As my quarter century birthday approaches in a few months, I’m starting to realize I’m not as young and idealistic as I used to be. Let’s start with young. Watching Jacob tear around, carefree as a snowflake floating from the clouds, makes me long to be of a single digit age again. He really has nothing to worry about, except that his books, toys, sippy cup and snacks are within toddling distance.
I also admire Jacob’s flexibility and “bounce.” It’s been a few years since I could touch my toes, yet Jacob can just about put his nose to the ground. When I say “bounce,” I mean that quality only children have. They can run around all day, fall off swings and jungle gyms, or do a sliding dive across the kitchen floor when their bodies get going faster then their feet. Then, the following day, they get up and do it all again without a single ache or pain. One hour of moderate exercise is enough to wear people my age out for a few days, or even an afternoon of fishing, Nate found out. A few of my co-workers know what I mean. They played in an alumni volleyball/basketball tournament last weekend. On Monday you could almost hear the bones creaking as they hobbled around the office.
Money is another issue that seems to grow as I got older. A few co-workers and I reminisced Tuesday about the good ole college days when we had little money and a lot of time. Even with limited incomes from part-time and summer jobs, we managed to afford spring break vacations, shopping sprees, dinners out and frequent visits to the local watering holes. And the following day, we’d roll out of bed and do it again. Sadly, we grew up. Travel is a luxury limited to vacation days, shopping is done on a budget and dinners out consist mostly of fast food joints. Not to mention a Friday night trip to the tavern must be a short one or it ruins the rest of my weekend. Why is it the more money we make, the more money we need to live?
Getting older also has a mental effect. It gets harder to stay on the bright side with so much negativity flooding the airwaves. As I’ve gotten older, it’s harder to find people to look up. People who aren’t supposed to let you down do. You learn there is such a thing as impossible and miracles are few and far between. At the same time, I’ve noticed it’s easier to look down on people and examine people and ideas critically instead of constructively. The famous observation is true: every generation thinks theirs is the best and worries about the one behind them.
After considering this, I’ve decided I’m still too young to worry about the next generation. To most, people my age are the next generation, so it’s time to step up to the plate. The aging process is one I hope to enjoy. Physically, I plan to do it gracefully without wasting money on expensive wrinkle creams and hair dye. But mental aging, the kind that discourages and embitters us, is a battle to be waged. Too bad there’s not a cream for that.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Running to and fro...
To be frank, some weeks I put more thought into this column than others. It just depends on what’s going on and what sparks my interest that particular week. This week I have a lot to choose from. I was running to and fro from 5 a.m. on Thursday all the way until now.
Yes, I said 5 a.m. That’s because I planned a full day of activity. It started with the alarm going off at an ungodly hour so I could fit everything in. After I rolled out of bed and we finally got on our way (Nate was a little more reluctant), our first stop was the car doctor where my trusty Pontiac had an appointment. I had dropped off a set of keys the afternoon before so the car just needed to be left. Then we headed out of town to spend quality time with the 70-some bossies. I’d agreed to help milk cows that morning so Nate could accompany me on the next part of my agenda.
After chores and a visit from a friendly salesman, we headed west toward the Chequamegon National Forest for my Rural Living story. I was accompanying several dairy farmers on an ice fishing excursion. This was my third time out on the ice, and the first two we didn’t catch anything worth counting. The weather was pleasant for January and the fish were hungry. In a few hours we lost count of how many flags had gone up. My tip up yielded the best catch of the day, although I let Nate reel it in. He pulled in a nice northern measuring over 30 inches. We also caught two other nice sized ones and threw back a few mediocre ones. Not bad for my third time out.
Without even getting very cold, we drove back to civilization to rescue Jacob. After a quick shower to get rid of the fish smell, the little guy and I headed south for some exciting wrestling. Although I planned to leave early to get to bed early, I couldn’t abandon such a close match. You could hear the crowd breathe a sigh of relief when the final match went in Abbotsford/Colby’s favor.
The following day my mom and sister came up to visit for the weekend. It’s nice having extra hands with Jacob around, even if the hands do come with bodies that crowd my little dwelling. We also firmed up plans to have Jacob spend a week with them in February. When the extra family members left Sunday after lunch to beat the snow home, I was ready for a nap.
Monday meant back to the grind and a night meeting. Although I was a little worn out from the weekend, I made it through the day without dozing off. Monday evening I had a pleasant call from one of my best college friends, Jen. She and her boyfriend, Chris, became engaged in October and they are busy making wedding plans for March 2008. Jen asked me to be a part of their wedding as a bridesmaid which I am delighted to do. Also, Jen mentioned a possible girls’ weekend trip sometime in the next few months. I told her I’d have to check my calendar and budget but I’m already dreaming of a long weekend on a beach.
So Tuesday morning I was pondering which exciting event I should write about. Suddenly I realized I was a mile past daycare with Jacob still in the back seat. Oops.
Yes, I said 5 a.m. That’s because I planned a full day of activity. It started with the alarm going off at an ungodly hour so I could fit everything in. After I rolled out of bed and we finally got on our way (Nate was a little more reluctant), our first stop was the car doctor where my trusty Pontiac had an appointment. I had dropped off a set of keys the afternoon before so the car just needed to be left. Then we headed out of town to spend quality time with the 70-some bossies. I’d agreed to help milk cows that morning so Nate could accompany me on the next part of my agenda.
After chores and a visit from a friendly salesman, we headed west toward the Chequamegon National Forest for my Rural Living story. I was accompanying several dairy farmers on an ice fishing excursion. This was my third time out on the ice, and the first two we didn’t catch anything worth counting. The weather was pleasant for January and the fish were hungry. In a few hours we lost count of how many flags had gone up. My tip up yielded the best catch of the day, although I let Nate reel it in. He pulled in a nice northern measuring over 30 inches. We also caught two other nice sized ones and threw back a few mediocre ones. Not bad for my third time out.
Without even getting very cold, we drove back to civilization to rescue Jacob. After a quick shower to get rid of the fish smell, the little guy and I headed south for some exciting wrestling. Although I planned to leave early to get to bed early, I couldn’t abandon such a close match. You could hear the crowd breathe a sigh of relief when the final match went in Abbotsford/Colby’s favor.
The following day my mom and sister came up to visit for the weekend. It’s nice having extra hands with Jacob around, even if the hands do come with bodies that crowd my little dwelling. We also firmed up plans to have Jacob spend a week with them in February. When the extra family members left Sunday after lunch to beat the snow home, I was ready for a nap.
Monday meant back to the grind and a night meeting. Although I was a little worn out from the weekend, I made it through the day without dozing off. Monday evening I had a pleasant call from one of my best college friends, Jen. She and her boyfriend, Chris, became engaged in October and they are busy making wedding plans for March 2008. Jen asked me to be a part of their wedding as a bridesmaid which I am delighted to do. Also, Jen mentioned a possible girls’ weekend trip sometime in the next few months. I told her I’d have to check my calendar and budget but I’m already dreaming of a long weekend on a beach.
So Tuesday morning I was pondering which exciting event I should write about. Suddenly I realized I was a mile past daycare with Jacob still in the back seat. Oops.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
So I got a little opinionated this week....
A recent column by Peter Weinschenk, editor of The Record-Review, has stirred some interesting conversations the last few weeks. In case you missed it, here’s a sampling of Mr. Weinschenk’s opinion on Grasspoint milk versus milk produced by conventional methods.
“The first sample was from milk, I would suppose, from your standard Upper Midwest dairy with cows mostly likely fed some TMR ration of corn silage, soybean, dried forage plus minerals and other things. I would assume the cows were shot up with bovine growth hormone, too.
“The second sample included milk from grazing farms mostly right here in Marathon County. The cows, in this case, harvested their own feed in paddocks of mixed clovers and alfalfas. The cows probably might have been fed some supplemental soy, corn and minerals, but, most certainly, would not have received any BST. All Grasspoint milk, while not organic, is “certified humane” and bovine hormone is not allowed.”
Mr. Weinschenk then goes on to taste the milk and evaluate it.
“It [Grasspoint milk] had a full dairy flavor, not typical watered down white. One then had to think about how some specific cows on a specific farm were eating this specific mix of grasses and legumes to produce these specific flavors. This was milk with, for lack of a better word, a ‘vintage.’”
Mr. Weinschenk does say there’s nothing wrong with the typical grocery store milk, but that doesn’t go far enough to offset comments found offensive to several dairy farmers in the newspaper’s readership area. Although I respect his right to voice an opinion, I do think the taste test was flawed and amateur. A true test would have been blind by trained tasters. Also, both brands of milk should have come from the same type of container (one came from plastic and the other from a paper carton). Just ask anyone who has ever put their plastic milk jug next to onions in the refrigerator.
Aside from the skewed test, I think Mr. Weinschenk showed his prejudice against conventional dairy practices before he even tasted the milk. I’ve visited a lot of farms from New York all the way to California, from 15 cows to 6,000 cows. I’ve also been on farms with poor business skills and ones with top-notch management. What I’ve learned is farming for most dairymen is not so much business practice as it is a lifestyle. When Mr. Weinschenk attacked conventional farming, he attacked a way of life. While friends of mine graze (some members of Grasspoint), we do not. Why? Because we chose not to. Nate loves to drive tractor and grow feed. Also, our cows produce more milk using a properly balanced diet (aka TMR) created by a dairy nutritionist. And, like many farmers, with no BST.
I admire the group of farmers who are producing this specialty product, and I’m sure it is high quality. But there are many conventional farmers who produce the same quality and don’t deserve the insulting words. When it comes down to it, milk is milk, no matter the farming. If you have more questions, a great Web resource is www.milkismilk.com.
“The first sample was from milk, I would suppose, from your standard Upper Midwest dairy with cows mostly likely fed some TMR ration of corn silage, soybean, dried forage plus minerals and other things. I would assume the cows were shot up with bovine growth hormone, too.
“The second sample included milk from grazing farms mostly right here in Marathon County. The cows, in this case, harvested their own feed in paddocks of mixed clovers and alfalfas. The cows probably might have been fed some supplemental soy, corn and minerals, but, most certainly, would not have received any BST. All Grasspoint milk, while not organic, is “certified humane” and bovine hormone is not allowed.”
Mr. Weinschenk then goes on to taste the milk and evaluate it.
“It [Grasspoint milk] had a full dairy flavor, not typical watered down white. One then had to think about how some specific cows on a specific farm were eating this specific mix of grasses and legumes to produce these specific flavors. This was milk with, for lack of a better word, a ‘vintage.’”
Mr. Weinschenk does say there’s nothing wrong with the typical grocery store milk, but that doesn’t go far enough to offset comments found offensive to several dairy farmers in the newspaper’s readership area. Although I respect his right to voice an opinion, I do think the taste test was flawed and amateur. A true test would have been blind by trained tasters. Also, both brands of milk should have come from the same type of container (one came from plastic and the other from a paper carton). Just ask anyone who has ever put their plastic milk jug next to onions in the refrigerator.
Aside from the skewed test, I think Mr. Weinschenk showed his prejudice against conventional dairy practices before he even tasted the milk. I’ve visited a lot of farms from New York all the way to California, from 15 cows to 6,000 cows. I’ve also been on farms with poor business skills and ones with top-notch management. What I’ve learned is farming for most dairymen is not so much business practice as it is a lifestyle. When Mr. Weinschenk attacked conventional farming, he attacked a way of life. While friends of mine graze (some members of Grasspoint), we do not. Why? Because we chose not to. Nate loves to drive tractor and grow feed. Also, our cows produce more milk using a properly balanced diet (aka TMR) created by a dairy nutritionist. And, like many farmers, with no BST.
I admire the group of farmers who are producing this specialty product, and I’m sure it is high quality. But there are many conventional farmers who produce the same quality and don’t deserve the insulting words. When it comes down to it, milk is milk, no matter the farming. If you have more questions, a great Web resource is www.milkismilk.com.
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