Running On Empty

I really like alone time.

Driving alone.

Working in an office alone.

Tuesday nights left alone to write.

Cody’s travel schedule grants me just enough alone time. I don’t mind being alone and getting things done solo as needed, but I’m always glad to see him come home. As I write this he’s working his way east, making his way home from Denver. It’s been two weeks since his truck pulled out of the driveway; it’s time.

It got cold after he left. 

Nothing this farm hasn’t seen before, but working against artic chill as a team of one can really extend morning and evening chores. The biggest obstacle I have encountered solo is frozen float balls on waterers, followed by frozen valves on waterers, followed by frozen pipes leading to waterers. The adult version of Frozen isn’t nearly as fun. On these particular waterers, when the water level hits a certain point it will automatically refill. But when the pipes, valves and balls are frozen, the water level stays low enough that cattle can’t drink from the tank. Sometimes the tanks simply ran on empty, waiting on sunshine to thaw things while I was at work.

Legend (the internet) tells that your mind is supposed to be able to answer most of the questions rambling in your head if you just learn to relax and wait for the answer. I did this on day two of frozen water and learned nothing except the longer you wait for an answer to fall out of the sky the more frozen these deals become. 

They were just a tick ready for a thawed water system. 

In week two the Kubota began putting around as slow as I did across the sheet of ice that lay quietly under the snow. I told my faithful orange friend (one of two that we have) that we still have a lot of ground left to cover and it better not give up just because temperatures were going down. Zipping around day and night, I didn’t think to check the diesel fuel gauge until it was too late. I got it parked in the barn and chored the old fashioned way: by foot. I had been running the Kubota on empty. Dad told me later that I was lucky that the Kubota started right back up after running so low on diesel. Sometimes when it sucks air you have to go to such lengths as draining the fuel line.

One evening I finally reached a point of relaxation in my day when I got a chill. Not a creepy, Dateline chill but rather “this house is flat cold” chill. The furnace had been running since I came in for the night (I lined the registers with gloves, a hat, long johns and socks) but it was still chilly. I went down to the deep, dark depths of the basement where our historic fuel tank lives and “PING”ed down the side of it. Lower, lower…lower………………..

PING rang loud and clear. We were completely out of fuel oil on a 0º night. I was running our house on empty.

For two weeks I’ve worried so much about getting things done that I hadn’t focused on taking care of intricate parts of this place. Do you ever feel that way? Running in so many directions to fulfill obligations and responsibilities that you fail to take care of the greatest working part: Yourself.

Maybe you’ve given up a few hobbies that really brought you joy because there is no longer time.

Maybe you’ve started missing your kids’ events because work demands that you prove your commitment.

Maybe you’ve let your health decline and your weight increase because you put yourself behind everyone and everything else going on around you.

Maybe you’ve cut out a couple hours of sleep to knock out just a few more emails.

Maybe you’ve gotten so emotionally tied up in a situation that you’re having a hard time focusing on anything else.

Maybe you have trouble saying no.  
Even the things you love can wear you down. 

I put myself in a bad situation with the Kubota and the fuel oil: When fuel gets that low, the machine will continue to draw fuel – or air – through the filter to get the job done. It will continue to try to run, even on nothing. And when I’ve given it nothing but air to work with, damage can happen. And homes can get down to 40º. No kidding. That’s chilly.

Isn’t it the same with you?

When you’re physically or emotionally running on empty but you continue to operate, can’t you feel yourself wearing down?

Be aware of that. 

We may not be equipped with a physical gauge that will tell us when we’re running low, but certainly we know ourselves. Pay attention. Sometimes the most important thing we do for ourselves in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.

Dad came up last week and helped me feed hay. As we were shutting the gates and finishing up for the night he stopped right on the lane in the barn lot, looked at me in four layers of winter wear and said, "I can tell you're really happy. And that makes me happy." 

I wanted to confirm his words but the frigid air had frozen my cheeks. I felt like I had just chewed on ten pounds of ice.  I just nodded, tried to speak and hugged him. It was enough. 
It's important to keep that - your happiness amongst all of this running on empty - in check.
And your water levels. 
And your diesel fuel. 
Especially your fuel oil tank. 
But always, your happiness. 

The Last Time I Did This

The days following Christmas always seem to be a downer time for me. There is just something about taking down all of the Christmas décor that dampens the cold January mood. And opens one’s eyes.

I was replacing garland with a springy (too early?) arrangement when I found a sure sign that 2016 was the time to get organized: In the bottom of a silver boot vase was the name and phone number of a gal I was supposed to call back in….June. A hundred bucks says I got in a rush to tidy up the homestead – company was probably at the door - and threw this little tattered note into the closest hiding spot I could find: a flower vase.

I’m very resourceful.

But that is sort of how I’ve operated as of late: 

Committing to so much, that I have time to do so little, well.

So I’ve determined that 2016 is the year to get my affairs in order. I searched for and found an old Franklin Covey planner that someone gave me a few years ago. I had great intentions for that planner, and 2012. So great, in fact, that on the first page I wrote my very ambitious 2012 Resolutions:

 

The discovery of this time capsule sent me couchside for a few minutes, reading through the things I wanted so badly to accomplish in 2012 and the emotion – or passion – that lied behind each stroke of the pink Sharpie.

Some goals seemed so easy to hit everyday: 

11. Give Dixie more attention. 

She was such a good dog; little did I know she’d be gone in less than two years.

While others seemed quite lofty, even four years later:

6. Venture with Christine – 2013 launch! 

We were two friends with a plan; one that never truly got off the ground.

But one stood out boldly.

(Get down to) 130 lbs?

Nope. Though I bet my diet started the following Monday.

9. Stop Looking – God’s timing is perfect!

What a nonchalant note for something that quietly weighed on my heart often.  

But I did it.

I quit questioning possibilities and wondering what might have been and remembering how things never actually were.

And fourteen days into 2012 I met the one who is so worth God’s (slllooooooooooowwwwwwwwww) timing. 

I haven’t made a serious resolution, since.

Cody and I were in the truck recently catching up on to-remembers and to-decide-upons before he leaves for the National Western Stock Show. I usually take notes and still send 101 text questions throughout the duration of his trip to ensure I’ve not forgotten something. Or let something die. The last time he did this, I dealt with frozen blue ball waterers and sloppy, thirsty cows who didn’t help the situation. Let’s hope this year is different.

The conversation turned to life talk within five miles and Cody mentioned something else I wrote down: We’re trying to control everything, but in reality we have control over nothing. What a true, scary thought. It reminded me of 2012 Resolution Number Nine: Stop Looking – God’s timing is perfect!

Stop looking.

Worrying.

Justifying.

Planning like we’re in charge.

Tough pill to swallow, at any age.

I read about a challenge the other day asking people to give advice to their 16-year-old self …in two words. I love a good challenge.

Be unique.

Never settle.

Travel often.

Be confident.

Don’t straighten your hair.

Or use box color.

Stand up straight.

Trust your gut about people, I'm serious. 

My two-words list could go on and on...

At an age when I’m trying to get all areas of life organized in an effort to simplify and enjoy, I think this challenge came at a perfect time. I’ve found that when I’m worrying often and letting concern take over my heart, it’s usually at a time when I’m trying to do everything myself. When I feel at peace, it’s usually because I remember that God is in control. What a thought to keep in my back pocket for the tough days ahead!

The last time I did this, I was able to truly focus on only a handful - but they turned out well. So I’m making a resolution to write down four – simple – phrases what will serve as my guides for the year ahead. No books, or businesses, or weight goals:

Give it to God.

Take care of myself.

Be present.

Keep it simple.

I’m going to plaster these bad boys in every nook and cranny in my life – simply, of course.

What might your guides be? 

Twenty total words or less.

Now, how could these guides help me to quit hiding things in oh so random places in an effort to tidy up our homestead? Well, they probably won’t. That lesson is going to come after I misplace something important. Like, really important.

Like a passport. I’m on #3.

Or a social security card.

Has anyone had to have one replaced?

I  would hate to go back into that social security office.

The last time I did that…

Fifth Annual Jean's Boots Christmas Letter

We received what I believe to be our last Christmas greeting of the season in the mail yesterday. I was so happy to see it; it granted me one more day to get this deal out.

Let me be the first to wish you 

Happy New Year!

2015 was a good year for the Sankeys. We traveled, gardened, celebrated, invested and survived. What more could you ask for? We spent much of our energy growing beef, watering a garden and killing mice. It’s an enchanted life.  

BSG beef, Sankey garden grown tomatoes and chives

For the sake of everyone's time and interest, let's just hit the highlights:

We traveled to South Dakota in March to see Cody’s sister and her family – including niece Bayler who changes so much each time we see her. The verdict is still our on which is bigger: Her personality or her eyes?

Alaska in August allowed us to see some of America’s most beautiful sights. And experience things we hoped never to. Like a 6-hour rough water boat cruise where nearly half of the boat’s occupants fell ill. Ever been trapped on a boat with folks losing their boxed lunch left and right? We landed ourselves smack dab in the middle of a real-life Hunger Games and nowhere to go but overboard. I had to sit in a booth with my head down, counting as far as I could in Spanish. It was somewhere around “jota” that Captain Miserable allowed us to go outside and sit on the deck. I’ve never wanted to swim with the humpbacks like I did that afternoon.

The good news is we made it to the next day and traveled to Homer Brewery where we met this fellow. We must have been obvious tourists because he came over and told us his compelling life story – having made a career by welding ship propellers. This dude was wildly interesting.

Stout lager gave him that crazy look in his eye.

It just wouldn’t be a Jean’s Boots Annual Holiday Letter without a cat update.  Single-26-year-old-me can’t believe I even typed that.We have yet to own a cat that devotes its life to ensuring no mouse enters our home. Still, we allow them to free load. Wilson (finally) had a run in with something bigger than himself,  and walked around for two days with things that belong on the inside dragging on the outside. He succumbed to his injuries. While we were at the NAILE in Louisville my dear friend Krista threw a random cat - she had found at her place  - into a barn at our farm and quickly slammed the barn door shut before driving off. What are friends for? Said cat (Shadow) is a female and kind of sleazy. We anticipate a growing cat herd in a matter of days.

Jean’s Boots Are Made For Talking gained some national exposure after I had the opportunity to speak at the Ag Catalyst conference in Kansas City  in October and then the 103^rd Kansas Livestock Association Convention in December. I thoroughly enjoyed both experiences and the folks I met along the way. My in-laws were at the KLA convention and I still got invited to Christmas. WINNING.

In October we welcomed niece Georgia to the family. She is tiny and smiley and just wonderful. She’s also a brunette, which my side of the family may not be accustomed to. She is a perfect fit to our puzzle.

The Original Jean and Four Bowman Great-Grandkids

In early December I did something silly and took it upon myself to order Cody a new recliner to replace the broken down (/broken in – it depends on who you ask) one he’s had for years. Have you ever surprised a man with a new, supportive recliner to replace the one he’s spent years in? I wouldn’t recommend it. After nearly three weeks of online shopping, shipping logistical nightmares (it wouldn’t arrive by the 25^th if delivered to our rural address, so I had to get creative) and second-guessing my bold decision to replace ol’ trusty I clicked “confirm purchase” and Christmas was over. Cody walked into the living room to find the leather recliner with a big red bow and calmly asked, “You didn’t throw out my other one, did you?” Apparently buying a recliner for someone without an opportunity for them to “test drive” is like buying a new car for them without them knowing. I didn’t see the problem? Anyway, he fell asleep in the new recliner for the next four nights. 

We traveled to Kansas last week for Christmas. Our return trip was interrupted by winter storm Goliath so we loaded up our rented sleigh and steered the red sled all the way back to Indiana. Our path included tumbleweeds and a closed I-70 interstate system due to flooding; an obstacle course of sorts. Twenty white knuckles and 24 hours later, we made it back to Indiana.

Can you believe I’ve been writing this annual letter to you for five years? I have a hard time committing a cereal for more than a week and somehow I’ve found the appetite to write this deal for five solid years. I guess only once a year helps. 

It's hard to believe 2015 is nearly a memory and 2016 anxiously awaits. We wish you all the best in 2016 - please do keep in touch!

Happy New Year, 

The Sankeys

Born In A Barn

The old barns across this country could tell a thousand stories if square nails and round pegs had the power to speak; stories of progress and pride, disappointment and doubt, even of birth and death within the confines of the structure. Hundreds of hot July suns have crept across rough-hewn beams to light straw aglow and ruthless January winds have swept through cracks to blow the hair on livestock inside.

There are several old structures around our area that have become – not only members of certain families – but community monuments. Rob Allen’s big white barn on State Road 1 just north of the railroad tracks has seen countless cuttings of hay and straw move in and out of it’s interior. Kenny Stuart’s red barn on the bend at State Road 38 and Manning Road has stood as a timeless backdrop while progressive agriculture boomed with the expansion of grain legs over the years, reaching farther - and to quite larger – bins, topped with an American flag. And what about Bill Powell’s barn? The barn, where “GO TIGERS” once adorned the east side in white paint, has watched generations of Nettle Creek kids load and unload along the front entrance of the rural high school.

State to state and township by township, I bet you too can think of barns dotting the countryside which have gone from domineering focal points to quiet, background objects.

Taken in Montana

These old barns are special structures, built generations ago by local men of toil who understood the value of craftsmanship and took great pride in the work. They’ve withstood centuries of harsh weather, heavyweight livestock by the ton and progress abound.

Looking at today’s grand structures, it’s difficult to remember that they came from such a humble beginning, where it all began. What an incredible thought for those who have ever spent quiet hours inside an old barn. How remarkable that a structure comprised of so many basic raw materials, was the scene set for something so powerful: The birth of Jesus Christ.

Light shining in the bank barn at BSG

I’m quite certain that the manger in which Jesus was born was not built of dozens of 14” x 14” beams and it didn’t have three levels for livestock, equipment, hay and straw. But I am certain that it was a humble place, like many of the old local barns are today, quiet with anticipation of new life. What an incredible thought that God chose such a modest location for such an extraordinary event. A peaceful, unassuming site which was bedded with straw became the birthplace of our Savior. A quiet place built of little, created to welcome so much. What a majestic manger it turned out to be.

Taken outside Meeteetse, Wyoming

We'll soon begin calving in our old barn. It’s generally a quiet season, checking every so often on young heifers who may have trouble their first time. Like many of you, we’ll spend hours in the dimly lit barn, seeing our breath and waiting for new life to be introduced to our little part of the world. Silent prayers will be said for healthy calves and mommas; we’ll say prayers of gratefulness that we were given the opportunity to raise the cattle on a thousand hills (Psalm 50:10), even in -10º wind chill.

I was celebrating Christmas at a friend’s home a few weeks ago where I read a sign: 

Heaven is a little closer in the barn

- and I think I believe that. I also think that I’ll not drive by these old structures that now seem to sit in the background of our busy lives – perhaps zipping past a dozen on the way to work, on the way to basketball practice or on the drive home for Christmas – and not think of the particular miracle that was set in that simple scene; a wooden frame, made to welcome the world’s greatest Gift.

"Hurlbut Angus Farm" outside Raymond, South Dakota
Now RMH Livestock

I can’t count the times my Mom would yell 

at the three of us growing up, 

with hair in our faces or our rooms closely resembling a pig sty: 

“Were you born in a barn?!” 

I would always quietly reply in my mind, “No, but you raised us in one.”

My hope is that one day I'll ask the same pointed question to our children, 

“Were you born in a barn?!” 

and our kids will quietly reply in their mind, 

“No, but I know Someone who was.”

Merry Christmas from the Sankeys