Tools, April 30th 2012

Alarm clock, coffee pot, Bible

Check book, pen

SUV

Washer, dryer, dishwasher

Chore gloves and muck boots

Garden hose & reel

Bucket, feed scale

PC & iPad

Hammer, fence insulators, nails &
wire

Lariat. Halter & lead rope.

Shower. Hair dryer. Garnier BB Cream.

Kitchen TV, to watch the weather.

Diet Coke.

Dish rag, paper towels, all-purpose
cleaner, Windex

Telephone, Blackberry

Hugs

Thoughtful commentary, compassion

Chocolate, for encouragement.

TSP, scrub brush, Diet Mountain Dew

Masking tape, paint, paint stick, paint
tray, paint roller, newspaper...

soap and water

Microwave, dishwasher. Again.

Kitchen TV, to watch the evening news... but mostly for the weather

Washer, dryer, laundry basket

Hangers

Bath tub, towels, tuck-in kisses
and bedtime prayers...

Yesterday at church, a nice white-haired lady asked me, "Do you work?"

I replied, with a smile...

"All day. Every day."

:)

Kids and Kittens

My youngest daughter is all a-twitter with excitement.

Her cat Freckles (who is completely devoted and maternally protective toward my daughter), is expecting kittens... and so my girl spent Sunday's rainy afternoon fashioning a cardboard box into the most thoughtfully-constructed feline maternity suite of all time.  She and I now spend bedtimes speculating on when the kittens will arrive, what they will look like, how many there will be of each gender... its a conversation that would last well into the wee hours if she had her druthers.  In regard to numbers, I was recently informed there would be three kittens born.  Upon my asking how she came to that conclusion, her answer was, "Because I found three udders on her tummy..."

Ahh, nothing compares to the birds and bees and anatomy lessons when it comes to  conversation topics with a seven-year-old.  It does keep me on my toes.

Its also been taking me back in memory to when I was a little girl, and my beloved cat Midnight.  Midnight was a hardscrabble black barn cat who lived to ridiculously old age, birthed countless kittens (sometimes while I sat right next to her and watched in wonder and awe), and supplemented her diet of Meow Mix or Cat Chow with birds, squirrels, chipmunks, mice... and rabbits... and bats.  She was a skilled and savvy hunter, who learned to wait under the eaves of the barn for the bats to come out at night. They would swoop down as they leaped from those eaves, working to gain altitude... and sometimes find themselves in the clutches of the cat who had perfected her own graceful leap.

Occasionally I would find Midnight with still-breathing prey in her clutches, coax it away from her and valiantly attempt to save it... though I cannot remember ever succeeding.  The process usually resulted in a dead squirrel or meadowlark, an annoyed and indignant cat, and a teary pine-grove funeral over which I presided as if the prey's eternal soul depended on my reverent recitation of the Lord's Prayer.

I'm glad my daughters have the chance to make a few memories like that, too.  Its a fast-paced society we live in now, one that oftentimes seems to have little regard for life or understanding of its cycles... birth, growth, illness, aging, death... all of which are natural and normal, and yet feared by many and oftentimes hidden away out of sight.  My hope is that these daughters of mine will not live in fear of such things, but rather be familiar enough with them to embrace life in its entirety.

In constructing the Taj Mahal of feline maternity suites, my daughter made sure to include lots of paper towels.  I asked her why she did so, and was pleased with her response... "Because having babies can be kind of messy".

That's right, Kiddo.  An excruciatingly beautiful, wonderful sort of messy.

...So God Made A Farmer

This past week brought much discussion in regard to an article published by Yahoo!.  In it, the author listed his ideas of the most useless college degrees, with agriculture topping that list.  Every fact available refutes his claim, and so I will not elaborate other than to say many of the highly successful people I've met over the years have agriculture degrees hanging on their walls.

My friends at Agriculture Everyday shared this video on their Facebook page.  It rings true and touched me deeply; I hope you will enjoy it as well.  

Have a great day!

Don't Like Bullies?

So you say you don't like bullies?  That bullies ruin lives, hurt innocent people, are a pox on society?

THEN PLEASE… DON'T BE ONE.

According to Wikipedia, "Bullying is a "form of aggressive behavior manifested by the use of force or coercion to affect others, particularly when the behavior is habitual and involves an imbalance of power. It can include verbal harassment (emphasis mine), physical assault or coercion and may be directed repeatedly towards particular victims, perhaps on grounds of race, religion, gender, sexuality or ability. The "imbalance of power" may be social power and/or physical power. The victim of bullying is sometimes referred to as a "target"."

While we tend to think of a bully as some kid with crooked teeth handing out swirlies, these days the bully is usually far more anonymous (and sinister).

I've been surfing the internet since it was a series of grey pages littered with blue links.  Even after all these years, however, I cannot understand what it is about the internet which makes it okay to virtually tear people apart in the manner of a rabid dog, with language filthier than a used toilet brush.  

There is no longer a need to bully face-to-face; now one may do so from the comfort of your own home and destroy, with a few keystrokes, another human being.  I love free speech, but if the attack is intended to harm or intimidate another it is not free speech. Its bullying.

Far be it from me to suggest the government do something about it.  It is not the government's role... its OURS.  Your responsibility and mine.  

So how can we address the problem?  Here are some of my ideas:

·        Don’t participate. It is easy to fall into a pack mentality when discussing a subject about which we are passionate.  Passion is good.  So use that passion to fuel your own research, and write something thoughtful and articulate rather than vulgar and dismissive. People will take notice.

·        Don’t let your kids participate in it, either.  Period.  Pay attention to what they are doing online, and the attitudes they express about others.  If they seem headed in that direction, address it immediately

·        Call out the behavior when you see it.  This is the scary part, the one that takes the courage to stand for the truth.  You may be attacked in return, and it may be that no one will step up in your defense.  That’s okay.  Even if no one says it, you will (hopefully) have caused them to think about just what is happening.

I’m not really a “let’s all just get along” sort of person, and have been known to delight in a good debate from time to time.  What disturbs me, however, is that we seem to be confusing thoughtful, civil discussion with guerilla warfare. 

I would love to hear your own experiences in regard to this sort of bullying, and your ideas as to how to we all can work together to share ideas, rather than spew hatred.  Please comment and join the discussion!

Real Farmers

Recently, I read an article written by a woman who waxed eloquent about her dream to be a “farmer”. As I happen to be one (a farmer, that is... well, and a woman, too) and have been known to wax eloquent about it myself at times, my first thought was, "Awesome!  Another sister in agriculture with whom I can relate!"

That is, until I reached the second paragraph and was told exactly what she thinks it means to be a "real" farmer... a few acres of hay, a couple acres of vegetables, some chickens and goats, maybe a horse or two... and definitely NOT someone who might be "driving a combine over row after endless row of corn or managing a CAFO".

At that point, I could not decide whether to laugh... or be highly offended.

I come from a long line of farmers and married into another.  My definition of "farmer", when compared to that of the writer of said article, is vastly different.  While the fanciful dreamscape this author envisioned is truly admirable and, at times, attainable in certain snapshot-worthy moments, it is far removed from reality.

Why do farmers farm?  That question is akin to "Why do fish swim?"  Farming is in our blood. It is what we were born and bred and put on this Earth to do... and we will do nearly anything in our power to keep doing it.

In my life as a farmer, I've experienced days (weeks) on end of riding a potato harvester as it lumbers up and down the field through wind and rain, sleet and snow, with black dirt grinding its way onto every crevice of my body as my raw fingers bleed from hours of picking dirt clods from the conveyor.  I've spent sweltering days trucking grain from the field to the elevator, sweat running rivers down my body, chaff clinging opportunistically to every inch of exposed skin (and throwing a party in my bra).  I've sat in a banker's office and sold my soul to the devil across the desk, for the resources to farm just one more year.  


I spent my wedding anniversary, later that same year, waist deep in gumbo and floodwater after a seven-inch rain, attempting to save our crop from drowning.  We did save much of it; and my husband and I sat on the bin boards of the potato warehouse the night we finished bringing it in, crying tears of joy... only to have the bottom fall out of the market and to see most of those potatoes hauled back out of the bin, spread for cattle feed for the not-so-premium price of 25 cents per hundredweight.  There is a reason we now only raise potatoes in the garden, and it was not one of our choosing.

As a farmer, my life is one in which I am blessed with many beautiful, serene moments of bounty, joy, and new life... consistently (and sometimes unfairly) balanced by days of back-breaking work in heat and cold, mud and manure; devastating loss; gut-wrenching heartache. Sometimes bringing new life into the world means finding myself shoulder-deep in the back end of a laboring cow or mare... in the middle of the night... with a snowstorm raging outside... without benefit of an obstetrical glove or anyone around to hold a light or call the vet (or, God forbid, the ambulance, should I get kicked in the head).  

So why do I feel it… the heat, cold, mud, gore, hard work, monetary risk, chronic physical pain and grief… all worth the cost?  

Because I am a farmer.  Its what I do. 

I am totally, thoroughly, abundantly grateful for this life, all I am blessed with, and the ability to farm even though its on a much smaller scale than we had once hoped.  But those who look from the outside in, such as the woman who wrote the article in question, need to keep in mind it is not, nor will it ever be, Nirvana.  The scenario she imagined was one more akin to the retirement years of landed gentry rather than the life of one who is charged with the noble and daunting task of feeding the world. 

What concerns me is the fact that so many are now so far removed from any understanding of the realities of agriculture and the sacrifices of those who engage in it.  These same folks are passing harsh (and, in my opinion, uneducated) judgment, pushing legislation based on misguided assumption, pointing fingers and labeling as “good” and “evil”, aspects of farming which they do not understand nor have personally experienced. 

I’ve known many a farmer in my life, but cannot recall ever meeting one who did not love the land, appreciate nature, or care for his or her livestock to the best of his or her knowledge, resources and ability.  Most have, at some point, driven a combine "over row after endless row" of corn (or wheat, barley, oats, beans...), and know what an accomplishment it is to bring a crop from tiny seed to abundant harvest; nothing can compare with the high of bringing in a bin-(or corral-)busting crop. That feeling has little to do with money and a whole lot to do with fulfilling the very purpose for which you were placed on this Earth.

I have no issue whatsoever with those who dream of moving to a rural area to try their hand at a self-sustaining, organic, greens-and-grass-fed lifestyle.  My own is closer to that now than to one of highly technical and mechanized modern agriculture. To cultivate the land and dutifully tend to animals in any fashion is a noble pursuit and a lovely way to spend one's time.  


What I do take issue with, however?  Someone with little experience outside the ivy-clad halls of academia or the concrete jungle of the city, judging and deriding those who have succeeded in overcoming the elements, the cost of land rent and inputs, government red tape, public opinion and all the other obstacles to modern commercial farmers.  To call one of those folks anything but a "real" farmer is akin to saying a person cannot be a "real" corporate executive if they are any color but white, happen to be female, or perform their job in a less-than-conventional manner.  The trend of bashing farmers with the insinuation they rape the land and are Enemy Number One of Mother Nature and all that is good seems to be the last socially-acceptable form of discrimination.


When did being successful in one's chosen field become equated somehow with being anything less than real?  When did the use of knowledge, technology and resources to improve productivity and reduce cost become equated with something akin to evil?


I'll continue to ponder those questions as I don my boots and coveralls and venture out in the below zero windchill to tend to my animals.  The biting cold and frozen... everything... will invariably be balanced out by the cuddle of a friendly barn cat, the romp of a loyal dog, the friendly yearlings jostling for my attention. The sight of a pileated woodpecker flashing among the trees and sound of a blue jay scolding the dogs.  The smell of supper simmering in the slow-cooker when I walk back through the door and stomp the snow off my boots.  


These same sights and sounds, or similar ones, will greet countless farmers and ranchers all across the northern part of this nation as they go about their chores and come in for supper on this January evening... hugging their children, kissing their spouses, watching the weather forecast. 


I'm quite sure few, if any, will be plotting the demise of Mother Nature as they do so.  


I am also quite sure each and every one of them is "real". 

Totally Random Gratitude

A quote posted to Facebook awhile back sticks with me...

"If you woke up tomorrow with only those things for which you expressed gratitude today, what would you have?"

Really makes you think, doesn't it?

My friend and mentor Heather O'Sullivan Canney is a big proponent of keeping a gratitude journal, and I've acquired the habit from her.  The process can be life-changing, if you give it a chance.  While I don't always write everything down, the simple process of expressing gratitude for the blessings in your life eventually becomes automatic as breathing.  Better yet, when your heart and mind are full of gratitude it leaves little room for negativity.  Those two qualities can't seem to share the same space.

Gratitude is fairly easy to muster when it comes to family, home, and finances (at least I hope so!).  But what about the little things which make life so much more pleasant, interesting, or comfortable?  Or those which challenge us, making us grow in wisdom, strength, intellect?  It's become a pet habit of mine, to think of new, random, and sometimes silly things for which to be grateful.

And so, in the spirit of Thanksgiving which is but two weeks away, I offer my first installment of Totally Random Gratitude...

Barn cats:  Without them, we would be overrun with vermin.  My youngest spends more time with them than any toy I've ever purchased.  They are always happy to see me, and as long as they have a dish full of food and a warm place to curl up, they are totally content.  Barn cats provide a valuable (and totally organic) service and ask little in return.  It doesn't get any better than that.


Onions:  Rare is the meal I cook without first slicing or dicing an onion.  I can't imagine a soup, casserole, stir-fry, omelet, spaghetti sauce or taco without one.  Or three.


Microfleece:  A miracle of modern technology and absolute godsend to those of us living in frigid climates.  


Water softeners: Without one in this house, there would be no such thing as "whites" and my laundry would consist of darks, mediums and "oranges".  A lady who grew up in this house told me once that her mother would melt snow in order to acquire soft water with which to wash their whites. 


Mentors: The list of people from whom I seek advice, knowledge and inspiration is a long one indeed.  Some are friends I've known for years (or decades), some are professionals in their chosen field... and of course my beloved parents top that list.  Also included, however, are lots of people whom I've never met in person but am still so grateful for the value they provide. One thing I've learned over the years is if I'm not particularly gifted or educated in a particular area, there always is someone who can help.  "Do it yourself" is not always applicable or wise. My hair stylist comes to mind here... 


...and the list goes on.  I will add to it in these days leading up to Thanksgiving.  In the meantime, for what or whom are you totally, randomly grateful?

Wasted

This post is brought to you today by my shiny, new, programmable coffee maker.  Mr. Coffee, I think I love you!

On a more serious note...

"Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world" ~Bishop Desmond Tutu


This week's Parade magazine reported a statistic that literally made my jaw drop.

40 percent of the food produced in this country is wasted.

Honestly, I don't even know what to say about that. FORTY percent?  Are we so indulged, fussy, and spoiled as a nation that we allow nearly half of the food we produce to go to waste?  If we have so much food, how can there possibly be people going hungry... and what is the definition of "hungry"?  Do people have any idea the work (or for the environment-conscious, the resources) which go into producing that food?

The statistic alone, disgusts me.  What further adds to my dismay is the constant barrage of "eat only organic", and the overabundance of recipes published which require ingredients as inexpensive and easy to acquire in my neck of the woods as Hungarian yak.  How about we instead teach folks to utilize what is readily available?  Like, say, the ten pound bag of chicken leg quarters for $5.00 which, with the addition of a few inexpensive vegetables and seasonings, can be made into over a week's worth of delicious, healthy and hearty meals?

I will be the first to admit that my family throws out our share of food.  Food poisoning is akin to Dante's Third Circle of hell in my book, and so I'm careful about food safety and abide by the adage "When in doubt, throw it out".  But I've also changed how I plan our family meals.  It's easy to fall into the trap of thinking we need a cooked-from-scratch fresh meal for every supper of the week.  That thinking, however, resulted in way too much wasted food.  My family is a busy one, with my husband often working late and both he and my daughters attending tae kwon do and other classes a couple times a week.

Enter leftovers.  A beef or pork roast, a chicken or a big pot of homemade soup goes a long way, even with a family of four.  Vegetables languishing in the crisper are easy to add to just about any meal to stretch or embellish it. The trick is to actually eat the food you make for more than one meal, and plan for those leftovers rather than relegating them to purgatory in the back of the fridge.

Here's an added benefit, for those who doubt.  Earlier this spring, my health was at an all-time low and my weight, an all-time high.  Now, I've done about every "diet plan" out there, from the frozen meals shipped to your home to low-carb to vegetarian/lowfat (ugh) to following make-at-home pre-planned meals.  I was sick of it, sick of the constant focus on food, sick of being told that the ridiculously-priced foods in the organic section of the grocery were the only ones safe or healthy to eat.  All the "can'ts" and "don'ts" and "big money is trying to poison us all" were really beginning to tick me off.

And so, I quit.  

I quit obsessing about food, decided to accept myself right then and there just as I was.  I listened to my body and ate what I wanted when I wanted.  My attention shifted to focus on my family, my hobbies, my horses.  Ironically enough, I began to eat less and move more, instinctively.  The meals my family got were generally homemade with simple ingredients... meat, vegetables, milk, eggs, butter, fruit and (gasp!) bread.  When there were leftovers, we ate them.

The pounds began to fall off... thirty, so far, in the past few months.  My grocery bill is lower, and I can't remember the last time I had the "munchies".  Its been months since I baked a pan of brownies or batch of cookies.  Not that I won't; just haven't had the desire.  And... I'm happy.

It all came from the decision to quit obsessing about "diets", to stop obsessing about food and instead be grateful for what we have... and enjoy it. I savor the experience of preparing a good meal, and relish foods such as a BLT made from my home-grown tomatoes and the bacon my dad cured. I don't hesitate to use mayo or butter or bacon when they'll add to the flavor and the experience.

One of my favorite sayings is, "Charity begins at home"; I would add that it begins not just at home, but right with each and every one of us and with the seemingly minute decisions each day.  Who knew that being charitable and loving toward myself, in the form of letting go of the "should's" and "have-to's", would result in such monumental personal growth and improvement of health, and far less wasted food (and time and resources)?

I didn't.  All I did was make a decision to listen to my body and simplify my life, but sure can't complain about the results. Imagine what could happen if more people decided to quit being led around by all the talking heads, and instead made the decision to eat and live in a way that actually works for them.  My guess is that we just may also quit wasting half the food we work so hard to produce, pay so much to acquire and spend more yet to dispose of.

Just try (as the FlyLady Marla Cilley would say) to finally love yourself... just as you are, just for a little while.  Try being charitable to yourself, and see what happens.  I bet you'll be amazed by the results.

P.S.  My total cholesterol is 168. ;)

Summer's End

Today is the first day of school for my daughters.

Eighth grade for the eldest, first grade for her younger sister. I snapped this photo while walking them up the driveway to meet the bus this morning, after my teenager quipped (with a wink), "Oooh, so THAT'S what a sunrise looks like!"

I took a sabbatical from writing this summer, to spend more time focusing on my girls while they enjoyed their vacation, and am so glad I did.  This summer went by in a flash, and I wanted to make memories. God willing, I'll be able to write for many years to come... but my girls are only six and thirteen one summer of their lives. We made the most of it.

We slept in when we felt like it, rode horses, grew a big garden, planted waves of flowers and 80 little trees and shrubs.  We welcomed three beautiful foals into the world, and played with them often.  We hosted a 4th of July party, read piles of books, took in a county fair and journeyed to the Science Museum in St. Paul to take in the Egyptian Pharaohs exhibit. 

Both girls helped with barn chores, and if I payed allowance per wheelbarrow load of manure picked or scoop of grain doled out, the oldest would probably have enough to buy herself the car she's already talking about.  The youngest, she kept busy with new kittens (after joyfully informing my sister, "I'll take all you got!"), wiggling out her front teeth, learning to ride a bike without training wheels, practicing her reading and brushing her ever-patient pony.  The rag doll we made together one day last spring, Thumbelina, went everywhere with her: to the barn, to the beach, to Grandma and Grandpa's house, to tae kwon do lessons... and she rode along as we fished from the boat, tucked into my daughters life-jacket.

This day brings such mixed feelings for me; joy at the prospect of more time to myself to write, organize, and work on projects... and yet sorrow at the passage of time.  Both girls were excited to get back to school, to see their friends, to get back into the routine.  I've watched them both grow so much over the summer, their confidence and self esteem blossom... what a gift.  It is the very reason why I don't schedule many planned activities over the school break; I feel they need the rest after a busy school year, and plenty of time to explore their own interests and develop their own personalities.  It seems to work, as by the time mid-August hits they are rejuvenated and eager to resume a busier schedule.  And, quite honestly, I am ready for them to do so.  Their company is a joy, and yet it seems there is an instinct on my part to keep them home and nurture them some, then send them out into the world to test their wings. I send them out a little at a time, then welcome them home so as to feed them, build them up and teach them a bit more before sending them back out again.  No parenting expert am I... but so far it seems to be working.

And I can't wait for them to get home, to tell me about their day.

Meanwhile, I need to go buy a new coffee maker.  Mine died this morning and its truly a miracle I wrote this post without coffee. :)

It's good to be back.

The Last Day of Kindergarten

Tomorrow is the last day of Kindergarten for my youngest daughter... and I've been teary-eyed about the fact all day.  Not because I'll suddenly have less quiet time for a few months, or have to remember just how to make lunch again, but because after tomorrow my baby won't be a Kindergartener anymore.  In fact, she won't be a baby at all.  She will be a first-grader.

She has grown and learned so much these past nine months, under the tutelage of the most wonderful of teachers.  She can read and write and add and subtract and tie her own shoes.  Last week, she came home with the "Dairy Queen Superstar Award", given to only the most dedicated students, due in part to the fact (at least, according to her) that she has not once this whole year received even one warning for bad behavior. She can't wait to cash in the coupon for a free "treat meal" at DQ.  

Today she brought home the most beautiful gifts... a memory book of the whole year, assembled by her teacher Mrs. Marshall.  It has photos and projects and drawings my daughter created from the very first day of school and all through the year, bound together in a book with her photo on the front.  I have most of the projects stored in a box, as I could not bring myself to throw out much but the most basic of worksheets when they came home in her tattered backpack at the end of each day.  But for this teacher to make sure each student made two of everything, so that she could gift such a lovely book to the parents (who, even in the best of times, can be frazzled and disorganized) is such an act of forethought and kindness it brought tears to my eyes.  She also sent a DVD of photos taken throughout the year, of the first day and of field trips, of "Donuts for Dads" and "Grandparents Day" and "Moments with Mom".  These are the sorts of things that, when displayed twelve years from this very weekend as people gather in my home to celebrate her graduation from high school, will be priceless mementos we might not otherwise have had.  

I am so grateful to Mrs. Marshall for giving my daughter such a perfect introduction to lifelong learning, and documenting the entire year as she did.  What a wonderful gift, and one that will positively impact my daughter for the rest of her life.  No parent could ask for more.  How lucky we are to have enjoyed such a wonderful Kindergarten year!

Right now, however, I don't want her to be a first-grader... not to mention a high-school graduate.  I want her to be my baby for a little while longer, to curl up in my lap and let me read to her, to need me when she scrapes her knee or fights a cold.  I want to hear her ramble on from the backseat, relating her kindergarten soap operas and what she learned about spiders that day.  I want to preserve that baby-toothed smile that stops me in my tracks; to stop time, make it stand still, capture and caress it.  I want her to keep surprising me with big words she shouldn't know and pragmatism far beyond her years and humor all her own.  

She's my last baby, a miracle and a treasure.  I've savored every moment of her existence... and just wish that existence wouldn't fly by quite so fast.  But I am forever grateful that when it came time to let go a little and allow  someone else to nurture, teach and guide my precious child, it was Mrs. Marshall who took her by the hand and ushered her so lovingly into her school years.  What a blessing. 

Thank you, Mrs. Marshall, from our whole family.  It's been a wonderful year and one we will remember always.

Pluck

My littlest girl has been fighting a cold for weeks now. Try as we might to encourage her to rest, however... when you are six years old, there is just too much to do.

One cannot expect to sit on her laurels and still keep on top of one's social calendar.  There is a Kindergarten musical to rehearse, Grandparent's Day in her classroom is approaching, and, joy-of-joys, the school principal recently issued the proclamation that snow pants are no longer required playground attire.  Meaning, of course, that it will make the chasing of boys so much less cumbersome.  Only the most fleet of foot win at that game (and of course, Mom doesn't know what she's talking about when she says that catching one, may not actually be considered a win...).

Today, when she didn't leap out of bed to embrace the dawn, I took it as a sign that she needed a bit more rest and decided to wait and see how she felt later in the morning before sending her to school.  "Later in the morning" turned out to be less than an hour later, just after the school bus made its departure (of course).  She appeared in the kitchen, mad as a wet hen that I would keep her from school when she had so many commitments and so much accomplish.  So, we saddled up (figuratively speaking) and headed for town.

I couldn't have asked for a better way to start the day... or week.  After a dark and rainy Sunday, this day dawned with a cloudless sky, the air fresh and filled with birdsong.  Hints of the first green grass emerging in the roadside ditches.  The sight of hilltops beginning to dry in the fields, meaning it won't be long until the farmers are out turning the soil and planting this year's crop.  Country music on the radio, and the voice of my plucky little six-year-old socialite in the back seat telling me...

"Turn it up, Mom... it's JOHNNY CASH!"

Together, she and I concluded that listening to Johnny Cash cranked up on the radio while cruising down the road on a sunny spring morning was totally worth a tardy slip.