A good friend’s father had a quadruple bypass two weeks ago. It’s been a stressful, uncertain time for their family, but his health outlook is strong.
It was Larry, not Jimmy, Page that was mobbed when he left the stage in San Francisco earlier this year.
I wish there was a vaccine for parents, administered around the time their children start talking, that provided immunity to kidfluence.
What does it feel like to face foot-and-mouth disease? What does it feel like to have your farm quarantined? To have an entire geographic region closed to animal movement? To lose generations of livestock genetics in the blink of an eye? To receive little compensation for dumped milk or for meat? For all we know about farming here in the United States, we know little about the terror, the frustrations, of farming in the midst of a major animal disease outbreak.
When a Kentucky reader stopped by Farm and Dairy’s booth at Farm Science Review, we chatted a bit about the extreme dry conditions down there, and the lack of pasture and feed for livestock.
ATVs. We love them, use them on our farms and occasionally do a little joy riding. But they’re also the enemy, for in the hands of a trespasser, they often tear up crops and fields and woodlots.
The four-color photo on the front page of the local daily paper immediately caught my eye, but not with a reaction the editors desired.
Lots of headlines dampen the ethanol euphoria by proclaiming we’ll be paying more for our food. After all, there’s only so much corn to go around.
The file’s contents spilled out of one folder and into a second. Then a third. For at least seven years in the late 1980s and until 1993, we tracked and reported and wrote about the research and pending FDA decision on the use and commercial sale of bovine somatotropin, or bST.
Back-to-school shopping is a piece of cake with my 16-year-old son, Jon. We don’t shop. And I love it.
We Americans are a cheeky lot. We’ve built this nation on independence, courage and true grit. We’re rags to riches, Don’t Tread On Me and don’t tell us what to do.
Don’t it always seem to go That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone They paved paradise and put up a parking lot – Lyrics by Joni Mitchell Ten farms in Adams County.
The ag world treats the cyclical years when the farm bill is written as The Years. As in “this could be The Year that meaningful reform streamlines ag programs” or “this could be The Year that environmental mandates include substantial financial assistance.
Did you know that if you rearrange the letters in the word “dormitory,” you can also spell “dirty room”? Or the letters in “slot machines” also spell “cash lost in ‘em”? It’s all about perspective.
I’m not the most frugal of individuals, but I’m by no means a spendthrift. Either way, I have little respect for things crossing my desk that strike me as a colossal waste of energy, time and money.
While researching some of the information for today’s Page 1 story on the Borden Boys and their donation to the Smithsonian, I found a picture of a “Rotolactor” milking machine.
Long before there was David Letterman, the University of Tennessee’s ag college came up with its own Top 10 list that’s worth reviewing.
Dear Annette, You’re done. No more high school. No more bells, study halls or varsity volleyball. No more sock hops, pep rallies or lunchroom drama.
Testimony before a House or Senate committee is not always the most scintillating reading. I’ve always marveled how legislators can stay awake during the most boring of hearings.