What if We Could . . .?

We’ve been attending roundtable discussions around the state to address the future of Agricultural Education in Idaho. To spur "out of the box" thinking, we're encouraged to answer the question, What if we could . . . ?

We start each gathering of concerned parents, teachers, business owners and student leaders with a discussion of the strengths of the current program. So many great things come up: gives hands-on kids a place to succeed, provides public speaking opportunities, teaches financial record keeping, mentors individual profit-making projects, teaches life skills and work ethic, exposes kids to the wide world of careers in food production, etc.

We then go on to discuss needs of the program: more trained ag teachers, a program in every school, administrative support, a vo-ag advocate on every school board, funding to update machine shop technology, competitive salaries, liaisons with local businesses and industry, etc.

Without exception, the discussion comes around to the need to educate the public that what was once “Future Farmers” now encompasses a whole range of study. From natural resource education (forestry, environmental science, etc.), to machine shop technology (small engines, welding, etc.), and leadership training (public speaking, parliamentary procedure, etc.), kids get real world application on a host of subjects. Even agriculture curriculum has expanded to include subject matter like greenhouse experience and landscape design in addition to plant and animal science.

To wrap up the meetings, we talk about current efforts to obtain more funding from the state legislature and how each of us can help forward that effort. And in every case, with six meetings to date under our belt, the “needs” of the local community line up with goals of the Agricultural Education Initiative. Mentoring for new teachers, a full time FFA coordinator, incentive grants for programs that meet quality standards, start-up monies for new programs, and additional funding to cover costs of running a program are all covered with the initiative effort.

I had the pleasure of sharing a roundtable with a school board member from a neighboring district. He said that vocational-agriculture classes drive higher education. What? Turns out that some kids, especially those that do better with hands-on activities and never thought they would attend any schooling beyond graduation, get in an ag class and find out they like school after all. Their interest is peaked by learning to weld or learning about careers in farming, or like our kids, compelled by the leadership opportunities provided by FFA.

At a different roundtable on another evening, I listened to a first-year female teacher tell the story of one student, considered a lost cause by the other teachers, who got enthused when the class dissected hearts from deer they had harvested during hunting season. She is now talking to him about careers in wildlife management or biological sciences. He found out he was interested in learning after all. Stories like these abound in ag education.

What if we could . . .? 

What if I could . . .? 

It’s a great exercise to look at our own lives with the same mind set.  What if I could - read to the kids every night . . . turn off the tv . . . clean out the basement . . . land my dream job . . . start a business . . . rebuild my marriage . . . get published!

For more information and ways to help, refer to:
http://idahoagedinitiative.com/ 

or “like” and stay tuned to the Initiative's facebook page: 

https://www.facebook.com/IdahoAgEdInitiative2014

photo courtesy of Sara Schmidt

An FFA Goodbye

We got home from the National FFA Convention in Louisville, Kentucky, just in time to move cows. It was a great trip. Anna was running for a spot on the six-member national officer team and Seth was there hosting donors. In the end they didn’t choose Anna, but she had a wonderful experience and loved her time with the other candidates from all over the U.S. We were proud and pleased to have her compete in this very demanding preparation and interview process, and know that it will pay dividends in her future. 

Mark and I judged proficiency awards in the beef entrepreneurship and home and community development areas. We visited with another judge, an elderly woman from Chicago who works for an energy company which donates to the FFA Foundation. She had never been to an FFA event and was unfamiliar with the organization until she walked into the convention center and was surrounded by kids in blue jackets, black skirts or slacks, complete with white shirts and blue and gold ties. She said she had been worried about today’s youth, but after talking with students, seeing their enthusiasm and professionalism, her faith was renewed. She could go home now and feel that our future was in good hands.

We hear similar stories a lot. You just can’t be around these kids and not be impressed. And whenever people get on a kick about how poorly kids behave these days, I can’t relate.

Mark wore his cowboy hat to the city of course. He’s like my dad and his dad; a cowboy hat is just part of their everyday dress. And everywhere we go he gets noticed. Of course part of it is his friendly nature and kind face, but he gets all kinds of greetings and friendly smiles from folks. I guess people still like cowboys.

We headed to the hills the day after we got home. I thought about the Kentucky trip all afternoon as we gathered the cattle and headed them towards the Brush Creek field. I was walking with my dog Kate and we had to go clear back to bring up a straggler. We were far behind the herd when dusk fell. There were 3 inches of snow on the ground with more piling up on my jacket. I got concerned that I might not make it back to the road before dark and Mark wouldn’t have any idea where to find me.

It was so quiet, so lovely. I stopped periodically to listen and let it sink in - so far from the city streets of Louisville and the bustling Atlanta airport where we were yesterday at this time. I heard a jet go by overhead. Just then I saw Mark’s headlights bumping towards me through the brush and rocks. What a welcome sight.

I thought of the line Anna posted on Facebook just days before the convention. “It’s pretty exciting, this life we get to lead.” So true.  

last day for her blue jacket

a long way from Louisville

Sorting Treasures

Mom has been gone for three years and Dad left us in April. We sisters finally got together to sort through their household belongings. Yes, there were garbage bags lined up outside and plenty of boxes for the thrift store, but the special items would find new homes with us seven kids. We know how the ranch assets were distributed, now to tackle the other treasures from a lifetime.

Neither of our folks were into collecting stuff. Dad’s life was the ranch and he had few other belongings. But there were his worn saddle, batwing chaps and silver bit. Mom was an artist, writer and homemaker extraordinaire. Who would take the quilts and paintings? And what about the ceramics created with mountain clay by our grandma’s hands?

In the end we divided up the “medium good” from the “extra special,” drew for order of choosing, and then took turns. Donna got the coveted “grandma putty jar” with the arrow heads and old coins. Janene took the little old man and woman busts that grandma made. Our ranching brother fittingly has the bit, and Kit the antique Navajo rug. Many of the items have no monetary value, but have inestimable worth to each of us.

We sat there in Mom and Dad’s living room that night, laughing and celebrating. Wondering how each of us would show off the items we took from that cherished space, all the while knowing the greatest gifts from Mom and Dad are those we carry around with us every day.

Our folks’ selflessness and their love for each other. A love of the land and family. Mom’s creativity, Dad’s work ethic. All of these are firmly ensconced, albeit imperfectly, in our characters. These heirlooms don’t need dusted or insured, mounted or displayed. They’re the ultimate hand-me-down that can’t be broke or stolen. And there’s enough to go around to all the grandkids in starter homes, dorm rooms and city apartments from Idaho Falls, to Houston, to New York City. A rich inheritance indeed.  

picking paintings for the grandkids

           

after the sort we're still best friends
Sister Retreat 2013

Indian Summer

I didn’t think I’d get to write about Indian Summer as we’ve had a cold wet fall. But this week the sun is out and we’re back to shirtsleeves at midday. The colors are spectacular this year, and now flooded with sunshine, even better.   

The term Indian Summer has been around for centuries and is believed to have originated in New England. The why of the title is much debated. To be a true Indian Summer it must be in late fall, calm, warm and dry, following cold weather and a hard frost. One claim is that it’s the season when American Indians would burn grasslands to attract game, and the haze common this time of year was attributed to those fires. Another opinion is that the derogative term “Indian Giver” meaning a falsehood, spawned the term, as this is after all, a “false” summer. Another interesting view, and one that seems plausible to me, is that White vs. Indian conflicts subsided as cold weather moved in, but were revived if warm temperatures returned for a block of days before winter set in for good.

Or maybe it's as simple as this. Our native peoples, nomadic in nature would have settled in for the winter, their lodging set and food stores secure. Then comes the return of summer. How welcome that would be to them. A few more days of hunting and preparation for winter.  

We're making the most of it as well. We took the calves off and trucked them home in good fashion.

As words do, the term has morphed to describe not just a weather pattern, but any last brilliance before a final decline. As if fall in its fleeting beauty isn’t melancholy enough.

where the Blackfoot River dumps into the valley

photo by Becky Davis

good weaning weather
calves on one side, cows on the other

photo by Anita Pratt

day 2 weaning
finally, solar energy to help charge the fence!

Higher Still

We took the cattle to our highest elevation pasture. It’s above 6000 feet, the one we may get snowed out of. 

  

We knew the move would take all day. We had to gather the herd first and then push them up and over a mountain, down the other side, over a couple of rock bluffs and through an 8’ gate into the Meadow Creek field.  Prior years had been nightmarish, but the cattle were becoming accustomed to the route and if it stayed cold we should be alright.

Because of the time element, when we unloaded the horses Mark trotted off before I was ready. I’m sure it’s in the gentleman rancher’s handbook:  Always wait until your feminine companion is safely mounted on her horse before leaving for the day’s work. And Mark usually remembers, but not this day. I hollered at him to come back, as my horse (any horse) doesn’t like being left behind and won’t stand still while his rider mounts.

“We’re not going to the same place so what does it matter!” he said with irritation. 

I responded back with equal irritation, “It’ll just take a minute and believe me, it will be well worth your time!”

I hurriedly strapped on my spurs and adjusted my chaps and before I knew it, he had dismounted, exchanged Mater’s halter for a riding bridle and was handing me the reins. He kissed me and said he was sorry.

At that moment I felt a palpable physical response in my core. He’s probably forgotten all about it and has no idea (until he reads this) what that meant to me and how much mileage he gained in my estimation of his character by that simple act. It would set the stage for a day of work for me. Now I could jog off alone and be at opposite ends of the herd all day without complaint.

Women are simple creatures really. Why do men make it so complicated?

Mark brings up the rear

photo by Anita Pratt

September Notes

Ahhh, September, harvest time.

I'm not a hard core food preserver. My Mormon neighbors can “can” me under the table. Still, I’m pretty proud of the produce I put away for the winter: an assortment of pickles, beets, pears, beans and apple pie filling, frozen corn and raspberry jam, spaghetti and butternut squash for keeping and red potatoes to stash in the cold room.

Why don’t people grow gardens? How much chemical, mowing, and irrigation do we put into our lawns with only a view to show for it? Seems nuts to me. And, sorry, but I see acres and acres of lawn with nothing more going on. No volleyball net or Frisbee lying around. No kids playing, no tents set up, no lawn chairs. To me a lawn is for using. If you can’t use it, might as well put a goat on it.

I went to change water today and came home with an armful of apples from an old tree in the pasture and a bunch of sumac branches in full color. I came in the house, showed Callie my treasures, and said “this . . . is autumn!”

Mark has been pumping water every day for the cow herd. I was with him one day and it rained so hard the cattle hardly came to water. We turned on the generator, had our cookies and coffee and took a nap. Tough stuff.  

A banker once told me (he’s not our banker anymore!) that he envied the life of a rancher, “sitting on a horse watching the sun set over the mountains.” Yeah, right. More like:  guarding the float in a water trough while cattle fight to get a drink, getting soaked with wet snow, getting home after dark in time to gulp down some Campbell’s soup, fall into bed and do it all again the next day.  

Still, ranching has its perks. As we waited for the storage tanks to fill, the rain quit and we did some fencing. There was a mob of bluebirds, fifty or so, flitting from sagebrush to fence post and back again, flashing their brilliant blue on the fly. 

I was a bank employee in my other life. I liked the work. I liked dressing up, the paycheck and working in a clean and comfortable office. I’d do it again most of the year, but I’ll take the ranching life in September. 

Thanksgiving pies?

old timey

portable water system will go home when the cows do

rainy weather means gorgeous skies

Grazing St. Ignatius Style

We’re back from a two-day grazing workshop in St. Ignatius, Montana.  We were in need of a grazing fix and this did the trick. But even without the education opportunity, our visit to a diverse community on the Montana map was a treat. 

The venue was spectacular. The town is located in the middle of the Flathead Indian Reservation between Missoula and Glacier National Park, at the foot of the Mission Mountains, where a dusting of snow had just graced the topmost peaks. Emerald green irrigated fields surrounded by rain soaked mature grasses lay out in every direction.  

I called ahead to the Sunset Motel so we got one of the remodeled rooms on the ground floor. No, there’s no in-room hair dryer or coffee maker, but Mike, the proprietor, has an espresso shop just off the motel office. That is, if you can wait until he opens at 8:00 a.m.

We had breakfast across the street at the “Old Timer Café.” You bet the morning coffee crew was there! Overhearing bits of their conversation, I thought how the scene and the banter was being repeated all over America. “Did you ever get your hitch fixed?”

The town’s main attraction is the Roman Catholic Mission, an imposing structure built in 1891 by Flathead Indians and Jesuit missionaries. It's open to visitors and we took our turn gazing up at the multitude of frescoes painted by the church handyman and cook.  

The workshop was held at the warm and welcoming Amish Community Center, a spacious building of hardwood floors and propane light fixtures with little hand manipulated mantles. The ladies room, complete with a real towel for washing up, adjoins a furnished nursery. Reverence for family and tradition permeates the space.    

   

The Amish women served us fresh homemade doughnuts both mornings. Not the air-filled, super-sweet, store bought kind, but dense bready pastries like my Mom made. This was followed by meat loaf and ham for lunch, homemade rolls and berry jam, pies - you get the idea. I felt spoiled. It was my vacation ideal – good food and "change the world" conversation, grass education and pasture walks.

Sometimes we come home discouraged from events like this. We feel like the sideboards we operate within make excellent grass management impossible. Okay, so we belong to a grazing cooperative where change comes slowly if at all. Yes, we’re surrounded by farmers that don’t like cattle hooves on their soil. We live 45 miles from our summer pasture, etc. The roadblocks are many. We've been through all that and have the bruises to show for our efforts. But for some reason we got past that this time. We can talk now about what we can implement without convincing anyone else to change. And as long as we keep learning, that’s good enough.        

beautiful Mission Valley

breakfast with the locals

ready for a new pasture break
note "wasted" grass left behind to feed soil microbes

changing paddocks