Saturday, August 1, 2026

It seems to me to be patently unfair that firsts get all the fanfare - first step, first love, first kiss.

"You just can't imagine what loneliness is," Dad confessed quietly as he eased his way off our deck that has needed new steps since we moved in (has it really been 13 years?).

Some of the sagest advice my father ever offered my brothers and me urged us not to "hit back at bullies" because, sooner or later, "They'll get theirs.

Yesterday, as I was driving to buy groceries and fill up the gas tank on my car, I couldn't help but notice the bumper sticker on the pick-up truck ahead of me.

Anyone who fancies himself a writer always reads and critiques other writers' efforts, sometimes with disdain and sometimes with admiration while saying to himself, "I wish I'd written that.

I firmly believe that two of the most daunting - albeit well-intentioned - statements in the English language are thus: "When God closes a door, He opens a window" and "God has a plan.

Our family has never felt compelled to do "back to school" shopping like some, but since Kathie's lunch bag from last year is worn and stained, during a weak moment in Wal-Mart, I opted to pick up an insulated hot pink bag and a coordinated water bottle that slides neatly inside.

Every August, about silage chopping time, my mind flits back to a burning question of my youth: Given the old fashioned way we made corn silage on that southern Illinois dairy farm, were we just poor or were we just cheap?

My son, the country boy, is suddenly a city boy. Plucked from our farm situated near a tiny town, he is now in a city that seems to never sleep.

Editor: Mr. Guebert, you have been sucker punched. The July 26 issue of Farm and Dairy contained an opinion column by Alan Guebert titled "Dairy farmers take co-op to task.