Dirt Road Diploma

Soybeans, about a month before harvest

My 20^th High School reunion was this past weekend. I was fortunate to have had an excellent high school education and also classmates who truly loved and cared for each other, and seeing them this weekend just made me more grateful for the foundation I had through my education. I am from Palm Bay, about an hour south of Cape Canaveral. This area I grew up in has about 200,000 people living there now. When the farmer and I were dating, he would tell people I was from “South Florida,” and I would always correct him and say “Central Florida”…but now, there really isn’t much of a difference. When I travel there, as soon as I get on I-75 South, the landscape begins to change, the dirt roads turn to pavement, and the green space dwindles. 

                When I came to Monticello for the first time in 1997, I fell in love. Yes, I fell in love with the farmer, but I also fell in love with the countryside. I didn’t know Florida held these rural landscapes! I was in the true south, where polite strangers smile and the canopy roads create beauty like I hadn’t seen before.  I started a journey then of learning a way of life that although I didn’t grow up knowing, it seemed familiar to me. I still don’t know why that was, but I am grateful it was so, and that I have the chance to live here and make a life here.

                I’ve changed so much being in the real south now. Ya’ll already know how much I’ve learned about cows and chickens and snakes. I’ve discovered how beautiful nights can be. I’ve seen stars and rainbows, both brighter than they ever are in a city. I’ve watched my kids trample through woods and streams, all the while completely aware of wildlife, poison ivy, and safety (country kids just know stuff). I’ve felt more safe, more accepted, and more fulfilled; all in a place that seems foreign to city dwellers.

A Monticello native, Jamie Kinsey, told me recently, “I may not have gone to college- but I do have a dirt road diploma and I’m proud of that!” And that was such a perfect way of describing and encompassing all of what happens to you out here in rural America.  I guess you can say I’m well on my way to earning my dirt road diploma. I’ve found it’s so much like formal education-  It’s not easy; its not free; it isn’t for the weak. In the words of John Denver, “Thank God I’m a country boy!” or in this case- girl- but you get the point.  Life on the dirt roads changes you, forms you, completes you. Grateful and thankful for my education and diplomas, both from paper and experience, both past and present. 

Back to the weekly article...

My favorite time period to read about in American History is the late 1800’s. I love the stories of pioneer life and what life was like on the new frontier and how the west was won. I love to read about a time where people worked hard because they had to. If you didn’t work hard, you simply didn’t survive. Neighbors helped each other, challenges were faced head-on, and no one expected life to be a bowl of cherries.
I have just finished Laura Ingalls Wilder’s last book, The First Four Years. She tells about the first four years of her marriage, while they still lived in the Dakota Territory. It is an amazing account of what farmers were willing to risk in order to make a crop. There were constant threats of wolves attacking their livestock, storms ruining a crop in a matter of minutes, and disease overtaking animals and people. There were no fences, no weather.com, and no commercial vaccines or pesticides. Life was hard, to say the least.
For a moment while I was reading the book, I felt guilty because I too, am a farm wife, but because of modern conveniences, didn’t think I had too much in common with a farm wife from long ago. After all, I rely pretty heavily on technology during my day to cook, clean, and communicate. And I have a grocery store, the internet and central heat and AC. But then I got to thinking about the similarities… I help the farmer as much as I am able; I make a hot meal at noon-time and call it dinner; I let the youngens get dirty and explore the woods; I am even willing to go to the extent of protecting my livestock from danger (anyone remember my snake story?); I worry about having a “bad year” and pray for the crops to thrive; I take chances on investing in crazy animal adventures; I learn to accept the good and the bad about farm life, and I also grow to embrace the realization that farming is not merely a job, it is a lifestyle.
I saw all these characteristics in the life of a farmer’s wife from way back when, and I was pleased as punch to know that some things just don’t ever change.

Latest newspaper article...

If you’ve been reading my column for awhile you know that although I have 11 animals and 2 fish in my jurisdiction, I still don’t consider myself to be an animal person. The older I get, the more I realize that there are things in life that if one is not exposed to them as a child, it is quite difficult to get accustomed to them as an adult. I wasn’t very adventurous as a child. I’ve never been a risk taker. I was afraid of dogs until I got one when I was 22. I admit it, I was a pretty sheltered young lady. But thanks to the farmer-hubby, I’ve backpacked to 13,000 feet in Wyoming, killed snakes, raised a calf from a bottle and eventually milked her, and learned that most noises in the night are just that-noises. I’ve come a long way, baby.

I still have a few things on my list of what I’d like to be able to do independently. Not for my own glory, but to help out the farmer. I’m usually content to stay inside and tend to the youngens. But I’ve learned that helping out with the little things can save him a lot of time and free him up to do other more important and difficult things that I have absolutely no business learning how to do. These are the days of planting on the farm. These are long days for the farmers. In order for us to have milk in the morning, Bittersweet cannot spend the night with his Mama. I know the last thing farmer-hubby wants to do when he gets home is feed and wrangle the animals into their respected pens for the night. But he’s the one who has to do it because it involves trickery and deceit and you have to be inside the pen with all the livestock in order to accomplish the task. You can probably imagine how I feel about all that.

Last night was going to be an especially late night for the farmer, so I said to myself, “Self? What’s a good lookin’ person like yourself doin’ in a place like this?” Ok, that isn’t what I really said, but my Grandfather used to say that all the time and everyone thought it was funny. What I really said to myself was, “Self? Why can’t you try to separate the animals tonight? All it involves is food and a little luck. You’ve watched the farmer do it for 3 months. Now go out there and just do it.” Well I went out there alright. And lady luck was not on my side. That rascal of a calf wouldn’t leave his Mamma’s side, the goats tried to steal the food from me before I could get it to their bowl, and the Mama cow ate her ration before I even began to separate anyone. The farmer makes it look so easy. I made it look so hard. If my 7 year old daughter had still been awake, I would have been able to do it. Well, she would have been able to do it. I would have simply supervised and slammed the gate when she said so. But alas, I had to send the text to the farmer that said, “I tried to separate the animals. Failed. Sorry.” And his reply, “Thanks for trying.” He was probably chuckling to himself envisioning me out there.

I am not quick, I am not wise to the ways of working animals. I don’t know that I ever will be, either. I am awkward and fearful and overall out of place in that pen. But I try! I try to overcome the awkwardness. I haven’t given up…tonight is yet another opportunity to add a new trick to my bag.

Florida Food Freedom Act

Once upon a time, Super Wal-Mart did not exist. Large chain grocery stores were a foreign concept. Where did people get their food, you ask? Well, they either grew it themselves, or they purchased it directly from a farmer. Now days, it is quite rare to find people who grow and produce their own food. And unfortunately, it is virtually impossible to purchase any food products directly from the farmer. While food safety is of utmost importance, the current laws in place prevent farmers from selling directly to consumers without a food handler’s license and all the necessary other licensure for packaging/bottling/selling. Because these licenses, specialized equipment, and additional location renovations can cost a grower between $30 and $50 THOUSAND dollars, most opt to not sell directly to consumers. And I think we can all understand that dilemma.

However, there is a growing movement of Floridians who desire to purchase food and food products locally and are currently unable to do so. There are also a growing number of small and large scale farmers who would like to sell their products directly to consumers. State Senator Carey Baker-R is currently trying to alleviate the excessive state food permits that are keeping all of this from happening. It is called the Florida Food Freedom Act, Florida State Bill 1900, and it would allow family farms to develop a relationship with consumers who want to buy directly from the grower themselves. The bill does not do away with all permitting involved as the growers would still be required to use proper federal labeling and also complete some food safety training benchmarks. The bill does not include the legal sale of raw (non-pasturized) milk.

The benefits to such a bill passing are numerous. For starters, more local money would stay in the community as a result of the ability to buy from local growers. Also, it would allow for young people who are interested in agriculture to begin growing and selling their products without the usual start up costs of an agriculture enterprise. Imagine a viable local farmer’s market made up of the farmer’s themselves (young and old, small operations and large) who are growing and making a diverse combination of fruits, vegetables, herbs, honey, jams, baked goods, etc…the list could go on and on. There would once again be the opportunity for the consumer to know the farmer who has grown their food and to make educated decisions on who to buy from. From my vantage point, it is a win-win situation for all involved.

If you’d like to read more about the bill and find out how to support it, you can visit here

4-2-10 Monticello News Article

Question: How many udders does a cow have? If you answered four, I promise I won’t laugh at you. That would have been my answer a few years ago too! Because of the fact that over the last 3 weeks I have been thoroughly acquainted with bovine anatomy, I will gently correct you…the answer is one. One udder, four teats. Aren’t you glad we cleared that up?

Now I have a confession to make: I am not the primary milker of Sweetums. I am the assistant milker. I realized early on in the milking process that I was not going to be able to go out in the morning by myself and milk the cow. This is the case for several reasons. First of all, I have a five month old baby that needs tending to early in the morning (plus 2 other youngens, but they aren’t nearly as dependent on me as the babe). Second of all, I have a healthy fear of my 800-lb animal with horns. In other words, as much as I love Sweetums, I don’t feel comfortable coaxing her into the milking stall by myself. And last but not least, milking a cow requires strength, stamina, and speed. Early on in the learning curve of milking Sweetums, the farmer and I would take turns milking her because of how tiring it was. I just wasn’t as fast as the farmer, and when Sweetums is done eating the scoop of sweet feed, she is done with milking-whether your bucket is full of milk or not! So my very gracious farmer-hubby has taken on the role of primary milker, and I stand by for moral support and back-seat milking advice. He is able to get about a gallon of milk in 15 minutes now!

I then carry in the bucket of milk and proceed with my duties. The assistant milker has several very important jobs and I take my responsibilities quite seriously. I strain the milk into glass jars and put it in the fridge. A few hours later, I scoop off the cream that has risen to the top to make butter, half & half, and ice cream. I then make yogurt from the extra milk. It is a good thing none of us have a dairy allergy or are counting calories! The past 3 weeks of enjoying fresh milk have been some of the most delicious weeks of our lives. I’m not trying to make you jealous, but this milk and the by-products of it is honestly the best in the world!

Many of my readers have told me about their experiences as children, growing up with a family milk cow. At first, it is a novelty but quickly it becomes a chore. Not a chore that is bothersome, but a chore none the less. It has a reward at the end. For us, this reward has been 3 years in the making and has come along with many ups and downs, joys and sorrows. It has all been worth it and it has taught me many things along the way. For some reason, I don’t think I’m done learning all that farm life has to teach me…

A Random Friday Article

this is my article for this Friday's paper...I don't really know what it is about, because I just starting typing and rambled on for awhile...I was anticipating my skin cancer surgery for the next day as I wrote, so I guess I wasn't all there. The farmer got a chuckle out of it, and that's all people really want anyway. Just a light hearted warm fuzzy chuckle. We don't get too many of those in life anymore...



Nothing exciting ever happened to me when I lived in the city. I never saw anything interesting, encountered any peculiar situations, won any contests, and certainly never had anything to write an article or blog about! But now, these opportunities abound in my life and I gotta be honest…it can be tiring.

I love my life and I would not change it in any way, but the dog is always barking. The chickens always need to be fed and their eggs gathered. The cats (and children) seem to be up to constant mischief. The drama surrounding the cow continues to keep me awake at night. The farmer’s work is never done. My 10+ loads of laundry per week never seem to get finished. The dirt being tracked through the house always needs sweeping. There is almost always a situation with rain- either we’ve had too much or not enough. And when the children call my name in a particular way from outside, I find myself debating on whether or not to go hide in my closet because that “particular way” usually means something is really wrong with an animal. And this only happens when I am alone and have to solve the problem drawing on my own (lack of) expertise.

But this is life in the country. And this is life everywhere. Even the simple life is complicated. Even life in the calm, serene countryside can be full of twists and turns. As we anticipate the birth of a calf in the next 10 or so days I am realizing that this will mean even more details to work out in our life. This undertaking of having a family milk cow will be frustrating at times. I’ve always been ready for the fun of it, but am I ready for those frustrations? I hope so, because I can’t even begin to imagine what they may be!

I’m trying not to focus on all the tiresome and endless tasks of living the simple life. I’m trying not to freak out about all the what-ifs surrounding Sweetums’ new baby. Rather, I’m trying to laugh at all the funny things that come my way because of how and where we live. This morning I was wondering what the small foreign object on the grass was that Sweetums was standing over, and if it had something to do with her possibly being in labor-it turns out it was a football one of the kids threw inside the pasture, and no, that doesn’t have anything to do with bovine labor. I’m also trying to savor the beauty of seeing 2 decorated fox hunters atop horseback trotting down my driveway this morning (and then having a good laugh again because their horses were spooked by Sweetums and her motley crew herd of goats chasing them down the fence line and they took off running to get away from that dangerous bunch). These things don’t just happen to anyone, and they certainly never happened to me before I became an official bumpkin.

So I continue to endure the life of a farmer’s wife, out here in the beautiful country, working hard at the simple life and loving every minute of it-the good and the bad.

Jefferson Journal Article 9-11-09

I didn't post last weeks since it was another blog re-run....but this week is hot off the press!

This is the time of year on the farm that I love the most. This is harvest season. All spring-long, the men on the farm plant seeds in the ground without any promise of a return on their labor. They work late into the night turning the dirt over peanuts, soybeans, corn, cotton, and grain sorghum. The countless hours of work, however, don’t amount to anything until now.
The months that pass between spring and fall are crucial to a farmer’s livelihood and also to the people who depend on the commodities they grow. Was there enough rain? Did the fertilizer work properly? Was there too much rain in one particular field? Did the stink bugs destroy the crop? There is very little that the farmer actually has control of. Even the timing of planting/spraying/harvesting is determined by favorable weather conditions. Talk about stressful job conditions!
Nonetheless, harvest time is still my favorite season. From my dining room, I can often see the men folk pulling up to 3 wagons at a time with their trucks, full of the crop they have just picked, ready for storage. It is exciting to see something come out of the ground in such large amounts. It is even more satisfying to know that the commodities grown here in Jefferson County are part of what keep the world going around. I have realized over the years of being married to the farmer, that although this job is one of the most necessary jobs in the world, it is often one of the most criticized and therefore misunderstood professions as well. Most of the time it is criticized by people who have no direct involvement in the production aspect of agriculture. But yet, everyone is involved in the consumption aspect of agriculture! (The phrase, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you” comes to mind here…)
Most people do not realize the ever increasing demand on farmers to produce more food and fiber through better yields and more efficient practices. This is simply due to the ever increasing population of the world. Will the farmers do this with more land? No, farm land is constantly decreasing with population growth. Will farmers do this with more workers? No, less than 1% of America’s population is involved in production agriculture.
How will this be accomplished?
There was a great article in a recent Wall Street Journal by Norman Borlaug, a professor at Texas A&M University who won the 1970 Nobel Peace Prize for his contributions to the world food supply. He estimates that over the next four decades, the world’s population will include three billion new mouths to feed. This means the world’s farmers will have to double their current production. Again, they will need to do this with less land, less workers and increased environmental demands.
Although our farm has but a small role in the grand scheme of feeding the world, we are proud to be among the less than 1% of our country’s population that is most certainly part of the solution. And as harvest season continues here, I am grateful for what God has provided for us- the ability to farm the same land for almost 70 years and still going strong.

Jefferson Journal Article 8-28-09

This is a blog that I posted back in January...just slightly modified for print!

Have you ever read the children's book, City Mouse Country Mouse? Well, it is one of my favorite stories because it really emphasizes the fact that some mice, or people, fit in better in the country and some fit in better in the city. When I officially moved to the country almost 5 years ago, I started calling myself 'country mouse' and my sister, who has lived in Miami for 16 years and loves it (!), 'city mouse'. And just like the story, the two of us visit each other in our respected living quarters, look around and take it all in, and say, "This is nice.... for you! But I'm happiest at home in the city/country"
So back in the winter time, the city mice decided to venture up the state to visit the country mice. Let me paint the picture for you: The city mice arrive in a sleek German-made wagon. It did get a little dirt on the tires when they drove up my driveway. The mice were all wearing very stylish clothes and were armed with the latest technological devices for travel and entertainment. They brought along with them the choicest foods only to be found in the city. They brought various other comfort items that the country mice had heard tale of, but had yet to behold with their own eyes. Everyone settled in, warming in front of the fire as it is quite cold in the countryside that time of year. As our weekend progressed, the city nephew spent most of his time outside- roaming the land, hunting and skeet shooting with farmer uncle, feeding livestock, enjoying the fresh air during the day, and the beautiful stars at night. At one point he asked his mother if they could buy some land and build a house here! City niece also spent hours outside romping in the dirt and woods, and carefully attending the goings on in the pasture. City sister enjoyed relaxing by the fire, chatting with country sister, taking a leisurely ride into town (we took the American made oversized SUV this time), eating breads made from freshly milled flour, and the occasional brisk walk through the fields. The real excitement came when city nephew and country daughter were with farmer husband when he shot a deer! (This is the second time city nephew has been with farmer husband when a deer was shot-this is the highlight of both trips for him) City sister was a little bothered by the thought of the shooting.... but she was able to get through it. The last night of the visit, after all the many, many hours of outdoor adventures and a real taste of country living, the city mice were tired. City nephew and city sister said to country sister, "Can we please watch TV? We haven't watched TV in days! We are on a media withdrawl!" We all giggled a little and I said, "Sure. You are welcome to scroll through the channels, but remember we only have the major networks." City nephew said, "What is a network?" He looked very disappointed when I explained what it was and that there were only 4 of them. But we turned on the boob tube anyway and gave it a shot.
All in all, the city mice always enjoy their time here. Honestly, they handle farm life pretty well considering where they live and what they are used to. I am very proud of them and proud they were able to endure the country mice way of life. I also have a feeling they were glad to see the bright lights of Miami again...

Thinking and Knowing

article published 8-14-09 Jefferson Journal

My daughter’s science lesson last week focused on magnets. One of the points of the lesson was that there is a difference between things that we “think” and things that we “know”. This was to help her learn observation techniques and to begin to learn the scientific method. Pretty deep for 1st grade, but it was amazing how well it worked. She was very surprised to find out the difference between things she “thought” about the magnets and things that she “knew” about them. That statement has stuck with me through this week, and I can’t help but apply it to the various aspects of agriculture that are part of my every day life.
For example, we have 4 chickens in our coup that survived the great fox massacre of 2009. One of those chickens looks like a rooster in many ways. The children are convinced he is a rooster. I actually think he is too. With everything he does, and every sound he makes, the kids and I are more and more sold on the thought that he is, indeed, a rooster. When we found our first egg in the coup, my 3 year old son said, “I think the rooster laid it.” We laughed. A few days later, we could have sworn we heard the beginnings of a “cock-a-doodle-doo” coming from the coup. Not the whole thing, just part of it. So my daughter and I said, “It IS a rooster!” Just last night, the “rooster” wouldn’t let my daughter get the egg out of the coup and was very protective of the other chickens, even pecked her on the leg before she could get out of there! Just one more verification to us that the chicken is a rooster. Farmer husband laughs at us, shakes his head and says, “It is not a rooster.” I guess this is a classic case of what we “think” and what we “know.” Either way, someone is wrong and deep down inside, I “think” it is the kids and me. So our observations continue.
A lot of people have been asking if our Jersey heifer is pregnant. To be honest, I’m afraid to even talk about it for fear of jinxing the whole thing. But, I know how much the inquiring minds want to know. I want to “know” too! But I don’t “know.” I only “think.” We think she is pregnant, but we haven’t done any confirmation tests to be sure. All the signs of non-pregnancy haven’t shown up since she returned from her vacation with the gentlemen callers. She is looking fat and seems more content with life than she ever has before. Even my kids will say, “I think she’s pregnant.” But I can’t help but think to myself that it really doesn’t matter what we “think” about this situation- We simply don’t know!
In the past few years farmer-husband and I have become very passionate about the safety, affordability, and the abundance of our American food and fiber supply. We, and all the other American farmers, experience first hand the effects of what people “think” about these things, and what they “know” about them. There are certain myths that the media and marketing groups circulate and perpetuate that have been devastating to dairy farmers, cattle ranchers, and fruit/vegetable producers. These myths mainly pertain to the safety of our American food supply. I would ask each one of you who reads this to think critically when it comes to your food choices. Do you buy or avoid certain foods because of what you think is true about them, or because you know what is true about them? If you don’t know for sure, go straight to the source instead of the media-ask a farmer! I always do.
I have the privilege of homeschooling my children, and have found that so much of what I am teaching them, I am re-learning myself. Why is it that what we learn as kids just doesn’t seem to sink in until we are grown? Through their experiences on the farm and in the country, they will have the opportunity to learn the difference between “thinking” and “knowing” and hopefully I will too.

Clayton Asbury Fulford, Jr 11-7-1921 -- 06-25-2009

The road that led to me becoming a certified bumpkin has been paved by many people and events. I was certainly always drawn to country life, although I had no real reason to be. Of course, meeting and marrying farmer-husband has led to only further deepening my love for country living and the life it provides. But before my life even began, there were events taking place that would eventually lead me to the life I’ve grown to love, my life here on our farm.
In 1945, a young service man had just been honorably discharged from the Navy Reserves. He had a young wife and a new baby. He was born and raised in Monticello, on South Waukeenah St., and so to Monticello he returned to start his new life. At a time when most of America was leaving the farm for urban industrial life, he moved to the country and purchased 120 acres of land on a dirt road with no name in the north end of Jefferson County. There was a small house that had belonged to a share cropper on the property. There was no electricity in the house. There was no running water. The man had 2 mules and he planned to start a peanut farm. This man was CA Fulford, my husband’s grandfather, and he passed away quietly this past week into heaven.
Mr. CA, as he was known to almost everyone, dedicated most of his life to farming. Although he started out meagerly, his farm became one of the most successful farming operations in the county during the 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s. From what is said about him, this can be attributed to his dedication to hard-work, fair treatment toward his employees, and faith in the Lord. He was mainly a peanut farmer, and that is what he is still known for today, but he also grew watermelons, tobacco, soybeans, corn, cotton, grain sorghum, wheat, hay, and at times even raised hogs and beef cattle. The only day he officially took off was Sunday, but my husband remembers that CA always carried a cane pole and a can of worms in his truck just in case a fishin’ hole tempted him while he was out working.
Mr. CA had 2 sons who eventually carried on the farming operation when they were of age. Those 2 sons each had a son who eventually carried on the farming operation as well. One of those is my husband, and that is of course how I got here. This past week, as we have reflected on Mr. CA’s life, I find myself marveling at the fact that a mere 65 years have passed since this farm as we know it first began. So many changes have taken place in that short period of time. He first purchased 120 acres of land; we now farm 1800 acres. He used one mule in the morning and one mule in the afternoon to plow and plant his fields; we now use tractors with as much computer equipment as the space shuttle complete with GPS guidance to boot! He didn’t have electricity; our tractors and our homes are kept cool by air conditioning. He liked to tell jokes and play the harmonica; we don’t know any jokes and we certainly can’t play the harmonica like he could.
I have thought over and over how thankful I am that he took the chances that he did, that he farmed the way he did, that he treated people the way he did, and that he chose to live his life the way he did. Without that, I know I wouldn’t be where I am today, out in the country living my dream as a bumpkin. It was his sacrifices, his hard work, and his aching back at the end of the day that made it possible for this farm to survive as long as it has. This farm has a bright future ahead, and I wish he could see his great-grandchildren living here and enjoying the legacy he created for all of us.
Twelve years ago, when I first met Grandaddy, as we called him, he was boiling peanuts on the stove, and drinking a Pepsi. At that moment, I had no idea my life would turn out the way it did nor did I think that I would one day need to thank him for the way he paved for me. But I thank him now, from the bottom of my heart, and I hope that we are all making him proud by the way the farm continues on in his honor and memory.
Mr. CA Fulford, may you rest in peace forever!

Chance Airplane Meetings

(This is my article for our local paper for 5-1-09)

I did something very un-bumpkin-like this past weekend. I traveled on a plane to visit my sister-in-law, Stephanie Fulford Gault, in Jackson, Mississippi. Bumpkins don’t normally travel, let alone to go see a live theater production of the musical Oliver! (Stephanie played Nancy and stole the show), so I guess I’m only half bumpkin after all. Meeting people on a plane can usually go one of three ways. Either you meet someone who wants to tell you everything about their life, you meet someone who wants to know everything about yours, or you don’t speak at all to the strangers next to or around you. For me, it usually goes the second way.
On my flight from Jackson to Atlanta, I sat next to a gal similar in age to me, so it was natural for us to strike up a conversation. Once we got past the initial small talk, I waited for the inevitable question: “So, what do you do?” And then I brace myself for the conversation to follow. I am pretty comfortable now with “the farm talk” that I have to give to most people. I have listened to my husband give the talk so many times now that I sound like the expert! “The talk” usually consists of a Q & A session on the crops we grow, the animals we have, if I grew up on a farm, what I think of it, how wonderful it must be, etc. I usually throw in a few little known facts that impress people to seal the deal. For example, did you know there are four different types of peanuts? Did you know that a peanut is actually a bean and not a nut? Or did you know that cows don’t produce milk until they’ve had a calf? What about this one… I bet you didn’t know 98% of all American farms are family operations! So we got through all of that rather quickly, and I heard her fascinating tale of her job as a “personal assistant” to an extremely wealthy couple in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She gets paid a salary to run errands, accompany them on trips (to run their vacation errands), ensure that the housekeeper and personal chef are doing their jobs properly, make phone calls for them, etc. I was as fascinated with her life as she was with mine. And I was pretty proud of myself for giving “the talk” so well.
When I sat down on my flight from Atlanta to Valdosta, I had no idea at what was ahead of me. When my small talk was over with the man next to me, and I had broken the news to him that my husband was a full time farmer, he asked what types of crops we grow. I replied, “peanuts, cotton, corn, sorghum, and soybeans.” He smiled and said, “I work for the University of Georgia as a peanut specialist. What type of peanuts do you grow?”
You can imagine the look on my face when I realized that I was no longer the expert on the farm talk. I was talking to the expert! He casually asked me all sorts of questions that are not part of my usual farm talk. I was definitely in unfamiliar territory. This was a Q & A session for my husband, not me! I am still in shock that my brain didn’t completely freeze up. I was able to answer him and he seemed satisfied with my answers. I even remembered that the specific variety of dry peanuts that we grow is called Georgia Green and we’ve had great success with them, and also that our most problematic weed was “pig weed”. I was really on a role here. I was secretly hoping that the questions were over, because I knew I was getting very close to the end of my knowledge. Lucky for me, he spent the rest of the flight talking about his life.
When I got home and told farmer-husband all about it, he told me there are probably about 25 peanut specialists in the entire US. So my chances of ever meeting one again on a plane are very slim. In the meantime, however, I plan to promptly read and memorize all our back issues of “Peanut Farmer” that sit idle in the magazine stack just in case.

Food Check Out Week

Last week, all across the country, county Farm Bureau organizations made a concentrated effort to educate the public on our safe, affordable, and abundant food supply that we enjoy in the United States. The reason for doing it in Feburary, specifically the 3rd week each year, is quite interesting. Here in the US, the average person spends less than 10% of our income on our food. By this time of the month, we have earned enough money from January 1st until the third week in February, to pay for our entire year's worth of food. It may seem like each time you visit the grocery store, something costs more than the previous week. But we still enjoy the most affordable food supply in the world.

Have you thanked your farmer today?

The City Mice

Have you ever read that children's book, City Mouse Country Mouse? Well, it is one of my favorite stories because it really emphasizes the fact that some mice, or people, fit in better in the country and some fit in better in the city. When I officially moved to the country almost 5 years ago, I started calling myself 'country mouse' and my sister, who has lived in Miami for 16 years and loves it, 'city mouse'. And just like the story, the two of us visit each other in our respected living quarters, look around and take it all in, and say, "This is nice.... for you! But I'm happiest at home in the city/country" So a few weeks ago, the city mice decided to venture up the state to visit the country mice. Let me paint the picture for you: The city mice arrive in a sleek German-made wagon. It did get a little dirt on the tires when they drove up my driveway. The mice were all wearing very stylish clothes and were armed with the latest technological devices for travel and entertainment. They brought fine wine and choice foods. They brought various other comfort items that the country mice had heard tale of, but had yet to behold with their own eyes. Everyone settled in, warming in front of the fire as it is quite cold in the countryside this time of year. As our weekend progressed, the city nephew spent most of his time outside, roaming the land, hunting with country uncle, skeet shooting with country uncle, feeding livestock, enjoying the fresh air during the day, and the beautiful stars at night. At one point he asked his mother if they could buy some land and build a house here! City niece also spent hours outside romping in the dirt and woods, and carefully attending the goings on in the pasture. City sister enjoyed relaxing by the fire, chatting with country sister, taking a leisurely ride into town (we took the American made oversized SUV this time),eating breads made from freshly milled flour, and the occasional brisk walk through the fields. The real excitement came when city nephew and country daughter were with country husband when he shot a deer! (This is the second time city nephew has been with country husband when a deer was shot-this is the highlight of both trips for him) City sister was a little bothered by the thought of the shooting.... but she was able to get through it. The last night of the visit, after all the many many hours of outdoor adventures and a real taste of country living, the city mice were tired. City nephew and city sister said to country sister, "Can we please watch TV? We haven't watched TV in days! We are on a media withdrawl!" We all giggled a little and I said, "Sure. You are welcome to scroll through the channels, but remember we only have the major networks." City nephew said, "What is a network?" He looked very disappointed when I explained what it was and that there were only 4 of them. But we turned on the boob tube anyway and gave it a shot.

All in all, the city mice always enjoy their time here. Honestly, they handle farm life pretty well considering where they live and what they are used to. I am very proud of them and proud they were able to endure the country mice way of life. I also have a feeling they were glad to see the bright lights again...



City nephew and country daughter with their deer

Bumpkin sighting in Whole Foods

Late Saturday evening in downtown Orlando, the folks who frequent the Whole Foods on Sand Lake Blvd were in for a the shock of a lifetime. There was a bumpkin sighting. At approximately 8pm, a young female country bumpkin who had never seen the inside of such a place as a purely organic grocery store, was spotted making her way down the soy cereal aisle. She was first noticed by her appearance- dirt on her vehicle (there are no dirty vehicles in Orlando), a Vera Bradley purse (also a rarity in large cities), and a look of absolute disgust on her face as she saw the prices that people inside the store were paying for "feel-good" crap, er, food. She spent quite a bit of time trying to locate the milk. This was probably because she was looking for a large cooler filled with plastic gallon jugs of milk that came from dairies within 70 miles. When in actuality, she should have been looking for a very small black cooler filled with very small cardboard containers of over priced orgainc milk that had traveled at least 200 miles to get to the store. It was at this cooler that she really began to draw a crowd of onlookers. The shoppers who are usuals at Whole Foods(mostly upper middle class, highly educated, well dressed biased folk who have had NO contact with agriculture in their entire life but have recently taken an extreme interest in blotting out conventional farmers) had never seen a bumpkin before. Some of them had heard tale of such creatures, but most people never considered that such a type of person existed outside the city limits of Orlando. So a small crowd of people began to follow the bumpkin around the store and gawk in amazement as she made her way down the chip aisle. "Who the heck pays $3.99 for a 9oz bag of tortilla chips?", the bumpkin exclaimed. "Um, we do!", replied the crowd. The bumpkin started laughing. The crowd looked at each other puzzled. When the young bumpkin made her way to the check out line, the crowd realized that no one on earth would believe them if they told them this story... country bumpkins are so rare, so unique, so mind blowing.... they scrambled for their iphones so they could take a picture of her and send it out to the masses, but she ran so fast from the store,jumped into a gas guzzling Suburban with a FL Ag tag "FarmGal" and peeled out of the parking lot before they could document it for prosterity. So if you are willing to believe this tale, pass this on to your friends. Is it a myth? Could it be true? ARE BUMPKINS REAL???
(PS- just in case you are confused, I went into a whole foods store for the first time and just had to laugh at myself for being in there)