(Talk of the Town photos provided)

By Kelley Sheiss

The term "cowgirl" might conjure up visions of the old west, rodeo queens and performances of vintage country music singers, and while destinations in this country are home to such traditional cowgirls, there's another kind of "cow" girl.    She's right here in Indiana and as far as Pennsylvania, Iowa, Tennessee and parts in between.   Although she may not be readily identifiable by her every day appearance, her definition is simple - she loves cows.

I'm not sure when I officially became one of these non-traditional "cow" girls.  I think it started back in college when we would halter break calves for the Little International, a livestock show for the ag students.   Of course, my passion for all things bovine grew when I was crowned the Pennsylvania Cattleman's Queen back in 1991.  Yes, even beef has royalty, but luckily my pageant phase was short-lived.  Someone is probably saying "wait, I thought you were a pig girl?" (and there are others who are still laughing at the fact that I was a beef queen).   "Pig" girl doesn't have near the verbal appeal as "cow" girl, but you're correct.  Our primary livelihood on this farm is pigs and I thoroughly enjoy them, but the cows are truly near and dear to my heart.    Very few, if any of the cows had names until I arrived on the scene.    There's even more names to remember now that Dillon has started christening them with titles.

We've got Boo-Boo, Brownie, Blaze and Bam-Bam.Frosty, Jamocha, Cappucino and Google. Patches, Pebbles, Dr. Pepper (our herd bull) and more.   Last year we trended towards candy and coffee drinks.  This year, Dillon and I have decided to go with cartoon names.   While some remain unnamed, we already have Speedy, Daphne, Sandy Cheeks, Tweety, Alex, Minnie and Popeye.    Each one has their own distinct personality, and there are few days that go by when I don't make time to walk through the barnyard, visiting with each one and providing an occasional scratch on the neck or belly rub to those who revel in the attention.    This is one "cow" girl who can't wait for summer, when I can walk back the lane and watch the moms and babies scattered throughout the pasture.    In the summer evenings, especially after a cool rain, you'll find the little ones running wildly around, sounding off with little snorts and trying out their own special dance moves.

If it's not obvious by now, most "cow" girls I know would probably prefer to spend more of their time with cows than with people.      This time of year there are a few of us who will fret through the night at the thought of an impending delivery; we'll stop by the barn multiple times  a day to check on new arrivals, and I will personally drive my  husband nuts as I ask endless questions and impose my opinions on calf care.   For those of us that have endured the delivery of a child, we may actually strain and wince as we help a mom deliver her calf.    Within an hour, we can go from being perfectly clean, in our pjs and ready for bed to being covered in afterbirth and all the other "stuff" that comes with it.   There's nothing quite like being part of the successful delivery of a calf, or watching secretly from a corner as a mother takes care of the duty all on her own.    When we lose a baby, which can and does happen, it is unfortunate.   The mood we feel is a combination of frustration, anger, despair and sorrow.   Just as there is a wonderful feeling of watching a newborn calf try out their wobbly legs for the first time as they are taken care of by their mom, there is also an empty feeling of helplessness as one dies in your lap.

Recently, our friends called to say they had a heifer in labor and she needed some help.  It was 8:45 p.m. and American Idol was in progress.   We bid farewell to Simon and loaded up in the truck with the necessary equipment.  Dillon was thrilled his bedtime was delayed significantly, and he always enjoys observing the delivery process.  Since Donnie's brother and dad weren't around, there was a lot less yelling and Dillon and I were actually able to help out this time.    As Donnie worked the equipment to pull the calf, he had Dillon hold the cow's tail.    As she started to push, Donnie says to me quite nonchalantly:  "get your gloves off and stick your hands up there. "  Ah, terms of endearment from my farmer husband.  He wanted me to help guide the head out.   I didn't think twice, but as my hands made their way up the birth canal of a cow, I had a fleeting appreciation for ob/gyn doctors.   Maternal liquid and other "stuff" (if you haven't figured out what stuff is by now, it's a nice term for poop!)  oozed down my arms.  I then smiled and thought "if my parents and all those snobby kids I went to high school with could see me now!"   As the head came out, I looked at Dillon as his eyes were fixed on the process.   It's times like these I tend to forget he's only eight,  and I can only hope he does not detail this event during community circle at school tomorrow.   I am thinking seventh grade health class will be a breeze for him.  While the calf had a heartbeat, he was not breathing.   Donnie had me do chest compressions while he blew air into his mouth.  It was bovine CPR.    The mom diligently called to her baby and licked him off with encouragement. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes blinked, he shook his head and finally a little "moo" escaped his mouth.   When we were sure he was o.k., we headed back home.   Tessa, his owner, called the next morning to say he was doing well.   It was a great way to start the day.

A "cow" girl is as comfortable in a dress and heels as we are in overalls and muck boots.    We clean-up pretty well, but boy can we get dirty, too. We drive SUV's, mini-vans and compact cars, although we are most comfortable in a pick-up truck, gator, or ATV.   We have four parts to our wardrobe: casual clothes, dress or business clothes, barn clothes and goin' showin' clothes.  Our goin' showin' wardrobe typically consists of overpriced jeans (unless we stand in line at midnight on Thanksgiving for the buy one get one free sale), at least two pairs of boots, a bling belt (or two, or three) and a variety of chunky, funky jewelry.    While a few of us still manage to maintain finely manicured hands, I have opted for the low-maintenance, gently used look that tolerates rope halters, regular washing, bottle feedings and straw bedding.    After all, the cows don't mind what my hands look like, although I do fondly recall the days of regular manicures.  Now any color on my nails (well, more like under my nails) is usually some shade of brown!

In the late summer when calves are weaned and getting ready to be sold, this is one of the few times when we look forward to wrangling an animal that is a good 200 to 300 pounds heavier than us.    No tractors or donkeys here. The best way to halter break a calf is hang on and get 'em tied-up somewhere quick!   I am first in line to take hold of the smaller, tamer ones, but once one lets out a loud bawl, I'll gladly turn him or her over to the guys.

We can handle a cattle blower just as easy as a hair dryer, and the comb we use generally sticks out of our back pocket.    When you open our freezer, you'll find bags of colostrum nestled between the frozen jam and bags of mixed vegetables.  For you green hands, colostrum is the first milk a cow produces when a calf is born.  It contains important nutrients and antibodies that are vital to a calf's health.  If, for some reason, a calf is unable to nurse its mom in the first hours of life, human intervention is needed and we provide colostrum via a bottle.    Trying to milk a beef cow is like trying to litter box train a tiger, so we rely on our dairy farm neighbors to keep us supplied with colostrum.

We're poster gals for the "Beef. It's What's for Dinner" campaign and we're just as quick to show you a picture of our prize show animal as we are our child.  A vacation for a "cow" girl is Hoosier Beef Congress, Indiana State Fair, or, if we're lucky enough, Louisville or Denver.  At these shows, it is all things cattle.   We're masters of crock-pot cooking and taking advantage of the free drink coupons offered by the hotels where we stay. We can sleep on show boxes, sit for extended periods of time on a bucket and style the most striking tail switches for the show ring (while styling our own hair can be a challenge).   Although we'll rarely wake for our own beauty routine at 5 a.m., we will certainly rise at 3 or 4 a.m. to make sure cattle are washed, fed and ready for the show.  Unlike our western counterparts, we may not wear hats, ride horses or live on a big ranch, but we love our cows.   We also have another thing in common:  we love our cowboys!

As I drove to town for a meeting the other day (in my business clothes), I noticed something was all over the steering wheel of my SUV.    Often, my vehicle serves as back-up farm transportation, and I realized the last time I drove was when I was down at the other farm checking on the calves.   I had kept my gloves on when I drove home and realized I must have had some residual calf "stuff" on them, which was transferred to my steering wheel. I smiled as I grabbed a wet wipe, cleaned it up and thought  yup, I'm a "cow" girl.    Sometimes you just gotta take a little bit of the country to town with you.

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, live on the family farm in Etna Troy Township. They have a son, Dillon. She is also the program director for Leadership Whitley County.

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I just love it when someone from the non-agriculture community uses a term that reminds me of farming.   Such was the case in December as I sat in yoga class and our instructor encouraged us to practice “cultivating gratitude.”    She encouraged us to appreciate everything we had; being grateful from within and sharing this appreciation with others. 

We’re fortunate here in our rural community to have a great yoga studio – Laughing Lotus – nestled in the top of a pole barn a few miles outside of Columbia City.    Farmers and yoga aren’t exactly a matching pair, but I have found few other workout venues that relieve stress as much as a good yoga class.    And lately, being part of a farm family has been a bit stressful. 

I have to say I was glad to see 2009 pass and welcome 2010 as a new (and hopefully prosperous) year.   No resolutions were made as the New Year arrived.  They’re too easy to be broken.  Instead, I’ve decided to take some yoga advice and be more thankful for things, in hopes of passing this appreciation on to others.     I was inspired by many friends on Facebook who, over the holidays, posted a variety of things they were thankful for on a daily basis.    During this time, we were in the midst of very long and temperamental harvest.    This was compounded by a dismal hog market over the past few years, and the “usual” farm afflictions:   repairs, break-downs and a to-do list that gets longer instead of shorter.   Despite these frustrations, I realized we were so fortunate to have our health, our jobs and our family.    Many others could not boast of such fortunes last year.   Some days, however, it’s easy to get caught up in the negative details life tosses our way.    To be quite honest, I had drifted away from helping on the farm during the fall months.    Taking on a second job to help supplement the family income, along with other responsibilities, put helping out around here on the back burner for me.   For a short time, it also made me forget why we do what we do.   

It is easy in agriculture to focus more on the bad than on the good – poor weather, fluctuating crop prices, moldy corn, unpredictable livestock futures, untimely disease, annoying animal rights activists, increasing expenses -  the list goes can on for some time.   I opted to defy the negatives, and for one day, focus on the good.   I was going to cultivate gratitude right here on this farm.     I informed my husband that I would be spending an entire day working with him so I could renew my appreciation for the little things in our livelihood.    My secret hope was that through my efforts, I would “sow the seeds” (again, gotta love those ag terms) of appreciation in myself, my hubby and possibly others.   

The odds were stacked against me from the start.  I selected one of the coldest days in January, compounded with a two-hour school delay.  Even better, it was market hog loading day.    With my father-in-law.   Ten minutes of doing just about anything with him is enough to cure someone of cultivating gratitude forever.   Despite this, I hustled Dillon on the bus and embarked on my day’s journey.   Here are a few of the things I took time to be grateful for, many of which are so precious because they can only be found right here on this farm.

Every morning, I am grateful for our farm dogs as they wag their tails in excitement to see us.  We brought home Riggs, our Blue Heeler, almost 13 years ago and he has proved to be an excellent “pig dog.”    Thanks to Gary Rider for sharing Blaze with us and to the idiot who dumped off Scooby last May…what were you thinking???   He is the most loving, adorable dog, even if he does like to eat shoes and gloves.

As we load hogs, I am grateful for Rex, the truck driver.    I don’t think there are many livestock haulers like him.   He could double for Santa and always has a smile on his face.   From the few times I have chatted with Rex, I know he loves three things:   his kids, his truck and Jesus.  We’re lucky to have him haul our hogs.

I’m grateful for hurdles (plastic boards we use to move hogs from place to place) as I try to push half a dozen 250-pound pigs down the walkway.    As they head on the truck, I’m thankful for all those people out there that eat pork.   Hey, I’m even thankful for vegetarians.   That means more meat for the rest of us.   Seriously, have you ever thought about the fact that farmers truly feed the world?   For that, I am grateful.

The morning proceeds and I am having a tough time trying to focus on appreciating the little things.   Cold weather and farming with family can sometimes make for testy attitudes in the morning, but I must focus.   What’s next?  Breeding…hmmmm.   Instead of focusing on the process, I think about the end result:  baby pigs.   I love baby pigs.  I love just about any baby animal.   There’s something about baby pigs that are irresistible.   So later on, I take a walk through the farrowing house.   Most of the sows are sleeping, as are the pigs.  Several pop their heads up to look at me, while a few others decide to indulge in a “milkshake.”   A few others are running around their pen, playing a form of reindeer games.    I’m even thankful for runts.  As we move nursery pigs before lunch, there is one little guy who just hasn’t caught up on the growth curve with his counterparts.   I pick him up and opt to let him ride down to the other barn in my lap.    Donnie offers to carry him to his pen.  I think I just cultivated a bit of gratitude with my spouse, thanks to little Wilbur.   By now my toes were frozen, so when we stopped at the main farm I opted to wait in the truck and warm up as Donnie bedded the trailer.    One of my favorite aspects of our farm is the cattle.  I’ll share more about them in another Musings, but at this particular moment as I watch them in the barnyard I am amused by Frosty, one of our Shorthorn cows.   She is giving herself a wonderful neck, side and butt rub against the hay rack, and she appears to be thoroughly enjoying every minute of it.   Even though the cows probably give us more expenses than income at times, I am so grateful for their presence here at Three “D”.  I’m also grateful for warm trucks and the fact that I’m not Amish.  I grew up around a large Amish community, and I have always thought it would be a neat experience to live with an Amish family for a week to appreciate a simpler life.    If I had a chance to do this, it would definitely be in the late spring or early fall; right now I’m far too grateful for the warmth and electricity modern conveniences provide.

Unlike many other occupations, farming allows Donnie and me to have lunch together on a regular basis.  Of course, I have to make it (he does help clean up), but I am grateful for this time when we can catch up on conversation or recount the day’s happenings.  I think it makes our relationship as a farm couple stronger, especially during trying times.    I must not be working on his nerves too bad because Donnie asks if I can help him with some things after lunch.    He may not realize this, but I often feel a strong sense of gratitude when he asks me to lend a helping hand around the farm.   After all, we’re in this together.

Our next task was repairing a few gates in the sow barn.   This required grinding metal and welding.   Now is the time to be thankful for safety glasses and welding helmets.  Not that I had any, but Donnie did.    When it came time for him to start the grinder on a gate, sparks flew in every direction.  So did I.  On this day, I’m grateful for quick reflexes.   As he lowers his helmet and prepares to weld, he says to me “turn away and you’ll be o.k.”    At this point, I guess I’m just grateful he told me to turn my head.  I remember a few years back when Donnie and his dad did not follow this practice and woke in the middle of the night with burning pupils.    As Donnie welded and I held the gate in place with my foot, I realized the day was wearing on, and I felt doubtful that I had enough “little things” to consider my day of cultivating gratitude a success.

As I turned away from the welding in process, I looked across the walkway at a pen of sows.   There, sitting like a dog, was a blue-butt sow (we call them blue-butts because most have a blue coloring on their rear).   Her ears were perked up, eyes shiny, and her belly was just beginning to show a hint of the pigs inside her.    I walked over to the pen and studied her.   She continued to sit and soon her head began to droop as she dozed off.   After a couple more head bobs, she perked up again and looked at me for some time.  I don’t know why, but on this day, she exemplified gratitude for me.   She made me smile.  She made me grateful for all that we had and for a moment she made me dream of possibilities.   All this from one momma pig.

We finished our repair work and drove up the road.   As I headed in the house and picked through the mail, I opened the furnace repair bill hesitantly.    While doing this, I happened to notice the washer was leaking all over the laundry room floor.  And, the cat puked a fur ball on the carpet.   I was back in reality, but it was o.k.     For one day, I took time to appreciate many things we take for granted or simply don’t notice here on the farm, and I think it made me a better person.    Thus, I’m going to continue working to cultivate gratitude in 2010, here on the farm and wherever I go.   Hopefully I’ll meet you along the way!

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There’s a condition affecting our kids today.   While many researchers are diligently working to find a cure for horrible diseases such as cancer, diabetes and other illnesses, there evidently was someone who yearned for the desire to coin a new ailment called “Nature Deficit Disorder.”  No kidding.   If you search the term on the web, over 440,000 results can be found.   I suggest we don’t spend too much time or research on finding a cure.   The cure is really quite simple:  GO OUTSIDE!   

This may be a column written more from a mother’s perspective than a farmer’s viewpoint, but by living on a farm we do have a certain advantage with the outdoor factor.    Regardless of the weather or season, life on a livestock and grain farm requires a certain amount of time outside.   Growing up, I was fortunate to have a large yard surrounded in part by woods.   I would spend endless hours exploring the woods and playing in the yard.  Often, my mom had to call me to come in the house (my mom was definitely not an outdoors person!).    My dad instilled the yard work bug in me, and a general love for the outdoors was something I possessed as long as I can remember.     When Dillon came along, I had a new “partner in crime” to pursue my passion of animals, the outdoors and mild adventure.    From exploring Pap’s woods to monthly visits to the Fort Wayne Children’s Zoo and unsuccessful fishing ventures at Chain O’ Lakes State Park, Dillon and I have spent many hours outside the house.   The farm provides endless opportunities to engage with nature, and a variety of learning opportunities abound in our own backyard.   At the ripe age of eight, Dillon can identify more bird calls and insects than anyone in his family, and he has the great ability to distinguish between cattle, pig and duck poop.  

I always love the opportunity to share the farm with those who may never have experienced farm life.  I was in their shoes once, and I craved the chance to hold a baby pig or pet a newborn calf.   Bringing our farm life to others hopefully gives people one antidote in the cure for nature deficit disorder.  Unfortunately, with the increased need for biosecurity and the ugly rise of H1N1, the days of taking pigs into the classroom may be over.   It is simply a measure to keep our pigs safe, since people can make pigs sick.   I still encourage people at any chance to come out to the farm and share a bit of the ag outdoors with us.   Even the most mundane tasks (i.e. rock picking), provide a breath of fresh air.

If you don’t live on a farm or out in the country, that’s no excuse to stay inside.   For the past two summers, I have spent more time outside than I thought possible with Dillon working on one thing:  his garden.  What started with an overabundance of potatoes when he was four has grown into a full-fledged business for the young entrepreneur.    It all started innocently enough.  One day, he took my extra potatoes, loaded them in his John Deere wagon and proceeded to tell me he was going to sell them to people driving by the house.  Being an overprotective parent, I made him stay right up by the garage (hey, he was only four).   He then added cans of lemonade and soda to the wagon, saying any customer would get a free drink.    I watched him as he sat there for an hour.  Yes, my four-year old actually sat there for an hour.  With no customers.  Panic set in, so I called his grandparents and our good neighbor Mick Long and begged for a sale.    They gladly helped out, and word spread to several other neighbors who cheerfully supported the young boy’s effort.    From then on, he was hooked.    Fast-forward to this year, when we planted about an acre of pumpkins, tomatoes, green beans, sweet corn and more.    Just as spending time outside can cure nature deficit disorder, I will warn that spending too much time together can also result in a need for conflict management.  There were many times as I was outside with Dillon in “the patch” that I swore we would never do this again.   But then I watch him wait on his customers at the Farmer’s Market, and I smile as he discovers funky gourds and big pumpkins in the field.   Early this fall while we were picking in the patch, I heard Dillon carrying on a conversation with something.  By the tone of his voice (well, hi there little guy – what are you doing?), I figured he happened upon yet another stray cat.  I made my way over to the John Deere gator where we were loading our harvest, only to find Dillon bent over by the dashboard having a lighthearted conversation with a praying mantis.  The insect was an intense listener, cocking his head from side to side and occasionally raising his stick-like legs in animated applause.   At that moment, I was so grateful for our farm, Dillon’s produce efforts and the opportunity to be outside at every given chance.

It doesn’t have to be nature on a grand scale.  It could be one little cucumber plant or a simple walk through Morsches Park.   No exotic vacations are needed.  Nature is right here in our own backyard.    For some time, Dillon and I have found a certain fascination with the sandhill cranes that dot our farm fields this time of year.  To us, sandhill cranes are exotic, with their signature call and captivating appearance.   Last year at about this time, Dillon and I took off after school and headed west to the Pulaski Fish and Wildlife area.   It seemed like it took forever to get there, and gas was not cheap.   When we arrived, we followed a short path through the woods and came out to a clearing with a large viewing platform.   There were about two dozen other people who had joined us to watch the sight of the sandhill cranes.   At first, there weren’t many cranes, but our boredom was lessened by two sparring bucks out amidst the birds.   As dusk fell, more deer appeared, and then it happened:  from every possible direction, sandhill cranes flew across the sky and landed right before us.  They called to one another and did their famous dance.    We stood in absolute awe.    At that point, the long drive and gas prices were forgotten.  The couple beside us said they come every year and although there weren’t as many birds as in years past, there was still plenty.   On the other side of us stood a wildlife photographer who let Dillon view the birds through a lense that was as big as a small child.   Although we hated to leave, darkness was chasing us and we needed to make the drive back to Whitley County.   For much of the way home, we drove in silence.   At one point, Dillon said “Mom, that was really cool.”   He never mentioned too much more about it, until just recently when he reminded me of our adventure and said how much he enjoyed it.  It brought a smile to my face.

So I challenge you to put down the cell phone, log off Facebook, turn off the TV, and head outside.   In my 14 years of living in Indiana, I have gone without cable TV or a dish offering 101 channels.   Often, we are too busy on the farm to turn on the “boob tube,” as my mom used to call it.   And when we do, I must admit I’m an avid fan of PBS.  Yes, I love Facebook, surfing the web and I’ve even learned to text, but there is a time and place for everything.  There are certainly times when I can think of at least a dozen other things I “need” or “want” to do other than drive Dillon to the field so he can ride in the combine, toss some football or check things out in the garden.   But, I put those other “things” aside knowing they will get done.  For now, I’m making sure my son will never, ever suffer from Nature Deficit Disorder.

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I’m not a terribly superstitious person, although I do try to avoid breaking mirrors and walking under ladders.    For the most part, when the calendar falls on Friday the 13th, I’ve had very good days, so I have learned to find a positive in the number thirteen.  That’s a good thing, since September 28 I’ll be married to Donnie for thirteen years.  Just as nothing can prepare you for parenthood, there is little that adequately prepares you for marriage – especially to a farmer!

I’ve known Donnie for almost 20 years.  The first time I saw him he walked into Animal Science 001 at Penn State.  He was a tall, gangly dude in Wrangler’s with a badly outdated haircut.  I thought “what a backwards farm boy.”  Of course, only later did I discover he saw me and thought “who’s the weird chick with bleach-blonde hair that always wears black?”  Over our college years Donnie’s haircut improved and I went back to a brunette while adding some color to my wardrobe.   We became friends, but it wasn’t until after we graduated and went our separate ways did we realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.   The vows we shared – for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health – are more than mere words.  They are reality in a hard-working, dedicated marriage.   There’s nothing in the vows about changing a person, and over the years we have come to understand and accept (for the most part) what makes us each “unique.”  To be quite honest, I can’t imagine anyone else who could put up with me, and I like to think that no one else could tolerate Donnie.  That makes us just about perfect for each other.   There are, however, some things I have learned (but don’t necessarily understand) in my tenure as a farm wife.  For instance:

-Something that’s broke in the barn will often get fixed before something that’s broke in the house.

-A pig farmer can spend six hours straight powerwashing a finishing barn room until it’s spotless, but yet at home they can leave toothpaste in the sink, crumbs on the table, corn on the floor and pee around the toilet.   At least the guys in my house do have the courtesy to put the seat down (I have learned to find appreciation in the little things!).

-You must be a mind-reader, especially when moving hogs.  If you don’t read your spouse’s mind, you get a very distinct look I have come to know and love.

-Vacations, which are few and far between, usually involve a livestock show or sale.  I have yet to locate a pig or cattle sale at the beach or Disney.  That’s a bummer.

-Meat will be served at every evening meal.  On occasion, fish is o.k. and chicken very rarely.  Don’t get me wrong; I love meat and want everyone to eat as much beef and pork as possible, but on occasion I do enjoy a meatless meal.   Recently, I made a delicious cherry tomato and cheese ravioli soup.   As Donnie tasted it his response was “it’s o.k., but it would be better with meat.”    Same with plain old spaghetti.  It would be better with…meatballs, sausage, etc.  Got it.

-The farm truck is also the truck that you sometimes need to run errands or take out to eat.  After riding in it for so long, you get used to the distinct smell that makes it a farm truck.  However, if you plan to use it for an evening out with friends (this one’s for you, Jen and Sonya), be prepared for their breath to be literally taken away as they enter the vehicle.  On another note, in the event if the farm truck is not available and you have chore duty, be prepared to use your own vehicle – even if it still has that new car smell (not for long).

-Farmers spend no money on clothes, unless it’s powerwashing bibs, poop boots or work socks.  Therefore, they can’t understand the appeal of Power Hours, BOGO’s or 50% off days.   I have as many pairs of shoes as Donnie does hog water parts.  Makes sense to me!

-If you want to spend quality time with your spouse, plan on helping with chores, riding in a tractor or making feed.

-Being a high-maintenance woman doesn’t pair well with a low-maintenance farmer.  Now, I don’t think I’m high-maintenance and it’s a good thing.   When Donnie proposed (in the farrowing house), he told me the gorgeous ring I received would probably be the only piece of jewelry he ever gave me.  There’s been a few more things over the past thirteen years, but he was pretty much spot on with his comment.   Holidays and special occasions are just not a big deal in this farm family.   There’s no exotic getaways, weekend bed and breakfasts or extravagant gifts.   Usually, it’s a card and maybe a meal at a nice restaurant.   That is just fine with me.   I have learned that you don’t have to show you love someone with material things or constant reaffirmation of words.   Donnie and I love each other and we know it.  Period.

-You will always come second to beans that need drilled, corn that needs dried, a sow farrowing, a cow calving and manure that needs to be hauled.   When the work is done, he’ll be home.   Patience is a virtue I am still working hard on, but it has improved over the years.

There’s other matrimonial and life lessons I have learned, but probably the most important one is this: unconditional love.  Donnie works harder than anyone I know.  He loves farming, through good times and bad.  As many of you know, he rarely leaves the farm.  He doesn’t go to farm shows, seed corn meetings, head to town on a daily basis for lunch or hang out in the shop.  Actually, we don’t really have a shop.  What he does is dedicate himself 100% to this farm and his family.  He is my coach, counselor, critic and best friend.  He is Dillon’s mentor and idol.

So, I guess I can take the toothpaste in the sink, a leaky roof and a “vacation” to sell calves or pigs.  What’s really important is we have each other and as the years go on, I love him more every day.  Happy Anniversary, Donnie.  Love, Kel.

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