From The Ground Up

I spent yesterday in the field. 

Not just "the field", but rather a field in Tipton County, Indiana, responsible for interviewing a farmer about his successful history with a seed company. A bit of my time was spent with John in the cab of his massive machinery, but even more of my day took place on the dirt that was drying out with the flat-land wind. 

In order to get the shot I wanted, I waited several rounds as he, excuse me, the satellites, turned the equipment around and headed to and fro. 

A gal can do a lot of thinking in the dirt, waiting on a man to get things straight. 

I looked around and saw a single seed resting on top of the soil. Even with a hair tie and several bobby pins, I could barely keep my hair out of my face and dirt out of my teeth; the wind was intense. I wondered how this tiny seed, the size of a pencil eraser, was able to stay put when the soil around it blew away into the wind as tiny dust particles. 

My bleeding heart showed up per usual; I kinda felt sorry for the Lone Ranger and with my thumb I pressed it into the ground. Just like that, my planting season was done.  

Something else caught my eye.

A weed still rooted and resting in a chunk of dirt the size of  a ping pong ball. 

It's interesting to look at that measly weed and think that it remained rooted even after such a vast machine made several passes. 

Resilience. 

I was intrigued. 

It got me thinking.

What kept that weed so firmly rooted into it's direct surroundings?

What keeps us rooted?

What unearths us?

I've written a lot about "deep roots" and how those roots influence where we go and what we do. My roots have in fact sent me away and brought me back home. 

But what about strong roots?

The ones that serve us right when we're faced with a choice. 

The roots that are tied to those voices in our head that guide us right from wrong. 

I know those roots start when we're young - and work from the ground up. At some point we're taught life lessons and it's our responsibility to remain rooted in what we know is true, and part of us. It makes you wonder what series of moments we experience, or don't, that give us strong enough roots to remain grounded in adversity. 

What keeps you grounded? 

Your parents? 

Your kids? 

Your faith? 

A relationship? 

But it was more than that tiny root structure that got me thinking. If you just look around, a lot can be learned from the ground up. 

There will forever be road blocks, and rocks, in our path. 

And we have to learn to take them in stride, work around them and adjust. 

There will also be really big road blocks - or rocks - in life's path. How do we deal with these? We flag 'em. We take notes. We learn lessons. We pray. We find ways to move them, and we ask friends to help. Sometimes, we avoid that route all together. 

There will be things that we realize don't belong in our life. 

They may seem like a really good idea at the time, then we understand it is best to go separate ways. 

An ex-relationship? Maybe. 

But I was referencing the infamous red towels. 

 There will be people who are not looking out for our best interest. In fact, they may be intentionally working against us. Recognize these set backs dressed in jeans. There are ways to rid your life of those, too. Round-up is always a good start. 

The path won't always be easy, fast, or smooth. And that is the beauty of life. If it was easy it wouldn't be fun. We would get bored. And we'd all probably be really lazy. 

As unremarkable as it sounds, my reminder to you today is this: 

Keep it simple. When life gets complicated, remember that some of the best guidance can be found when you're working from the ground up. 

Choices

Every single day, from the moment we wake up, each of us are presented with a series of choices. 
My first choice today: to snooze or not to snooze. 
Some are terribly routine; there are days I stand in front of my closet and rack my brain trying to find something to wear. 
Others may need to be taken more seriously, and those are the ones that have the ability to change the course of our lives. 

This is not illustrating one of those life-changing choices. 

I've thought a lot about choices lately, regarding how we assess them and spend time debating them, whether internally or with others. We can expend a lot of energy weighing things on that scale in our mind, making pros/cons lists, discussing and debating. Perhaps the heaviest component in the decision-making process is knowing what you want in the first place. 

I don't know why God puts these choices - or decisions - in our life. I think it is more than He just "testing us", but rather He giving us the opportunity to have say in even just a small part of the plan already created. You can consider that a blessing or a burden! Your choice. 

In the end, it is us that not only has to live with that choice, but we get to. We get to experience the fruits or the difficulties that follow the decision we make. In fact, had I known that Dixie would cost me hundreds in carpet cleaning supplies and Febreze, would I have saved her from that ditch? Probably. Ask me again tomorrow - it may rain today. 

Maybe you'll make the phone call, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll apologize, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll admit it, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll commit to starting today, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll seek forgiveness, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll drive home, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll take the job, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll take better care of yourself, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll ask the bank, maybe you won't. 
Maybe you'll do the right thing, maybe you won't.

What choices are weighing on your mind? Who can help you make that decision? What is standing in your way of making the right choice? What choice are you putting off? What choice are you afraid of?

While every choice may not be song worthy (artists like Jones have a knack for making everyday life a masterpiece), some can be life worthy.  

Make sure the choices you make today are reflective of exactly where you want to go, because the path you choose today will surely lead you.

“But until a person can say deeply and honestly, "I am what I am today because of the choices I made yesterday," that person cannot say, "I choose otherwise.” 

- Stephen R. Covey

Be Present

Remember this: Even in the most mundane conversations, the best insight can be gained.  

I called the Wilt office two weeks ago to finalize travel plans with Melanie. We were flying west for the same event, but out of the same state. She and I chatted about lunch meetings, dinner plans with clients and what we were wearing. Having a boss with a pulse on the latest fashion: I consider it one of our greatest personal benefits at Wilt. 

"And, Lindsay," Mel closed the conversation, "there will be things you won't want to miss. 

Shut off your phone, and your ipad. 

Just...be present." 

Be present. 

It was subtle advice, but it struck me to the core. 

I've always considered myself someone who lives in the moment.

Who soaks it up. 

Who carries a camera so to not forget. 

I thought Melanie knew that. 

Then I thought back to last week when I played with my niece and nephew; I didn't lose sight of my phone in case they said something worth texting on to Grammie. Looking back, I can't even remember what Marlee, Harrison and I talked about that evening in the play room. 

Then I remembered the prettiest sunset I've ever seen. The glare on my lens left the strangest watermark. I only know that, not because of the memories that sunset engrained in my mind's eye, but because I look back on the photos and remember how upset I was that I didn't have a clean lens. Funny, had I appreciated it with my own eyes, that sunset would still be as perfect as I perceived it. 

Then I remembered getting kicked out of a game of black jack in Reno because I was texting my Uncle Steve about how much fun I was having. Things weren't nearly as fun two tables down, alone, waiting for Cody to wrap up his winning streak. My connectivity placed me at a major disadvantage. 

All of these moments have this timestamp stigma on them because I evaluated them based on their status-worthiness, their aperture or how much they would matter to someone else. 

But friends, remember these words:

Have I gotten so carried away with documenting every minute that I'm not actually living in the present? 

These days my alarm goes off and I check my phone before I get out of bed. 

My texts. 

My email. 

My Facebook. 

Then I rush to the shower.

I used to listen to the birds sing. 

These days I enjoy a girls' night at Wannabeez and feel obligated to document this best one-liner that comes out of Laramie's mouth. 

I used to enjoy the fact that no one in this tiny town knew where I was on a Thursday night. 

These days I can't have dinner with 4-H friends or Grandma or ex-coworkers until I check my phone because I'm so busy. 

Previously, I planned a week in advance and looked forward to every encounter, rather than view them as another dot on my calendar. 

Be present.

Five days after Melanie's unsolicited advice, I found myself at a restaurant in the heart of Chicago celebrating Momma's 60th. I looked across the poorly lit table and realized how the gold in Momma's  bronzer made her absolutely glow. I reached for my phone. One-handedly I searched for it in my purse on the back of the chair, then quit. I realized that in the time I was wasting trying to document Momma's wrinkles (you're welcome, Linda) I was missing the pleasure of having her all dolled-up and close to me. A girls' night nearly ruined by a mediocre Facebook post. 

And I think about these kids who didn't grow up like you and I did. 

The ones who carry cheesy (FAKE) smiles with hands on their hips, not because they're happy, but because their face only moves in one direction when a camera or cell phone comes close to their teeth. 

I think of the kids who hit a home run then look to the stands only to see their parent looking down at their phone in an attempt to be the latest, coolest sportscaster in Smalltown, USA. 

I look at the gals who had a tough enough time finding a prom dress that they were semi-confident in, only to be "tagged" in photos by their "I'd-give-anything-to-be-17-again" mothers. 

Those are the ones who lose by us not being present. 

Melanie's words struck me because they flat called me out. In two words. 

Be present. 

She and I have a trust and respect that extends both ways. 

When Melanie advises, I listen. 

And let's be honest. She is a no-bull kind of gal. 

So I knew I had a problem when she had the guts to bring my lack of presence to my attention. She realized that I miss out on a lot because I try to play storyteller/photographer/documentarian. 

So what are you missing because you can't disconnect?

When was the last time you shut it off?

Quit checking in between laundry loads and miles jogged and performances of The Voice.

Because quite frankly, no one cares. 

Remember, some of the best days of your life 

were when cell phones and Facebook didn't exist. 

Coincidence?

Be present 
and decide for yourself. 

Who Is Sixty?

Momma turns 60 today, April 24, 2013. 

Not much has changed since this photo was taken. 
She still loves livestock, has the flip in her hair on the right side and she never did get rid of those kankels. 

I can laugh about that. It's genetic. 

Linda - Debbie - Susan

Granddaughter Marlee, 55+ years later

Momma has had a hard time wrapping her mind around turning 60. 
30 was fun - she was still having kids. 
40 was easy - we forgot to celebrate. 
50 came and went in a flurry of preparation for someone else: her youngest was about to graduate from high school. Finally, an empty nest. 
But at 60, she has begun to read the obituaries just to keep up on what everyone else "her age" is doing these days.
Have you seen my mother? She has a lot of years left in her. 

But I'm not going to discount the amazing woman she is today because of those 60 years that have flown by. 
More than a stupid number, in 60 years, who has Momma been?

The Multitasker - Kind of
Momma still packed my lunch well into high school. As in, until the day I graduated from high school (guilty). Every day, second period, I would take a sneak peak into my lunch bag. One Thursday I got a great surprise.   
A cube steak. 
Thawing. 
Quickly. 

Quite surprised and a little freaked out, my lunch bag went straight into the trash and Dustin Dickey gave me a couple dollars for lunch that day. I got home that evening to a frazzled mother. She had been searching for the cube steak she laid out for supper, and all she could find on the counter was a thawed ice pack. My thawed ice pack. The one that usually kept my yogurt cold. In the morning rush, she laid out the ice pack on the counter and packed the cube steak in my lunch bag. We had left overs that night. Things happen. 

The Trend Setter
Momma wore coral lipstick before coral lipstick was cool. I'm serious. For decades she has kept a few tubes in her purse (should she lose one), one tube in the truck (should company arrive), one tube in the downstairs bathroom (should company arrive), one tube in her coveralls (should company arrive) and another in the same location where our spare house key has lived for 30 years. I've never understood that one, but at 60 I'm not about to question it. 

The Chef
In forty-five minutes I have watched Momma pull together a four-course meal for twelve using nothing more than yesterday's beet salad (homemade), canned beef (home grown) and Frankie Valli on the radio. She has an amazing ability to stand in the pantry door, look around for eight seconds and develop an entire menu for our family, plus unexpected guests. The only use she has for measuring cups these days is to ensure she's drinking enough water daily and at dinner last weekend she recited to me the recipe - and timing, and stirring techniques - for the best all-purpose gravy I've ever had. Her mind is a cookbook with an incredibly accurate assessment of what lurking leftovers are in the fridge that can still be served when Luke shows up for lunch. 

 

The Cowgirl
Let's put it this way: The only difference between my Momma and John Wayne is that he didn't use Frizz-Ease hairspray.
But she can - and has - pulled calves, hand milked stubborn, free-standing cows, given her breath to a calf on it's way out, missed social obligations (that she bought a new outfit for) because she was trying to confirm a heat, gotten an entire herd in and off the road, played chicken with a bull and sat up all night with a calf, holding it's little frozen body in a blanket. She's maternal. She's also one hell of a worker. 

 

The Detective

Our family has lost PTA fundraiser checks, spare keys, passports, pompons, living pets, registration papers, show halters, hub caps, insurance cards, mower belts, receipts, hitch pins, bobby pins, good luck charms, remote controls, baby dolls and even wedding rings. Somehow Momma has always been the first to find them. I haven't lived in her house for almost ten years and I called her last week because I couldn't find my favorite red heels. I thought I'd give it a try. Didn't work.

A lot of experience and love is packed into the 60 years we celebrate with Momma today. I remember being a very young girl and Momma lifting me onto the washing machine so she could put shoes on me. We were going somewhere special; I studied her perfectly painted red nails.With her red sweater, denim pencil skirt, white button earrings and red flats, she was the prettiest person I had ever seen.

Twenty-five years later and I see the exact same, incredibly beautiful woman, who has traded in those "clean" clothes for full-time Muck boots and mom jeans. And because of that sacrifice for Dad, Laura, Luke and I, she is exponentially more admirable and beautiful than she has ever been. 

Happy 60th Birthday, Momma!

The Little Mower That Could

Like most men, Cody is a man of projects. 
He dreams them up. 
Then starts them. 
Then usually finishes them. 
Then moves on to the next.

But when he told me he found a lawn mower in one of the barns at BSG, I had reservations. I couldn't remember a spare lawn mower in any barn, but if you read a previous blog, you remember that there are many things in BSG inventory that may not be accounted for. 

Then I remembered the lawn mower. 
The orange lawn mower. 
And the tenant that rented a house off of Momma and Dad. 
And how he would drive that junker orange mower to town for necessities. Like alcohol. 
Because he had lost his license for certain reasons. Like alcohol. 
And years ago he left. Without his lawn mower. 
And...it stayed.  

Cody was pretty excited about this restoration project. In fact, Sunday afternoon he was completely out of sight. Mainly because I was cleaning out flower beds, but also because he wanted to salvage this beast. 

Yep. This bird-poop-covered, hoodless, beltless, oil-less, and other things-less beast. It did have a string. It was holding on the blade deck. It also housed many nests. Nice little mouse resort. 

I tried to talk Cody out of taking on this project. The mower was known around Clay Township by many because of the fellow who brought it to town. He held up traffic more consistently than the Amish and he swerved more than George Jones. But he sure didn't sing like Jones; more of a slur. 

But one of the things I adore about Cody is his determination. Nothing I could have said (about my reputation, his reputation, the diseases you can get from excessive bird poop exposure) was going to change his mind. 
Darn. 

The next evening I was packing a suitcase for work when I heard the neighbor dog, Liberty, going nuts. 

I went to the front door just in time to see this beauty rig pull up in front of my house. 

My jaw dropped. 

He really did it. 
(Do you see the string?)

And if you look closely, you'll see Cody chatting with my neighbor, Rick, who welcomed him to the Greens Fork Lawn-Mowing Club by giving him a cold Natural Light for the task at hand. 
Cheers to good neighbors. 

Cody came back across the road and stood behind the trailer. 
"You ready to to hear this hog purr?!"
If there was one nearby, I would have crawled under a rock. 
"Cody!" I yelled from the front porch, trying to advise, jaw closed. "You cannot call that thing your "hog" - I live in a town with a biker bar. My neighbors all have motorcycles. This is a spark plug with a orange pop can wrapped around it!!"
I think I offended him. 
I felt bad. 
I encouraged him to "fire up his hog" and unload it...

Listen to that baby purr...

For the next hour Cody was in man heaven. 

Drinking free, cheap beer. 

Mowing a little piece of green land that he doesn't have to pay taxes on. 

All on a piece of equipment he brought back to life with his own two, dirty hands. 

He wasn't a big fan of my photo documentation 

I learned a few things Monday evening from this orange drunk-man-hauler turned 

second-life Husqvarna:

1. Never underestimate the motivation, determination or 

work speed of a man on a mission if it involves tools.

2. A little supportive faith goes a long way. 

3. Everyone deserves a second chance.

4. Crap will buff out, always does. 

Literally. 

Did You Know?

I was sitting in an agronomy meeting a month or so ago when the presenter began his discussion with this video. I've come back to it on days that I either feel defeated or empowered; it can go either way. 

His motivation behind showing this to 13 young, progressive growers (I was simply there observing) was to remind them that this world is ever-changing. So while farmers have a reputation of sitting in a local diner and complaining about the world changing too quickly, they're also running amongst the most progressive group of innovators this world has ever seen. If those in agriculture don't change with the times, the times forget them. And people get hungry. (Somehow it always goes back to food at Jean's Boots?...)

But you sure don't have to be a farmer to appreciate this video. The clip also puts things in perspective and shows how fast-forward we're living these days. It is a reminder (once you're over the initial "What?!" factor) to slow down, live in the moment and embrace certain things while they're around. Whether that be people, places or things. 

Watch it. 
Re-watch it. 
Take a deep breath.
Live your life in a changing world. 
What does it all mean to you?

YouTube

The Red Barn

In my head, as I picture the wedding reception I've always imagined, only one big, red thing stands in the way. Literally.

Our red barn. 

This barn, finished in 1990, holds a lot of memories for our family. 

And a lot of bikes with rusted chains. 
And one-legged Barbies. 
And glassware. 
And faded floral arrangements. 

The red barn was the ideal building for a young family. In the red barn we learned how to operate a shop broom and a hula hoop. We found great value in a punching bag and an air compressor. We allowed the red barn to house our prized 4-H trophies, now scattered with dust. We've thrown halloween parties, birthday parties, graduation parties, anniversary parties and baby showers in the red barn. It's hosted a lot of "moments". 

But it's kinda full... 
Of the pieces of our life. 
And...(dare I say it? Momma reads this blog)....junk.  

We've talked so much about wedding plans for August. And for the most part, things are really coming together nicely. But instead of the elephant in the room, there is the huge, red barn in the yard that Momma and I have avoided for some time. 

It needs cleaned out. And we are terrible about throwing things away. By "we" I mean Momma, Dad, and myself - Laura and Luke are tossers.

I dedicated 3 hours a few weeks ago to "starting on the red barn" with Momma. We sorted through Christmas ornaments, welding rods, cassette tapes, plastic placemats and Taste of Home magazines from 1982. All things that have no value to anyone else. 

Somewhere between the tote of socks awaiting darning (for 15 years), the records, the baby buggies and the prom favors, Momma and I threw a few things away. But not the Writers Express. Or the really big fish. Or any of the things I've already mentioned. 

I've often wondered why Mom and Dad do keep so much. Dad grew up 1 of 12 children. Momma was 1 of 5. When they were raised, if something broke they learned to fix or re-use it, rather than throw it away. Personally, I have no real excuse other than a bleeding heart for things that have a memory tied to them. 

We created an even larger pile of things "on the fence". We just really feel like there is sentimental value in the cracked basketballs. I mean, I'm sure one of us kids learned how to dribble using one of them.

At the end of 3 hours of diligent sorting, Momma and I had tossed a total of 2 empty shoeboxes, 1 VHS tape from the 2002 WHR sale, a the cover of a book with no pages, 7 dried up ink pens, a candle with no wick left, 2 floppy disks and 4 faded silk sunflowers. And, a broken vase. And a smashed styrofoam ball that Dixie found; I have to give credit where credit is due.

As for all the aformentioned "stuff" - please call if you'd like anything. We have a wedding to pay for. 

Two Hours With Temple

I don't know why or how, but for some reason I've had the opportunity to spend time with incredibly special people. Whether you recognize their names or not, each one of these folks have given me timeless advice that I keep close in my mind's library, just between the sarcastic jokes and the content I am compelled to pass on. Part of it has been along the lines of "get a life, kid" while others offer more substantial words that I keep, write down and  look at daily. Thanks, by the way, to people like Doug. 

You may not ever recognize their names, but I hope you understand their lessons. 

To my knowledge, I have never had the opportunity to spend time with anyone with autism, until I had the chance to do so with Wilt and the Animals For Life Foundation last week. As I looked forward to working with Dr. Temple Grandin, I say with confidence that I was flat out nervous. 

And for good reason. I was about to spend a morning, one-to-one, with world-renowned animal handling pioneer and subject of a movie, Dr. Temple Grandin. A professor of animal sciences at Colorado State University, and a specialist in livestock handling and animal facility design. In fact, half of the cattle in the United States and Canada are handled in facilities designed by Grandin, and she has offered animal welfare consultation to companies such as McDonald’s, Wendy’s and Burger King.

But, Grandin’s remarkable achievements are underscored by an amazing success story. She was born a severely autistic child, and by the age of two she could not speak. Years of speech therapy helped her to overcome her disabilities, and encouragement from a high school teacher led her to pursue a career in animal science.

That lead her to the crossing of my tiny path. 

I walk a fine line in disclosing the lessons and releasing the moments. 
As is life. Remember that. 
I had a time taking notes, for as much as Dr. Grandin told me during breakfast and in my little Ford Escape. In fact, somewhere on I-270 around Columbus, Ohio she scolded me for texting and driving. Fair enough. Her lessons were brief and pointed. 

Nonetheless, I share a few brief lessons from Dr. Grandin's raw, weathered hands and mind.

Today, we are a population completely away from anything practical. 
We don't understand how our food reaches our table. In school we have no sewing. No woodworking. No home economics. We are masters of No Trade. We have no idea how to balance a budget or mend clothing or even console our children. We cannot coach our own children through life because we don't have a really good grasp at what is going on. That is troublesome. We spend our money on things that only serve ourselves: clothing, appearances, entertainment. How do those things improve life for the next generation? How selfish are we? 

We can not let bad become normal. 
This is everywhere. The way we raise our livestock. The way we present ourselves in public. The way we speak to one another. The way we dress our daughters and sons. 
We have become lazy - LAZY - and that is not good. The bad way of addressing  many things has become the normal. When we let the bad replace normal, we're all in a really poor place. 

There is no worse feeling than visiting your childhood home and finding that your "kite flying field" has become a subdivision. 
Remember it. The house. The field. How the sky looks just before sunset. And even better, just before sunrise. Visit home. Even if it changes. Remember the land. The slope of the hill. That is the landscape of your life; the very first scene of your story. 

Exercise. 
Your mind. Your body. Dr. Grandin asked me what sports I participated in to keep my body active. Nothing like telling this lady that I've not played sports since high school...Stay active. 

Never quit challenging yourself. 
The best days of Dr. Grandin's career have not been staring into the open skies of the west or even the board rooms of Washington, DC. Her most rewarding days have been spent onsite in the trailers "with the guys" trying to determine how to construct an animal handling project. A few of her favorite moments now are flying into/out of the Denver airport and visualizing how she would utilize the equipment on the site. Find a better way to do things. 

Don't question your abilities. 
Dr. Grandin recalled being told by a counselor that her calling was to work in animal behavior. "Of all the things," she laughed, "animal behavior. I remember being told that. Being told that I would go into animal behavior. But I worked with it." 

And the greatest thing Dr. Grandin taught me:
No one cares about your circumstances. 
Blaze your own damn trail.