Friday, July 29, 2016

While it is true that every day is filled with blessings, there is something about September that leads me to believe that there are more blessings in every single day of this certain month than we can count on our two hands.

Drop a pebble in the ag policy pond and the resulting ripples seem to rush over many farmers' self-interest.

Let me state, for the record, what has long been suspected and recently proven: I am not a trooper. Trooper.

I meant to grab a refill for my checkbook and was sorry to find an empty check box. I don't remember taking out the last set of checks and don't remember any order form that should have been sent in.

Throughout Ohio there has been a great deal of discussion about increasing profits for local dairy farms.

Farmers and ranchers live in an ocean of numbers. And like the tide, the numbers - pigs-per-litter, gain-per-pound, bushels-per-acre, dollars-per-bushel - can't be held back; they keep coming and keep adding to our nation's food story.

Beautiful trills of birdsong drifted through the bathroom window. As I raised the mini-blind halfway, I expected to see, somewhere, a goldfinch.

I have a "first day on the job" speech I give all new editorial department employees. After I review the company's policies, plan the training schedule, and point out the restrooms, I climb on the soapbox.

I have to be perfectly honest. Since working as the herdsman at Misty Dale Dairy Farm in Highland County after graduating from the dairy science department at OSU, I have done a poor job of keeping up with the ever-changing genetic evaluations of our AI sires.

Fannie Flagg's new novel, Can't Wait To Get To Heaven, provides some good grins and a lot of food for thought.
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