Strange as it may seem, this is a thought I have pondered quite often lately.  As I alluded to in my previous column, much of my time and thought process has been “lightly consumed” with the everyday tasks of preparing livestock to show.    Could there be a correlation to training camp?  Possibly.   Why Peyton Manning?   In our household, there are two things we really love; raising & showing livestock and football.     My husband was a Colts fan when they were still in Baltimore, so it is only natural we cheer on our hometown team in Indiana.    Plus, I believe Manning is an excellent role-model athlete.  If you’d like, you can substitute Drew Brees in here as well.  

However, we’re not Saints or Purdue fans, so I’m sticking with good old number 18.     The thought first occurred to me in the shower one morning…what if Peyton Manning showed livestock?   Why?   From what I have read and seen from interviews with the quarterback, he is 100% dedicated to the game and strives to do his personal best for himself and his team.    He diligently studies game tapes, commits to regular practices and develops strategies for success.   All the while doing this without pomp and circumstance.    I’m sure one of the end goals is winning, of course.  Who doesn’t like to win?  Coach Bill Parcells is quoted as saying “Winning is a very precious thing, and to be called the champion, it’s why we do these things.”  However, if Manning loses he goes right back to reviewing the game and preparing for the next one down the road.    There are obvious times when his temper may get the best of him (my son has become an expert at reading lips during the NFL games), but all in all, he is a role model I am proud Dillon has in a time when they are few and far between.
When Peyton has a successful play, breaks a record, or the Colts win, I have to wonder what the opposing players are saying.    There are referees in place to ensure the game is played right.  Yet in their frustration, do opposing team members call Manning a cheater just because he worked hard and out-played them?   We don’t have referees at livestock shows, but maybe we should.   The judge is it.   He makes the final decision and on any given day it can go your way or somebody else’s.   While you may not always agree with it, as a showman you respect it and plan for the next show.   Can you imagine a person out in the ring wearing black and white stripes with the judge requesting a review of the previous class because a parent was adamant their child should have placed higher?  I’ll be the first to admit we are a family that dissects every part of a show until the next one.   That is part of what gives us the determination to do better the next time.   However, the times when personal attacks are lodged against other families or our kids might be alleviated if we had an NFL ref on hand.   Because someone works hard does that make them a cheater?  Absolutely not.   Can you imagine?  Sorry  Mr. Smith, you have incurred a penalty for unfairly targeting another family for their hard work.  Please have your son move down to 4th place. That might quell the negative comments back in the barn.
Peyton’s dad is a regular at many of his son’s games.   I have to wonder at any time during his boy’s career, did he sit behind an opposing team member’s parent who audibly announced “I hope that Manning boy loses.”   Probably not, since in football the opposing team sits on the other side of the field.   At livestock shows, the teams are the parents, family members, breeders and kids.    We are all intermingled around a ring of nervousness, anticipation, excitement and hours of hard work.    Again I ponder…if Peyton was out there on the end of a steer, would another parent spout off his hopes of a last place in class for the all-star quarterback?   Maybe each family needs their own sky box in the show arena to keep their comments contained.
If Peyton Manning showed livestock, I’m guessing he would not do it half-heartedly.   He would have someone videotape his show ring moments to determine if his calf was too stretched out, he didn’t brace his lamb correctly or his pig stayed on the fence too long.   He would self-criticize himself for such actions and practice so it didn’t happen again.    Instead of long hours on the football field, he would be in the barn from sun up to sun down.      He would watch others who have been successful and always be willing to learn and try new techniques (within ethical standards) that will help him remain competitive.    I’m guessing his parents would be a big part of the equation, too.   While Peyton and Eli were growing up, I wonder how many things his parents gave up so they could provide the most for their sons as they pursued their passion.    Did Mrs. Manning opt out of a full-time job so she could drive the boys to practice?   Did Mr. Manning give-up a weekend speaking engagement or golf outing so he could be at the boy’s games?
If Peyton Manning showed livestock, I bet his parents would be right there every step of the way.  They would sacrifice and teach, they would be his best coaches and biggest cheerleaders and they would also discipline appropriately.
There are few things in life that come without some extent of work.   If you’re lucky enough to win the Powerball jackpot, that might be the exception.   Rarely do you read of a successful athlete who took weekends off, opted for a swim party over a practice or decided to work on their playbook a mere 30 days before the big game.    I would love to watch Peyton Manning show livestock.   I bet he’d be in the stands watching other classes, he’d be back in the barns asking questions and he’d be working his tail off to succeed.
Recently, Dillon and I had the chance to travel to a day-long show cattle workshop featuring Bob May.    It was going to be one of the nicer days we had in quite some time and it meant getting up early.   I think both of us were a little hesitant, but Bob May is an industry icon.   To give you an idea of his importance in my husband’s book, when we sat eating pizza that night after returning home, Donnie looked at Dillon and said “you know, when I was about your age if I had the chance to meet Bob May it would have been like you meeting Lebron James today.”   I smiled and Dillon looked at his dad like he was crazy.  But it was true and at that moment it sank in for Dillon.   During the workshop, Dillon had the chance to sit across from Bob May at lunch and “talk shop.”    I took eight pages of notes during the session and asked questions incessantly.   There were a lot of things we learned at the workshop, but there are two that really stuck with me.   First, time and time again, Bob May emphasized that success cannot be reached without hard work.   He said don’t ever assume just because you have all the equipment, facilities, “right” animals, etc. that you’ll win.   It all comes down to hard work.   Second, he finished with a truly heartfelt thank-you to the kids for taking time out of their Saturday for attending and to the adults who brought them. 
You see, as adults, we are the coaches and our kids have the potential to be the next Peyton Manning.   Since the NFL season is still in jeopardy this fall and training camp might be delayed, I’d like to take this opportunity to invite Peyton Manning to the Whitley County 4H Fair.  You missed the 4-H enrollment deadline, but we do have an Old-Timers Showmanship during the cattle show and I think you would do a great job!

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, makes amazing jewelry and can put together some outstanding, fashionable looks on a dime! 

I apologize to my high school English teacher if the title of this column is a grammatical error; however it is the easiest phrase to describe the inspiration for my latest musings.   It is said the first step to addressing a problem is admittance.  So I admit I have a problem.   Well, I like to call it an attraction.  And, it’s become a bit of a distraction.  While I’d like to say the distraction is daydreams of strolling along the beach in Key

West or imagining the grand opening of my honky tonk bar “The Frisky Cowgirl”  (both aspirations of mine), this growing obsession is much more blasé.   Simply put, it’s goin’ showin’ syndrome.  For those of you that need a seven step program with me, you know exactly what I am experiencing.   For those of you that do not, I’ll do my best to explain.
My initial taste of the show ring came late in life.  I was in college and my first species of choice was horses.  Next were pigs, followed by dairy cows, sheep, goats and cattle.  In those days it didn’t necessarily matter what species I learned to show.  Quite honestly, it may have come down to what boy I was interested in and what he was showing!   While I don’t really care to ever show dairy cows or sheep again, these days I simply can’t get enough of pigs and cattle.  It started innocently with pigs when Dillon was still a toddler.  Now we’ve added beef calves to the mix, with poultry soon to follow.  I am hooked.   As Dillon prepares to embark upon his 4-H career, some might say I am living vicariously through my son since I didn’t get to experience the program as a youth.   Truthfully, I can’t argue with that point, but it’s so much more.    
First, there is the opportunity to work side-by-side with my son.   Everything is not always roses, since we are two quick-tempered individuals, but we are learning together.   It is even better when all three of us – mom, dad and son – can be out in the barn working together.   Second, there is the pure joy I experience working with animals on a daily basis.   Lately, I’ve been a bit sidetracked with “real” work (i.e. the kind that provides a paycheck, not spends it, like this showing obsession does rather quickly).   Quite frankly, it’s made me a bit grumpy.   While I try to squeeze in as much time as possible with the calves, I try to ward off an anxiety attack when I realize half a dozen show pigs and roughly two dozen assorted poultry varieties have not been thrown into the mix, along with “hill projects.”   Recently, we had a respected show calf breeder stop by our place.    I am always full of questions, and I mistakenly inquired how much time we should be spending working with the animals.   His response – “you can easily spend 4-5 hours a day with them.”    Whoa, buddy.   Obviously you have no kids, someone else is washing your underwear, shopping for your groceries, mowing your lawn and cleaning your toilets.   I thought we were doing well with that amount of time on the weekends!  I realize that this may be a bit extreme, but I took it to heart and would really like to see a 36 hour day, please.     My housekeeping has taken a back seat, laundry gets done (but not always put away in a timely manner) and the pantry has dwindled to single numbers more than once, but the calves are washed and the pigs will be walked.
For my friends and colleagues who wonder where I’ve gone or why I can’t meet for coffee or lunch, I have to be brutally honest.    I much prefer spending my time with animals.    Studies have shown a woman’s physical and mental health may be improved by spending social time with other females, whether it is shopping, lunch, coffee or cocktails.    I do that, only the females I spend time with these days have four legs, udders or underlines.   In just a few weeks I’ll be enjoying a cup of coffee while I walk the gilts in the early morning and enjoying a glass of wine at sunset while watching the heifers in the pasture.    Often, the only time I’m not thinking about our show animals is when I’m actually with them.   It’s the times when clipping a pig or washing a steer that I mentally compose my to-do list, plan out a meeting agenda or line-up my schedule for the coming week.
While often this distraction has positive mental health benefits, there are certain drawbacks.  If the pigs eat well and the calves set-up just right, the day can’t get much better.   Right now, Dillon has Blackjack, a well mannered heifer who is treated like a queen, and Alex, one of the friendliest, entertaining steers I have ever known.    They can put a smile on your face and make your day brighter.    Then there’s Marty.    I brought Marty into the equation a couple of months ago, and I truly believe he may be the end of me.   There are days when Marty’s attitude puts a woman with severe PMS to shame.   Just recently, he pulled an antic that sent me into a fit of rage.  I sent Dillon out of the barn and started yelling at Marty with such conviction that a sailor would have blushed had he heard me.    Alex and Blackjack watched intently, while Marty looked at me like I was a loon.   When I was done, I calmly called Dillon back into the barn.  He opened the door smiling and said “you know, mom, I heard everything you said.”    I couldn’t do anything but put my head down and say “I know, I’m sorry, your mom’s crazy.”  He understood because it was Marty.   He is truly a unique animal and we are at a battle of wills.  He is stronger, but I like to think I’m smarter.  I do know that I will never be known as the calf or pig whisperer.   Last year, I broke my big toe with one of Dillon’s show pigs.  I won’t elaborate, but I will say the pig was fine (if pigs could laugh, I think he was really having a good chuckle) as I hobbled out of the barn and had to tape my toes for four weeks.
The crock-pot is a staple in the kitchen.  Knowing dinner is slow-cooking gives me at least an extra 30 minutes with the calves.  Dillon has been asked to play on an AAU basketball team. That’s fine, provided tournaments don’t interfere with show weekends.   My perfumes from Victoria’s Secret and Kohl’s sit almost unused.    Now I’m smitten with the scent of Revive, Swine Shine and Show Sheen.    Dillon even sprays his hair with a fine mist of Show Bloom before heading in the show ring.  It really does give him that extra shine, and he thinks it brings him good luck.    If you see me in the hair or skin care aisle of a local retailer, chances are the multiple boxes of dark black hair dye, hot oil treatments and bottles of deep conditioner are not for me.    I call my hairdresser now for more advice on calf hair than I do my own.    I become entranced when blowing out a calf and watching their hair pop and gleam.   It’s like a high-priced fashion shoot in the cooler room when everyone is lined up, I’m going over them with a comb and the fans blowing are blowing on us full force.   The only difference is the models are hairier and are over the weight limit by about 1000 pounds.   Over the last several months, I have spent more money on feed supplements than groceries.   I have racked up bills on grooming enhancements that if tallied into a total could probably buy me a pretty nice enhancement at a plastic surgery center.     I now realize what my husband has been telling me for the past few years is very true.    With the start of 4-H, we will not be taking a vacation for at least the next ten years.   The closest thing will be the Whitley County 4-H Fair.
While I relish the prep time at home, the one thing I dread the most about this process is the end result:  show day.    Of course, this is Donnie and Dillon’s favorite part, but it fills me with unending anxiety.   Preparations, paperwork, packing – not to mention my nerves are in a shambles.    The other day, Dillon suggested I start taking melatonin to calm my nerves.    The kid knows I need something.  So when you see me at the fair this year, please don’t offer me caffeine or try to have a reasonable conversation.    Chances are I’ll be heading to the bathroom or trying to find a quiet place to meditate!
So, as show season approaches, if I don’t answer the phone it may be because I’m out checking on pigs or chicks.   If dinner isn’t ready or I’m late for an evening appointment, it’s probably because I spent too much time in the barn with the calves.   If I can’t meet for coffee, please don’t take it personally; I have pigs to help walk and calves to rinse.   And, if I seem a bit distracted at the next meeting (or have a slight livestock odor), you can probably guess why.   It’s a passion that is slowly consuming me, with the distraction taking residence in my mind at the oddest times.  Just recently, a thought popped in my head as I took a shower:   what if Peyton Manning showed livestock?  I’ve given this some serious conceptualization, but I’ll save it for the next Musings.

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. 

A long overdue greeting to all Musings readers.  
As we head into 2011, I extend my apologies for the absence of columns the past several months and wish you all a happy new year!   An early and busy harvest, combined with youth sports, a new leadership class and other “distractions”(I’ll explain this in my next column) resulted in mud room stories taking a short hiatus.   The writer’s block is starting to clear and I’m hoping this year brings a more orderly life, but I sense that is easier said than done!  I’ve had the topic for this column in my mind – and a bit on paper – since last September, so it’s about time I finish it.

Terms of endearment are shared in a variety of ways in relationships.  There’s the standard “I love you,” or the more creative “you complete me.”  In lieu of or in addition to words, some couples prefer public displays of affection at varying levels.     I don’t often see farm couples holding hands across the table eating out or smooching in the aisles of Wal-Mart (who knew a major retailer could generate such passion, but I’ve seen it).    For me, knowing I’m valued or loved in this farm marriage comes down to a few simple phrases:  “What are you doing tomorrow?” “Do you have plans after lunch?,” and the ultimate phrase that warms my heart, “I’ll need ‘ya in about ten minutes.”   Now if there’s any psychologists or counselors reading this and starting to analyze, please save your diagnosis.   From time to time, I will glance over the columns in agricultural publications focusing on farm family relationships.  Often, I review them with humor because while the counseling advice offered to “trouble with tractors in the sand hills of Nebraska” might apply to some farm families/marriages, around here it goes right out the window!   With that said, I have found my own unique way of handling and finding the best in many circumstances.   After 14 years, this is one farm marriage that is still a work in progress and like a fine wine seems to get better with age.   Being married to a workaholic agrarian definitely requires a certain amount of flexibility, patience and absolutely some creativity!
Any one of the phrases referred to above means – to me – that I get a chance to spend time, although not necessarily quality time, with my spouse.  It may mean we have time to chat and catch up on life’s details, joke around and discuss the future.  It may also mean a time to test our attitudes with one another as we exchange colorful and quite honest thoughts about our work or personality styles!  
You see, I am a planner by nature.  In my head, i.e. my own little world, I have the next day planned out exactly as it should happen.   I also like to think I am fairly flexible if something unexpected arises.  However, my preference is to have as much lead time or structure as possible.  This goes against my personality style somewhat, thus resulting in the multiple voices in my head struggling with each other on occasion.   My husband is also a planner, knowing in his mind at the end of the day what needs to be done around the farm the next day.   The challenge is we don’t always share each other’s thought process.    Typically, on a Sunday evening we will discuss our schedules for the coming week.     I have come to realize this little event is not always a practice in active listening.   For instance, I realize if I tell him I have an evening meeting and need to leave by 5:30 p.m. he will show up to get Dillon somewhere between 5:30 and 5:37.   So, I’ve gotten in the practice of moving up my departure time at least 15 minutes just to be sure he arrives in time to pick up our son.   He’s starting to figure this one out, so here’s where the creativity comes in to play.  There are other times when I am working at home and Donnie will casually say at lunch “what are you doing this afternoon?”  In the past, I would blissfully run down my personal to-do agenda, unaware of the impending request.   Now I know better. That innocent question I once thought was merely posed for concern about my well-being really means I’m probably gonna get dirty sometime that day.    As a conditioned fight or flight response I now say “why, what do you need?”   At times, this greatly irritates my spouse as he may have simply been inquiring about my day.   But just when I let my guard down, I am asked to run to the mill, help move pigs or some other farm duty.    Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely love helping on the farm and the fact that I am “needed” is a huge validation point for me (this is starting to sound like a therapy session!).  
The one term of endearment I still struggle with is “I’ll need ‘ya in about ten minutes.”  I’m not very spontaneous by nature.   I’m a woman, and I need mental prep time.   The thought of dropping what I’m doing in such a short time, especially if I showered that day and realize that I may need to shower again, is akin to fingernails on a chalkboard.    I cringe at first, but around here it’s adapt or die.  Typically it all turns out well and I am back to my own to-do list in a matter of hours.   The times it doesn’t go well usually occur if my father-in-law is involved or if something is terribly wrong, such as cattle outside the fence, pens of pigs mixed together or  a piece of machinery is stuck, broken, etc.
If there is one thing I have learned as a non-farm person who is now a farm wife, it is be flexible, be ready and above all, grow a thick skin.   Valentine’s Day is just around the corner.  It’s not a recognized holiday here at 3D, which is fine with me.  While I may not be showered with flowers, trinkets or dinner, I can pretty well guarantee that some time during that day I might hear “I’ll need ‘ya in about ten minutes.”   That’s more than enough for me!
Author’s note:   Over the past couple of years writing this column, my husband, Donnie, has been a pretty good sport about letting me use him as a primary topic.   In one of our recent chats, I offered him the opportunity to do the same to me and serve as a guest columnist.   He really perked up at the idea, which scares me a bit.   So, after a couple more of my musings you’ll have the pleasure of reading some thoughts composed entirely by my hubs.  Since he can’t type, I’ll have to serve as his scribe.   He’s worried I’ll edit the column for my own behalf, but I’ll make a guarantee to you the reader that it will be straight from the farmer’s mouth!

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. 

(Talk of the Town photo provided) The photo above shows Kelley's kitchen circa 1930s when it was considered the first modern kitchen in Whitley County. The photo now hangs on the wall inside the Whitley County 4-H Center building.

By Kelley Sheiss

One of my favorite songs right now is “The House That Built Me” by Miranda Lambert.  It reminds me of the house where I spent 18 years of my life, thinking of how fortunate I did not have to move multiple times like my siblings.   Except for a one year stint in Woolrich, PA as a toddler, my growing years were in Lancaster County, PA.    At the ripe age of five, we moved into a brand new home, custom built from plans my mom had ordered from a magazine.   It was the only time I would (and probably every will) live in a brand new home.   One sidebar here:   my parents let me pick out the décor of my bedroom, and at five years old the decision was easy – purple carpet,

purple wallpaper, purple curtains and a purple bed.   Let this be a lesson to all parents that allowing your kindergartener to make such decisions can greatly affect the resale value of your home.  Although our home was a distant cry from an old farmhouse, our family would certainly give it character over the years.   This past April, I had the chance to drive Dillon by my childhood home.   To my disappointment, the owners had painted it white and blue, completely changing its appearance.   Worse yet, the meticulous landscaping my dad had worked on for many hours over the years had been replaced by an overgrown jungle.   Unlike the song I so enjoy on the radio, I had no desire to enter and capture memories.   The memories and character that made that house a home are fondly carried with me today.  I couldn’t help but recall Dad’s gorgeous azalea bushes, the times we forced an entirely too big Christmas tree into the living room, or the many beloved pets who were tucked in the ground up back beneath a flowering dogwood tree.   Those were just a few of the things that gave that house character.  
Maybe that is why since leaving that house I have chosen older residences that possess a delightful sense of character within their walls.   First there was the old brick row house in Elizabethtown.    The upside was living near the Mars chocolate factory, so I always had a naturally sweet air freshener just outside my door.  The downside was old windows that allowed pigeons access to my residence on one occasion.   The problem was compounded when the maintenance man hired by the landlord to fix said windows had an affinity for leaving the job with an inventory of the tenant’s underwear.   Needless to say, I moved shortly thereafter, heading west to Chicago.   Making the decision where to live in the windy city was easy.  I bypassed the new high-rise studio with a view of the lake and a trendy loft in Wrigleyville to settle in an older apartment building on North Dearborn that was a hotel during the Great Depression.  It helped that I could walk to work, but I also loved the old elevator, the large windows, detailed woodwork and the hiss of the old-style heater in the kitchen.  It made perfect sense to me that as I prepared to move to Indiana, I became fixated on one particular “old” farmhouse.  From the outside, I envisioned it had loads of character.  The one thing I loved most about the house would also become one of its most vexing aspects:  the style of the roof.   The only problem was at the time the house wasn’t for sale.
Visit after visit to Indiana, Donnie would ask “do you want to build a house or what?”   And every time we drove past the old Bennett place I would say “nope, I want to live there.”   He would look at me exasperated and respond “it’s not for sale!”   Call it fate, luck or divine intervention, but one day the people living in the house decided to move to South Dakota.   The owners saw my brother-in-law one day and asked if he knew anyone that was interested in the property.   Within a month, Donnie and I were doing a walk-through and working with the bank to prepare loan documents.   The first time we walked through the house, everything I dreamed about the character of the house was true.  Aside from the owner’s affinity for pink, I was in awe of the high ceilings, woodwork and big windows.  To be quite honest, I remember very few other details.  My mind was clouded with “I’m going to live in this house!”  
Obviously, I didn’t notice the cracks, unfinished rooms, the fact that few windows would open or the lack of bathing accommodations and closets upstairs.   But hey, that was part of the character of an old farmhouse, right?  Imagine my surprise one day when I came upon a photo at the Whitley County Extension Office of my kitchen!   The older photo had a label on the back noting “modern farm kitchen with built-in sink, 1940   .”   Everything is exactly the same, except the old lady standing by the sink (Mrs. Tom Hefty) is gone as is the window.   We had to replace it shortly after moving in as snow would drift in on the inside ledge during the winter months.    This same picture hangs in the west room of the 4-H Center, so while you’re at the fair you can catch a glimpse of my kitchen.  I’ve often vowed to send this photo, along with a current one showing the similarities, to some makeover show in hopes of winning my dream Mediterranean-style kitchen, but that might take away some of the “character” of the room.   
As I said earlier, the one aspect that endeared me to the house was the “witch’s hat,” an architectural design on the quaint slate roof.   This is the part where you watch what you wish for.   The darling tower/peak/witch’s hat, combined with a 100-year old slate roof that’s full of…character…can prove to be quite stressful in times of excessive rainfall.  When I hear “mom, my ceiling is leaking again” I curse my affinity for old farmhouses with “character” and pray silently that the crew from Extreme Makeover will knock on my door.
There’s a variety of other attributes that contribute to the character of an old farmhouse.  Consider just a few:
-A close connection to the Biblical occurrence of plagues.  Think Asian Lady Beetles, spiders, flies that put the Amityville Horror to shame, and in the case of this year, ants.  Little tiny ants that defy any natural or man made eradication remedy.
-The fact that the well and septic system are close friends and neighbors.
-Despite central air, a lack of duct work to the second story results in an icebox downstairs and a sauna in the bedrooms
-Carpet that has seen generations…and generations…and generations walk over it (but hey, when you live on a farm, plush, new white carpet is not exactly the norm)
-The signature “paint over wallpaper” that adds a delightful retro touch
-Cracks in the walls or ceilings that substitute for viewing constellations in the night sky
While it’s sometimes easy to be critical of the character, I much more enjoy discovering the joy in it.   For example:
-This is the house where we will proudly raise our son
-It is a kitchen where we sit and eat a meal together almost every night
-There are really high ceilings so Donnie rarely hits his head (unless I hang giant Christmas ornaments from the doorway during the holidays, which I have learned not to do)
-Inside the big parlor window (that now opens) is a perfect spot for our Christmas tree
-The rooms in this house have hosted many family and friends
-Each and every room has been given our own unique touch
Yes, despite the repairs, needed improvements and my desire for a new kitchen, I absolutely love my old farmhouse.   For those of you older residents who may have been invited to this home for a garden club gathering, the Tiffany chandelier is gone.  I have been asked this question many times by older residents, and it was gone way before my time here.   We are also working diligently to return the yard and landscaping to its original beauty after being overtaken by weeds and assorted brush.  Several people have told me the flowers grown in this yard were once a showcase of the area.   I always like to think the outside of your house is an invitation to the inside.
Most importantly, our house is a home.   To some people, a house is merely four walls, a roof and a place to sleep at night.  While there are times I dream of a new home, I know they have problems, too, and might the lack the 100 + year old character this house possesses.   No, I don’t think I’ll be yelling “move that bus!” anytime soon.  There are generations of stories in the walls of this house, and we are happily adding to them.  That’s when I remember this “old farmhouse” is also our home.

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, are the proud parents of a son, Dillon, and operate a family farm in Etna Troy Township. She is the executive director of Leadership Whitley County and is an active Whitley County 4-H volunteer.

I have to admit I’ve had a bit of a writer’s block lately.   It’s not so much there aren’t things I could write about (and some I probably shouldn’t), but life has been busy this spring and I’ve been challenged with composing my thoughts and developing some thicker skin.  I’m a sensitive person by nature, which does not fair well in the Sheiss family or the occupation of agriculture.    Lately, my frustration has risen with sentiments from various sources focusing on the negatives of meat and modern livestock production practices.  I find it ironic that when modern technology, modern

medicine, modern housing, modern appliances and modern education is mentioned, the general population finds it appealing.     So how did modern agriculture become such a villain?    I was at a lack of “musings” until I was inspired recently by local business owner Stan Ziherl of Five Star Distributing.   The man has a passion for the business of beer.    Stan could easily let the naysayers of barley pop get him down, but that is definitely not the case.   Listening to him scroll through the history of beer and detailing its importance to the economy, I couldn’t help but be inspired to sit and type.   My passion is agriculture and more specifically livestock and meat.   Summer is just around the corner, and for many people it means grilling time is here.  Although we grill year round, the warm weather brings a fever with the gas tank and grates.  I’m sure Stan would appreciate that few things go better with a steak or pork chop hot off the grill than a fresh, cold beer.   
Now I have to provide a disclaimer.   I’m not a physician, dietitian or professor; I’m a livestock producer.   Most of the facts presented in this column have been gleaned from reputable sources and I will be glad to make note of it when applicable.  The rest of the text is simply my opinion, or musings.   Although I may have thin skin, I’ve never been one to shy away from sharing my opinions!   If you’re a vegetarian or opposed to modern livestock production practices or even concerned with the health aspects of grilling, then I suggest you click on another link of this website right now.   It’s time to talk grilling.   Grilling with delicious, nutritious, corn-fed, American produced beef and pork.   So let’s get started.
First, there’s deciding what cut of meat to buy.      There’s also deciding where to buy it.   I’m all for the “buy local” initiative.   As a vendor at our local farmer’s market, there’s nothing more satisfying to me and Dillon than when someone heads home with a purchase of our local produce.  It’s also rewarding when we can deliver a hog to Krider’s for someone to enjoy.     Being a large, modern pork producer certainly does not limit us from providing our local residents quality, tasteful pork if they choose to purchase it this way.    Logistically, most consumers head to the store or local butcher for smaller portions.   I’ll readily admit that a vast majority of our meat purchases come from local retailers.     We do purchase a beef animal on a regular basis and have it processed to our specifications, but other than the occasional hog we have made for sausage, I am a consumer at the meat case just as many of you are, too.    There are places I prefer to buy my meat, while there are places I do not.   You can’t beat Krider’s pork burgers and stuffed sausage, and I regularly find excuses to drive to South Whitley to purchase Heyerly’s gourmet burgers and steaks.   I love fresh meat cases, which both locations have, relishing the opportunity to pick out my very own cut and relive the days of my youth when mom and I would go to the locally owned Mennonite store and select our dinner entree.     I frequent other larger retailers, too, but my selection process is finicky at best.    Pork should be a medium to darker pink (sometimes even light red on the rib end) in color, and beef should possess some marbling with a preferred grade of Choice.   Prime beef is usually reserved for the restaurant trade, while select beef, although more affordable, deems some pretty heavy marinating to obtain a rewarding flavor.      
So what about nutrition when selecting your main entrée?  I am a firm believer that everything in moderation is okay, and today’s modern beef and pork can certainly fit into a healthy diet.   It’s refreshing to know there are 29 cuts of beef that meet the government labeling guidelines for lean (www.beefitswhatsfordinner.com/leanbeef) and six pork cuts that meet the same guidelines, with less than 10 grams of fat per serving (www.theotherwhitemeat.com/nutritionalinfo).    When shopping for either commodity, consider cuts from the loin and/or round – like pork chops, pork roast, sirloin tip steak, round steak, tri-tip or tenderloin.      Remember, you can always support local producers by purchasing animals directly from them and having the processing done locally.    Also know that when you purchase meat at a grocery store, you are very likely supporting a family farm somewhere across the country.   Most of our pork ends up in a variety of grocery stores across the Midwest, so I certainly encourage you to pick up a pack of chops or ribs on your next shopping trip!
Next is preparation.    While I’m the primary griller in the household, I’m certainly not the best (remember that farm wives can’t cook thing?).  Although my husband can’t boil water, he can grill a steak to perfection.  I think grilling is in a man’s DNA.   Something about the caveman instinct, bringing home the meat and cooking it over the fire.   Regardless of who is at the helm of the coals, we have a few favorite grilling choices.  There’s beef steaks (of course) and sirloin cubes for delicious kabobs complete with garden fresh vegetables.   On the pork side, pork burgers are a staple for us in the summer, and we also enjoy pork ribs slow-cooked in the crock pot all day and finished on the grill with a slather of Sweet Baby Ray’s.     Occasionally, a mini hog roast is on the menu, consisting of a pork shoulder roast (often called a butt roast), seasoned and wrapped in tin foil, cooked on the grates at a low temperature for 2 to 3 hours.
Another perfect marriage on the grill is pairing up your meat with a marinade.   There are a variety of possible combinations, but my all time favorite mixes soy sauce, brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar, garlic and a touch of honey.   Marinade overnight, and always remember to discard any unused marinade.   
Shopping for meat, or other items on the perimeter of the grocery store, can sometimes be a confusing course in labels and claims.   This is where more of my musings – or should I say opinions – come in, so the following comments are strictly my own reflections.    First, the term burger should strictly be reserved for the king and prince of commodities:  beef and pork.   Veggie and burger just don’t go together.   Maybe veggie patty, veggie disc or even veggie croquet.   Leave the burgers to those that deserve it.    If you are subject to eat a veggie disc, top it with bacon.   Bacon makes everything better.   Next, in honor of my great dairy farm friends, the term milk should be used for products that come from an animal with teats.   I have never seen a soybean plant with udders or almond farmers getting up early in the morning to milk their trees.   How about juice, drink or beverage?  Milk is from cows, and I love milk.   Incidentally, there are some thoughts that girls mature earlier due to eating too much meat or drinking too much milk.   I have enjoyed both commodities all of my life and let me tell you I was one of the latest bloomers around.  As a matter of fact, I’m still waiting for some things to bloom.
Finally, I’m a bit vexed with the words natural, hormone free and organic.     Natural can be interpreted many different ways.   According to a fact sheet funded by the beef check-off, by government definition, most beef is natural.   Meat also naturally contains hormones (such as estrogen), as does some vegetables (such as broccoli).   Organic is a term used with wild abandon these days.  I have no problem with the term, provided it is accurate.  For me, that means having the USDA certified organic label.   Strict standards are in place for beef and pork to be eligible.   I admit I have a few organic items in my kitchen at this moment.   There’s organic oatmeal and organic baby greens.   They do have the USDA label and I do pay more for them.   It’s not because they are organic, however.  It’s because of the taste.  They’re good.  If I could find something that I liked just as well that was commercially produced and was cheaper, you can bet I’d buy it.   I recently bought some crackers that had the label 75% organic.    So I guess that made them kind of organic, right?  I strongly feel we do consumers a disservice when we mislead with terminology.   Often, I think instead of worrying so much about labels we should just focus on sitting down together as a family and enjoying a home-cooked (in this case home-grilled) meal.
 Get to know your local producers, ask your meat manager questions and make informed decisions based on fact, not emotion.     Hopefully I give you a sneak peek in the life of a livestock producer occasionally through this column.    All the meat we produce is grain-fed, the most widely produced type of beef and pork in the United States.   Every acre of corn we grow is directly fed to our hogs, and we take pride in the fact that we actually produce the grain we feed to our animals.  Incidentally, although the corn kernel is a grain, the corn plant is actually a grass.   While some may find criticism with the term modern agriculture, I find extreme pride.  I recently read an online article published by a physician who felt as a society we needed to go back to everyone having their own garden (which is great), a chicken or two and maybe a cow or pig in order to produce their own food.   It made me think of one of my favorite childhood shows, Little House on the Prairie.    I don’t know this doctor, but his idea is great if he doesn’t mind going back to treating smallpox or receiving payment in the form of a chunk of butter or a rooster, just like the “good old days.”    For those of you pundits who may be reading, I don’t wear blinders.  I am quite aware of the value of locally produced foods or alternative growing methods.   Each year, Dillon and I labor diligently with a small produce business, fighting the bugs, weeds and other elements as naturally as possible.  It has been an incredible learning experience for him.   We are blessed to be able to experience agriculture on the large and small side of the equation.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m passionate about what we do here at Three “D” and at Dillon’s Farm Fresh Produce/The Jack Patch.   One of our Leadership Whitley County trainers talks about personal mission and passion, challenging individuals to identify one thing for which they would die.  Every year, my answer is family.  If I had to make a second choice, it would be our farm.   The two – family and farm – go hand in hand.  For years I stood in grocery stores and various events sampling beef, veal and pork, talking to consumers, other producers and even activists about our product.    Through this process, my dedication to this industry grew and as I made my home on a family farm in Indiana, it quickly became my passion.   Often it is hard to contain my enthusiasm for the subject, or in some cases, my defense of our livelihood.  
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s grilling season…and I’m hungry!

(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.

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!

   

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.

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.

It's August and the warmth of summer has finally arrived.  While many of us are getting our money's worth out of shorts and tank tops, most farmers tolerate the heat in their traditional work pants and t-shirts, garnering the coveted "farmer tan." 

Provided we're not working with straw or hay here on the farm, I'll break tradition and try to stay cool with a pair of denim shorts, set off by my fashionable "poop boots."  I learned to keep bare legs clear of hay during a summer work stint in college at the university dairy barns.   It was an extremely hot day, and our job was to unload hay. A friend of mine suggested we'd be more comfortable in shorts. Ha!  That night, my legs looked as if dozens of angry barn cats had used them as scratching posts.  Now when there's hay to unload, I keep my pants on, so to speak. Otherwise, I have no problem with a little (or a lot) of mud, manure, or other debris accumulating on my legs, provided I can stay cool. 

Not so for my husband or son.   For them, it's pretty much jeans all the time.   Donnie even wore jeans (black, of course) with his tuxedo jacket at our wedding. Rarely, if ever, will you see either of them in shorts.  And if you do, please turn your head the other way when you laugh.  Donnie's legs make a polar bear look tan.   He's warmed up to the idea of shorts over the years. A couple of trips to the beach and he's accumulated several pairs.   If it's a really hot day and he's mowing hay or here at the house, you may be lucky enough to catch him in his signature Wrangler cut-offs (but you'd better have some shades on to ward off the glare!).

There is one wardrobe item that rarely finds usefulness around the farm – a bathing suit; especially a bikini.   Nope, it just doesn't cut it when loading hogs, sacking feed or cleaning pens.   It is o.k. for mowing the lawn or even walking pigs.   That's why I took such a fascination a few years ago to a photo feature in a popular magazine's swimsuit edition.  Of course, Donnie gets the magazine because he enjoys sports, but this little extra of a swimsuit edition is certainly an added bonus.  I realize some may not enjoy this particular issue, but I do have to say it is a wonderful display of photography and I can only dream of having a body such as those featured. 

About two years ago, one of the locations was not tropical at all.  It happened to be in a rural farming area of Iowa.   The pictures were some of Donnie's all time favorites, so in trying to keep the spice alive in our marriage I studied the pictures, pondering if I could recreate them so he'd have something to post on the wall of his hog barn.  It just wasn't meant to be.

The one picture had a young, pig-tailed blonde posing coyfully on top of a large round straw bale.   Yes, she had on shorts AND a bikini top.   We usually did only small square straw bales until this summer, when we had some round-bales done.  Here was my chance for a photo opp.  As I stood looking at the round bale, reality set in.   First, she didn't climb up there.  Someone placed her up there.  Second, there wasn't a scratch on her, so I'm guessing she was encased in bubble wrap until her proper placement perfectly on top of the bale.  Not trying to feel too discouraged, I opted to skip this one.  Besides, I don't have cute blonde pigtails.  The second picture that would capture any young farmer's attention was of a svelte brunette, again in a bikini, tucked in a large tire.   She seemed to fit in there quite easily, and with the yellow rim I figured it must be a John Deere tractor or combine tire.  No problem!  I headed out to the machine shed in my end-of-year clearance bikini and found the biggest tire we have, which was attached to the combine.   Well, looks sure can be deceiving.  It was either the $900 bikini she wore and some great air-brushing, or this model was only about 3 foot tall, 45 pounds and 8 inches wide.   As I tried to stuff myself in the tire rim for my final try at a birthday photo for Donnie, I found my chin shoved in my neck, my legs up over my head, and not one, but three muffin tops glaring up at me.  It took me 15 minutes, two Advil, a chiropractor appointment and a mental health counseling session to make me feel better after that episode.  Needless to say, I just finished baking a cake for Donnie's birthday, so that and a hat or t-shirt will have to do instead of the picture.

Before I sign off, here's my chance for a public service announcement. While we joke about farmer tans, farmers tend to have a higher incidence of skin cancer than the average individual due to the nature of their job. Although I didn't grow up on a farm, I did grow up loving tanning beds and baking on the beach.  Now I am paying the price.  For two years in a row, I have had a basal cell carcinoma removed from my face.  It's not an enjoyable procedure, but it could have been worse. Now I wear 30 to 70 SPF regularly.  I'm still out in the sun, and it's tough when you love it as much as I do.   As a matter of fact, as I draft this I'm enjoying an afternoon at Burnworth Pool with Dillon.  But, I'm covered in sunscreen and close to the shade (I just can't bring myself to sit right under it; it's too nice today).   

I encourage everyone to do a skin self-examination, which is how I found my skin cancers.   Go to the dermatologist for a check-up, too.  We take care of our teeth and get regular haircuts, so why not take the same care for our skin?

So yes, I still have a farmer tan.  It's just a little lighter now than it used to be.  My advice - get a skin check, wear sunscreen and never, ever go near a straw bale wearing a bikini!

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, are the proud parents of a son, Dillon, and operate a family farm in Etna Troy Township. She is the executive director of Leadership Whitley County, has an awesome sense of fashion and is probably one of the most fun people we know.

As I look back, it amazes me how close I sometimes came to a program I was never a part of as a youngster.    My dad traveled a lot, but when he was home he often managed to find time for us to do fun things together – just me and dad.  One day, he saw an ad for the Elizabethtown Fair in the paper and decided we should go check it out.  As we headed up Route 283 towards Hershey, I excitedly noticed the tops of tents from the highway.   We parked in a grassy field and took in all the fair had to offer – which in those days was not too much.  There were other community fairs we visited such as Lampeter and New Holland.  Many of these fairs had one thing in common:  there were no rides, carnival games or admission fees.   It was about good food, great people and…4-H.  Sound familiar?   It’s very much like the Whitley County 4-H Fair is today. 

Back then, I was one of those wide-eyed “city kids” who didn’t know where to walk or stand.  I vividly remember watching in awe as kids of all ages led their livestock to the show arena, wishing I could be in their shoes.  I was clueless as to the work involved, the time commitment and the sacrifices made.   One year I even had the opportunity to attend our state fair, The Pennsylvania Farm Show, with some neighbors.  My parents never desired to go because (a) it was in January (b) the weather was usually very cold and snowy and (c) the crowds were unbelievable.   Arriving at the Farm Show complex, I felt like I had entered a dream.  For some reason, I was captivated by the sheep (good thing that didn’t last!) and I recall the wonderful taste of deep fried mushrooms with ranch dressing.   My first job out of college involved working at the Farm Show the entire week.   There were people who dreaded the crowds and tenure of the event, but I soaked up every minute of it. 

Not much has changed for me.  I absolutely love the Whitley County and Indiana State Fair.  Several years ago, I was given the wonderful chance to assist with the Sale of Champions at the State Fair.   Part of my duties required me to spend several nights down in Indy, but there were few overnight accommodations available.    So, I used a cattle blower to inflate an air mattress and bedded down in the sheep barn (I keep coming back to this sheep thing, don’t I?).   Although it was not the most desirable arrangements, I loved just being a part of it all.  Dillon stayed with me one night, and we stayed up late playing games on the midway and woke up early to enjoy the quiet solitude of the fairgrounds before a busy day.    That year, there were three kids from Whitley County in the Sale of Champions.   That says so much about the quality of kids and livestock we have right here in our own backyard.   It also demonstrates the hard work and talents of those kids and their families.    And it’s not all about the livestock.   Take a walk through the fairgrounds and you’ll see.  There’s cake decorating, sewing, models, mini 4-H, adult show entries and much more.    I recently heard Fair Board President Bill Leeuw say the Whitley County 4-H Fair is one of the few volunteer-only fairs in the state.   From up on the hill out to the horse barns, volunteers are everywhere.    There’s delicious homemade meals being served by various local organizations each night, pork chops by local pork producers on Sunday, and ice cream each day courtesy of dedicated concession stand workers.   If there is one thing that makes our fair great, it is the people.   I have noticed throughout the years of attending the fair that it’s a great networking opportunity, too.  Where else in Whitley County can you see so many people in one place?!?    It is a tribute to the fabric of our community.   Dillon will start his 4-H career in two short years.   He can’t wait.  I, on the other hand, am a combination of scared, excited and clueless.  My taste for competition combined with my slight ignorance of preparing livestock for show could be a lethal combination for the poor kid.    I am going to try and leave most of the details up to Dillon and his dad (who was a very successful 10 year 4-H member) and just do what I am told.    We have tested the waters this year with seven mini 4-H projects and a few open shows with pigs.   It all seemed so easy back in February.  Now the hard part is getting the work done without requiring a conflict management facilitator!

As I thought about this column, I asked for some input from others on what they thought about our 4-H fair.  Because the responses were so great, I’m taking the liberty to extend my column this time to include them all:

Shawn Ellis, Director of Beds and Britches, Etc.:

4-H is an event that my kids have looked forward to EVERY year. Even as preschoolers, they always knew it came in July. 4-H is a safe, family function for our family. We live over on Chauncey Street, and it’s always great to hear the familiar sounds of the derby’s each night & the announcers. Whitley County’s 4-H is by far the greatest function in our county and surrounding counties at that.

Jacie Worrick, J & J Insurance:

 I think some of my fondest memories are of state fair when I was in 4-H.  My parents used to take us to the fair, deposit us at the dormitory on the fair grounds, give us $5 and say they would see us on show day.  We would get up early, go around the track to the barns, feed – and they hoof it back to the dorm for breakfast.  After breakfast it would then be back to the barns to take care of livestock, back to the dorm for lunch, and the same would be repeated for dinner. 

The dorm doors were locked at 11:00 and you had better be back or someone would be out looking for you.  Wow – has time changed things.   My great uncle was a State Policeman and they were always privy to entertainment tickets.  We would always get great seats for Ricky Nelson, Tennessee  Ernie Ford, and lots of other “big names” that I can’t even remember.  My brother and I showed steers at the state fair and I don’t ever remember standing above the middle of the class – but that wasn’t important.  We kept going back just for the FUN of it. 

When my girls started in 4-H, they showed sheep and I can remember many nights at mom and dad’s walking the lambs.  It was a great time to just reflect on life in general.  Regina showed horses and I remember many HOT shows.  She always did all the work, so we just got to sit and watch.  That experience launched her horse judging days which eventually paid her entire college tuitions. My girls will tell you they also have a few bad memories of 4-H projects.  They remember how we would LOCK ourselves in the house the week before fair so we could get all the “hill” projects done.  That last week was always a killer.   Over the years our family has invested a lot of time and money in the 4-H program and I do not regret one minute or one dollar. 

Janet Hindbaugh, Purdue Extension Office:

Having three kids who were 10-year 4-H members was challenging at times, but it created good family times together.  There were a lot of memories created in 14 years of 4-H involvement.  Ron and I still serve as chairs of the Sunday evening shift in the concession stands.  Most of the 4-H families are the best people to have lifelong friendships with and it is fun to reminisce each year.  Our granddaughter will start 4-H in a couple of years and then the rest of the grandchildren will follow – so we will be off and running again to complete another generation of     4-H.  I feel that 4-H impacts kids lives so much and enables them to become more well rounded citizens of the future!!

Sonya Rubrake, Passages:

I didn't have animals when I was in 4-H...we were never farmers!  However, I always enjoyed that aspect of the fair.  My friends, who were dairy farmers, would "let" me walk their calves/cows to get water and clean up their stalls.  That was how I got my "farmer" fix! 

Janelle Burnworth, Dairy Steer Leader:

One year the day the cattle were to go in, the kids dairy heifers got out and one jumped in the pool, leaving several holes in the solar blanket and cow pies in the pool. Needless to say she didn't have to have a bath before going to the fair. We were very glad their Dad was at work that day. 

The year Chad (my son) had his learner's permit, we had a dually 4 door pickup, it had rained and was very muddy at the fairgrounds, he pulled off the drive by the sheep barn to go around trucks and trailers and got stuck in the mud. We had to unload all the cattle on the trailer to get out. 

When I was in 4-H we were very careful to make sure none of our animals had any spots on manure on them when my Dad showed up after chores or we were in big trouble. So we were very careful to watch for all the piles and clean them up quickly.  I always tried to get lost at chore time, so I didn't have to go home and do chores and could stay at the fair.  One great memories was the 1st of 2 years I got Grand Champion Holstein.  I also got Reserve Junior Champion that year at the State Fair. 

In 1994 Michelle (my daughter) won Grand Champion Feeder Calf and Dairy Steer in the same year. I think that was the only time the same person won both in the same year.  This is my last year on an advisory board or leader, after 25 years of being either Dairy Leader, Dairy Steer Feeder Calf Leader I was both for 2 year or on the advisory board. I started the 2nd year Chad was in 4-H.  

This year I have 2 grandkids in. Many, many great memories.

Deanna Kissinger, Northeastern REMC and current 4-H Mom of two:

The 4-H Fair is Fun….it is Friendships….but most of all….it is Family.

Thank you, Deanna, for summing it up so well.  And thanks to everyone who provided such great memories.     Pre-fair events have already started, and the Whitley County 4-H Fair starts this Friday.   Take a moment to visit the fair, watch a 4-H’er show, enjoy some great food and thank a volunteer.

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, are the proud parents of a son, Dillon, and operate a family farm in Etna Troy Township. She is the executive director of Leadership Whitley County, enjoys volunteering for many local organizations and cooks a mean pot of chili.

KLS:  So Josh, what are you plans following graduation?
JF:  That's a good question.  I don't know yet.   I'll probably see what kind of job offers I get.  I plan to interview with Pfizer, Elanco, Hormel and Cargill.  Maybe pursue a career in pharmaceutical sales or research work in the meat solution industry.  If there aren't any jobs that appeal to me, I'll probably go back for my Masters degree at Tech in muscle biology. There's a good professor there who does a lot of work with feedlot cattle. Or I may look at Kansas State or Oklahoma State and focus on work with sows.

KLS:  You grew up in Maryland, worked in Indiana and lived in Kansas and Texas.  What's your favorite state?
JF:  I don't really have a favorite.   Maryland has the scenery, Indiana has the livestock and farmland and Kansas has the cattle.  Texas has the nicest people.  They have southern hospitality with a western style. I really like Texas, but it's dry, hot and in the middle of nowhere.

KLS:  So I have to ask, why did you want to come back here again this summer?  (I was thinking that we're probably not the easiest people to work for)
JF:  Well, I'm on the livestock judging team, and being around livestock on a daily basis gives me the chance to keep things fresh in my mind.   You see a lot of differences in animals and I'll be ready to judge this fall.  (KLS note:  Josh accomplished a milestone in his livestock judging career when he placed second at the North American Livestock Exposition in Louisville.  He
won cattle and reasons, besting 150 other junior college contestants.  He plans to judge on Texas Tech's team this fall).

KLS:  For those people that don't know much about livestock judging, what does it teach you, besides the ability to evaluate livestock?
JF:  That's a great question.  It clearly teaches you time management skills.  You have to be able to balance a full academic career plus be on the road judging.   Livestock judging is easily a 30-40 hour a week commitment.

KLS:  You recently celebrated your 21st birthday, stuck here with us.  Was that a bummer?
JF:  (laughs)  It's not that big of a deal.   We were in the middle of baling hay, anyways.   I've got the rest of my life to have a good time!

KLS:  What's your favorite thing to do here on the farm?
JF: Processing litters and working in the farrowing house (that's mainly working with the baby pigs)

KLS:  How about least favorite?
JF:  Crating sows and loading market hogs.  But it's easier now that the semi comes to the farm.

KLS:  Any memorable moments from your times working here?
JF:  Well, the one time we cut all the trees down around your house and Donnie kept yelling at his dad telling him not to break any windows.  We were almost done and Daryl cut a limb down and it went right through the garage window.  I'll always remember that!

KLS:  Yes, I've highlighted their great communication skills here in an earlier column.   Be honest, what's it like working for them?
JF:   You learn a lot being around people who have done this their whole lives.   They sure bring a lot of opinions to the table, and it can be challenging.  But they bring different views on how to get things done.  As long as the task gets done, that's what's important.

KLS:  What do you think about Whitley County?  And since our fair is coming up and you've been here a couple of times, what are the differences in the county fairs where you have lived?
JF:  Where I grew up, ag wasn't as strong.   From my perspective, pork production is still king here and I like to see the family operations in place and agriculture is very strong.    County fairs are a lot bigger here than in Texas.  People in Texas tend to focus on the big shows.  In Maryland, we had a lot of support with bigger fairs.   The quality of livestock here, especially the hogs, is as good as anywhere.

KLS:  Why did you decide to pursue a career in agriculture?
JF:  I guess because my grandfather had dairy cattle and I've always enjoyed working with crops and livestock.   I knew I couldn't pursue that in Maryland, so that's why I went away to school.

KLS:  Is there anything you would like to tell people about animal agriculture?
JF:  I would like to inform the consumer about production practices and a lot of things they would overlook.  Sometimes they think things we do are immoral and don't always understand what we do.  I'd like to give them a
little better education of what we do and why we do it.

When Josh returns to Texas in August, I think we'll all miss him.  Not only was he a big help around here, but he's a genuine good kid.   There's one person that will really feel his absence.  Since first coming here several years ago, Josh has been placed on a pedestal by Dillon.    He is the big brother Dillon will never have.  He has been such a great mentor and friend to him.  Not only has he taken time out to play ball and participated in a mean game of putt-putt golf, he has supported him at pig shows, taken him along on chore duty and listened to his constant chatter (and it is constant!).  I'm not sure if Josh knows it or not, but he has made quite an impact on one young man here in Whitley County.  Thanks, Josh, and good luck
in all you do!   

In a “normal” year, when planting season is progressing well, things can be a bit tenuous around the farm.   I hate to say it, but everything we stress in the Leadership Whitley County program – effective communication, conflict management, teamwork – well, it kind of goes right out the window as the machinery hits the fields.     This year, in addition to the weather that has delayed things considerably, those of us raising hogs received a double whammy when the media decided to put a black eye on our industry with a flu virus.    Not only was it raining outside, but hog prices dropped considerably over several days.    You think a 2-year old short on sleep is cranky…just try hanging out with a farmer whose corn planter is parked and just lost $4,000 on a semi-load of hogs.

The itch to get in the fields for many starts in early April.  As we drove back from Pennsylvania on Easter weekend, we saw fields being worked in southern Pennsylvania and northern Ohio.   That makes the itch a bit stronger.  Then add to that those farmers who take the race very seriously and have the best intentions to get done first.    They’re usually out there a good week or two before everyone else.  On the other side of the coin, there’s the few who seem to have no weather worries, and when they get done, they get done.  It’s enough to see a few more gray hairs sprout.

I’m not sure about other farm wives, but I enjoy harvest season so much more.   There doesn’t seem to be that consuming sense of urgency.  You can ride in the combine or have a packed lunch at the grain bins as corn unloads.  Not in the spring.  Even after 13 years, I still can’t figure it out.  I don’t know whether to make dinner or offer to help with chores and ease the burden.   I have found that my husband thinks I have a keen sense of ESP, and I always know what he is thinking.  Inevitably I’ll make dinner and it will sit on the stove until 10 p.m. because we haven’t effectively communicated that “I’ll be in as soon as I empty the drill” is a good 4 or 5 hours!   Lunch is easy.  Toss a few things in a brown bag and head out to the field.   Don’t ask any questions about when he’ll be done, especially this year.    I try not to take it personally.   As a matter of fact, I have found that ignorance can be bliss.    Nope, it’s not something I did…it’s the wet spot in the field, the vacuum on the corn planter broke, or just a few more rounds and we could have had that field done last night!

I have learned to breathe a sigh of relief when the corn planter and bean drill are washed and put in the barn.   The planting is done, but the season of busy, busy work continues.  Next there’s anhydrous, then hay, followed by wheat to cut, straw to bale, and even more hay.  ‘Tis the season to work from sun-up to sun-down.   So far, most farmers seem to be handling the delay quite well.   Dave Johnson of Churubusco says he is pleased with their progress and Tom Western recalled a recent year when it rained for two straight weeks in April.  It could be worse.  Even my own husband reminded me that in the year we were married (1996), they didn’t finish planting beans until June 14.

The recent sun and dry weather is helping, and hopefully it will stay this way to let the guys (and girls) out there get their crops planted.   I never paid much attention to the weather until I married a farmer, and now that Dillon and I are growing pumpkins I fret about the daily forecast even more.  I clearly remember one day last July when I was worried about the lack of rain and the impact on our pumpkin plants.   Donnie turned to me and said (I’ve cleaned it up a bit).  “You don’t even have one acre of plants you could water by hand.  How would you like to have 800 acres to worry about?”   Thanks, hon.  It put things in perspective and I have since learned to keep my moisture, bug and weed worries to myself the rest of the season.   There’s a kind of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy during crop growing season around our place.  

On another note, I would encourage everyone to be patient as they come upon a slow moving vehicle such as a tractor, combine or hay wagon.    When I was young, I remember we would take a vacation to Ocean City, Maryland, each summer.   Our travels took us on some back roads to avoid the beach traffic, but at times we also encountered one of these slow moving vehicles.   We were all anxious to hit the sand and my dad, who has little patience and blessed me with the same trait, would become so irate.  He would yell and couldn’t wait for a chance to pass.  I was right there cheering him on.  Hey, it was our vacation and we were going to the beach, so get out of our way!   My perspective today is quite different.    Many farmers rarely get to take a vacation, and when they do, they deserve it.   They are doing their job, and making the best effort to do it safely and with consideration to others.    Please give them the respect they deserve.

Soon it will be a beautiful drive throughout the country.    I think one of the prettiest times is when the corn is about knee high and the wheat is in full head but still green, waving in the wind like an ocean.  For one brief moment, we can stop and smile at the progress that has been made.   Then we’re off to bale some hay, weather permitting!

Author’s Note:

Following my last column, several of you inquired about Snowy and her eggs.  Thank you for reading the column and allowing me to share a snapshot of my life with you.   I do have to share some sad news, however.   Just two days before the eggs were due to hatch, a night-time creature found its way in to the enclosed duck pen.   It killed Picasso and Curly.   All the eggs were destroyed and several very tiny ducklings also lost their lives.   We never found Snowy.   It was a terrible morning for Dillon and me.   I watched as he walked around the yard and found several of her feathers, asking to keep them so he could remember her.   Dillon (and I) secretly hoped Snowy might come back as she had before, but we now realize she met the same fate as the others.  Unfortunately, that is life on the farm.   There is life and there is death.   For anyone that has lost a pet, you know the feeling.  The ducks were our pets, and the fact that she was so close to hatching the eggs made the hurt even worse.   Yes, there are life events that people face which are much more critical than losing a few ducks.  But on that day it meant a lot to us.   When Dillon arrived home from school, we buried the two drakes and the remaining babies in a sunny spot out in our pasture.   As we headed back to the house, Dillon said “they were good ducks, Mom, and I really enjoyed having them while we did.”  Then he put his arm around my waist and said “Tomorrow will be another day.”   Yes it will, son.  Yes indeed.

Today, make-believe has become reality as I am part of a family that has the privilege of taking care of hundreds of animals on a daily basis.   The pigs and cattle are our livelihood.  We depend on them for a living and they depend on us for their care.   Much to my husband's chagrin, I have managed to garner a collection of animals here at our house that doesn't provide any meaningful income.  In addition to the dogs and cats, there's Leroy the miniature donkey, Skittles the lop-eared rabbit, Bert and Ernie, our fancy roosters and Thelma and Louise, our laying hens.
Our most recent addition, thanks to the VanHouten family of Goose Lake, are three Call ducks named Snowy, Curly and Picasso.   When Dillon and I first saw Call ducks at the 4-H Fair, we fell in love with them.   When we had the chance to "adopt" the trio after they retired from the show ring, we jumped at the chance.  I almost jumped myself right into divorce court, too!
During the bitterly cold winter we just endured, I would take a bucket of steaming water out to the duck pen each morning and pour it into their tub so they would have not only drinking water, but a short moment to enjoy a splash or two before it quickly froze.  Dillon and I would take turns breaking the ice while the ducks waited excitedly to waddle up to their mini pond.   After about two weeks of doing this, I would notice each time I came out the door with the hot water Snowy, the female duck, would greet me with
a signature duck call.   Eventually, she did this every time someone came out the door, walked to the mailbox, pulled in the driveway, etc.   It became an expected greeting we all enjoyed.   It even brought a smile to my husband's face (although he'll never admit it).  Late this winter, when we had an exceptionally windy night, Snowy was not in the pen the next day. We couldn't figure out what had happened to her and were saddened at her
loss.  The next day, as I prepared to take Dillon to school, he ran out to check on the two remaining drakes.   As he yelled to let me know they were o.k., we heard a loud quack from down by the road.   Here came Snowy up across the front yard.  As we both yelled her name, she let out that wonderful duck call until she reached us.  I happily scooped her up and put her back in the pen.  We haven't lost her since.  She has been quiet as of late, though.  You see, she's setting on a nest of eggs and has kept herself in the small barn they have for shelter.   Although they say Call ducks almost never hatch eggs without incubation, Dillon and I are hoping for the slightest chance that even one egg might hatch under her dutiful care.
That is just a small tidbit of the many experiences we have with animals here on the farm.   Some days there are good ones, some days are more difficult.   I truly believe being a livestock producer is one of the most difficult jobs and data backs that up.   Farmers are getting older and fewer young people are entering the profession.   The recent Ag census shows that most "farmers" report having an off-farm job.  Raising livestock as a sole means of income is a 24-hour, seven day a week job.   It is a full time commitment, and as the US Army so aptly put it, "it's the toughest job you'll ever love" -- when the wind chill is 20 below, the cows still need to be fed, and when the heat index is 110, hog pens still need to be cleaned.
But, I know my family wouldn't have it any other way.   Raising and caring for livestock and producing a quality food product for thousands of people is a privilege.    Now - I know there's someone reading this saying "Ok, so if you care so much for your animals than how can you eat them?"   To me, it's pretty black and white.   I love animals.  And I love to eat - especially steak and bacon.
As livestock producers, our job is to take the very best care of the animals that are here on the farm for a specified time.   That may be six months for a pig, or it may be 12 to 14 years for some of our wonderful brood cows.
Yes, the end result is hopefully providing our family with some income and providing other people with food for their table.  But believe me, if we wanted to be rich we would have chosen another profession.  We do this because we love it; we love working the land, the "boof" of the pigs when we enter the barn, or helping a newborn calf come into the world.  For those of you wondering what a "boof" is, it's sort of like a dog's bark.  Pigs kind of get excited to see you, especially when they know it's feeding time.
There is a sense of pride in providing a product that is "Made in the USA." Unfortunately, there are many critics out there who would like to see animal agriculture in this country abandoned or severely reformed.   I would hate to go to the grocery store and see pork from China or beef from South America, wouldn't you? The United States has the safest, most abundant food supply in the world.
I am living a dream come true by having the opportunity to help raise the pigs and cattle on our farm, plus having a few "hobby" pets for me and my son to enjoy.  It doesn't matter if it's caring for only one duck or one thousand pigs.  It's about taking care of our animals and providing for others while teaching the next generation to be inspired to do the same.
Just as a duck call brings a smile to my face, so does the moo of the cows when they see the truck stop by the pasture or the curious looks from the baby pigs as I walk through the farrowing house.  It's not a perfect job (try being a 160 pound person trying to move a 300 pound sow!).   But then again, I don't know of any job that is ideal.   Just as I said before, there are good days and there are bad days.   It's a good year farming when the good outnumbers the bad.
I do have one more addition coming to the barn here at the house this week. One of our favorite cows fell ill and died unexpectedly.   Her calf, who we call Buster, is about two months old and needs a foster family.   When Donnie asked me if I would bottle feed him, I didn't have to think twice. There's nothing that brings a smile to my face more than the wag of a hungry calf's tail as he downs a big bottle of milk.  It will be even better if I get a duck call on the way to the barn.
For more information on proactive agricultural animal welfare issues, visit www.conversationsoncare.com

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, are the proud parents of a son, Dillon, and operate a family farm in Etna Troy Township. She is the executive director of Leadership Whitley County, enjoys volunteering for many local organizations and has some phenomenal jewelry-making talent.