When I opened the package, I had no idea what the big, hardcover book was or who it came from. Bobo’s Flying Circus? And then I looked below the title and saw the subtitle: “Autobiography of Gilbert Russell Evans.
If you’re a farmer, don’t read this. If you’re a farmer wannabe, you’d better read this. Everyone else should read it, too.
Baseball hall of famer Ryne Sandberg said his dad always told him, “Keep your nose clean, your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open because you might learn something.
“What does it take to earn a living on the farm?” Good question. What’s the answer? Actually, the question was the title of a report from a Minnesota Extension educator (we used to call them ‘agents,’ remember?).
I’m intrigued by the growing “local foods” movement and direct marketing of just about anything farm-fledged.
You always wonder, on the first day of daylight-saving time, whether anyone will sheepishly arrive at church just as the service is ending.
I watched the huge muskrat swim toward the bank of the Jordan River below me. Zooming in with my long camera lens, I snapped a shot to give to Mahoning County native Karl Gebhardt who was about to be baptized (we’re talking “dunking” here) in the shallow river.
(Note: Editor Susan Crowell is traveling with an agricultural trade mission to Israel. This is her first report, filed after arriving in Tel Aviv.
Do you want the good news or the bad news? Thing is, you can’t separate the two, when you talk about farm economics.
Last week, we talked about trends that shouldn’t surprise anyone: the generation gap, agriculture beyond food and fiber, and learning to “be human.
Adapt. Flex, Experience. Create. Focus. Partner. Shift. Imagine. Start. Enjoy. These are futurist Jim Carroll’s 10 “great words for 2006,” and they’re a good fit for January’s new beginnings.
The calendar officially says December. The holidays. The pace. The weather. The end of the year. The year’s 12th month is either welcome or despised: a reminder of tasks undone or accomplished, of goals unmet or fulfilled, and of plans waylaid or on track.
White HAZMAT suits. That’s what I think of when I hear the words “Superfund site.” White suits with self-contained breathing apparatus, gloves, boots.
The screen in the darkened room showed a rural road now bordered on the left by new homes. “I used to farm this,” said Knox County’s Tim Norris as he flipped to the next slide.
I tuck my two teenage children in bed several nights a week. At least I go into their bedrooms and pretend I can’t see the “Oh Mom!” roll of the eyes as I sit on their beds.
The livestock industry wants the government involved in the national animal identification system. And yet it doesn’t want the government involved.
The wind died down around 2 p.m. Monday, Aug. 29. In that lull, Mississippi dairyman Bucky Jones scrambled out to the barn to milk his 80 Holsteins.
It’s like a game. If I put only $10 in the gas tank, maybe prices will go down tomorrow (which is about how long $10 lasts and I have to stop at the gas station again).
As I was washing dishes in the kitchen Sunday afternoon, the TV in the next room provided some background noise.
The 1970s, like every decade, were filled with unforgettable fads: platform shoes, mood rings, earth shoes and Rubik’s cube.