre-America ages.  The author’s description of the diverse people milling in the streets of the then-capitol of the world stayed in my mind. He listed them in a colorful rainbow of ethnic costumes and dress.  While the dress is not as obvious today in Washington DC, I met lots of folks in my recent sojourn up there for my local electric co-op. Ozarks Electric out of Fayetteville, Ark., that were from other places.  Cab drivers hailed from Ethiopia, Nigeria and some other country that I did not even know the name of.  A doctor I met from Argentina, who spoke little English, assured me the trout fishing in his country was wonderful.

I have played a round of golf once in my entire lifetime.  It was the final class requirement for an eight-week golf class I took as a physical education elective my freshman year in college. I enjoyed it so much that I vowed never to pick up a golf club again. You see, I really did enjoy it, but after watching so many of my friends become addicted to the sport resulting in spending hundreds of dollars each year on equipment, fees and memberships, not to mention all the time they spend away from their families and jobs, I decided I might become “hooked” as well—and at that stage of my life, I could not afford the commitment of either money or time.

Out in rural west Greene County, where I spend a lot of time, I’ve found a little family of foxes. They’re living either in my boyfriend’s barn or under the highway in a fox hole. These little guys are so cute and funny to watch. I’ll crest the hill in the evenings and see five or six little heads pop up, ears alert and intrigued, and eyes watching my car turn onto my boyfriend’s farm road.

One day a few days ago, I gave up something I cherished with all my heart and soul.
It was my seat on the board of Ozarks Technical Community College.

During the winter, I picked up a new addiction—watching cattle sales broadcast over satellite TV.  On those cold, icy afternoons, I’d check my favorite channel and if there was a cattle sale broadcast airing that day, I would simply rationalize that all my cattle had been checked and fed and that I deserved an afternoon at the “sale barn.”

It's garden season! To recap my garden adventures last year: I started the growing season of 2007 with the idea of planting my great-grandmother’s heirloom tomatoes, but was unsuccessful at getting seeds to start. So instead I planted a few baby tomato plants in a small garden in my backyard. Again, unsuccessful. A disease, or maybe too much nitrogen in the soil, left my tomato plants deformed and bearing no fruit. But, abiding by the “if at first you don’t succeed” idea, I am really excited for my very large garden project this summer. I am one of the managers of my church’s garden program we've started this spring.

I can worry a lot. Seems like history repeats itself time and time again.  The weather pattern in the Midwest looks a like a big repeat of a decade or so ago when no one was able to plant to corn due to high soil moisture in the spring.  Mid April is the time in the central corn belt that folks plant hybrid corn seed.  There is a precious small window to fit the corn in their growing season.

The only times in my life when I have lived anywhere other than the wide-open spaces of rural America were the few short years I attended college. I didn't enjoy the constraints of urban life then, and I sure haven't mellowed with age, but for the past week (and probably for some time longer) I have become an urban dweller as I stay with my oldest son who is hospitalized out of state with a serious infection.