Going to Plan Z: When the Last Thing You Expect to Happen Happens

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Mom and dad during their dating years.

https://nerdexp.com/wolfamongus2review/ My dad, George, has always been the hardest working person I know. I remember getting up every morning for school when I was a kid. My mom, Sue, would do everything she could to wake me up nicely: play music, talk softly, and turn on the bathroom heater for me so I wouldn’t be cold. She’d always end up practically dragging me out of bed because I just didn’t want to get up. I’ve never been a morning person. My dad was never there on those mornings.

follow site He was already at work, leaving before the sun came up while I was still nestled snugly in my bed. I don’t ever remember him missing work for any reason. Ever. Snow, sleet, sunshine, sickness- nothing would keep him from working hard for his family.

here My parents looked forward to their retirement years. They had always wanted to travel. When they got closer to retirement, their plan was to work a few more years, retire and see the world together. This was the “Plan A” they envisioned. They were only a few years away from this anticipated retirement plan and were really on the downhill slope when suddenly, in one single moment, everything changed. Our entire immediate family’s lives were irreparably altered.

https://www.thefwpc.org/founder/ I will never forget February 7, 2005. It was the morning after the Super Bowl. I was a little tired on the drive to work because my brother, Keith had hosted a family watch party the night before. Just as I arrived at work, my cell phone rang and it was Keith, who never called me in the mornings. He said they were taking dad to the hospital. He had passed out at work, had not regained consciousness, and they didn’t know what was wrong. Continue reading Going to Plan Z: When the Last Thing You Expect to Happen Happens

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The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 29

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Imaginary Family Project Week 29

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After she died, my grandfather took this and every photo of her and put them in a drawer, and my mother and I moved back to the farm.

https://killmigraine.com/locations/ He didn’t talk to me much.  He didn’t talk at all, really, except to say, “Pass the ham,” or “Stop fussing, Delores,” when my mother tried to cut his meat or set out his pills.  I chewed my own dinner and watched them negotiate these new boundaries.

https://www.thefwpc.org/counseling/ Sometimes I walked behind him as he plowed, kicking the dirt with my sneakers.  Sometimes he would say to me, “Good thing you’re here, son.  Now you can learn how to be a man.”  I was seven and had never realized that being a man was something that required study. Continue reading The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 29

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On the Horizon: Flour Made the Local Way

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It has been a rough year for wheat farmers…again. It seems like we’ve been saying that a lot the past few years. Some fear there is no end in sight.

Several producers in the tiny town of Hydro, Okla. may have found the light at the end of the tunnel. Whole wheat producers are running their wheat through PBar Farms’ Stone Stack Mill for a premium price. Loren Liebscher is PBar Farms’ owner and is an advocate of production agriculture and education.

Liebscher is passionate about teaching kids where their food comes from and how to eat healthy. He uses the mill and his corn maze to teach kids about the importance of agriculture.

As a lifelong agriculturalist, I have devoted much of my time to educating the public about agriculture. Whether I was in FFA or shopping in the grocery store I have always found people who do not know about the food they eat. Producing the food is not enough. We have to be advocates and educate people about what we do so there will be a future for the industry we love. In this week’s video blog, see how local wheat producers are adding value to their product.

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On the Horizon: Flour Made the Local Way from Alisa Hines on Vimeo.

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My Little Victory Garden: Sweet Safari!

Fallow deer, heading toward the feeding trough on Honey Hill Farm.

You know those stories that begin with one segment, then lead to another? And another. And…another? This is one of those stories.  Here’s how it started:

One of my first Victory Garden entries included a trip to my neighbor down the road, Crestview Farms.  I picked up some fresh eggs, some Honey Hill Farm local honey, and spoke with the owner about when her French Tarragon might be in.  I got home, unloaded my treasures, and noticed that the Honey Hill Farm label read: Edmond, OK.  How about that?  The beekeepers were ALSO neighbors.  I stashed that little nugget of information into the back of my brain and thought, “Okay, I’ll get there soon.” I wrote that post March 20th.

On June 20th, exactly 90 days later, Jerry Logan took a few hours out of his early morning schedule to show me just how it is that his bees do what they do.  And his deer run like they run, and his Scimitar oryx grow horns as beautiful and long as they grow them.  I appreciate Jerry’s willingness to let me ride along in his farm truck, in his camouflage utility vehicle and walk by his side as I learned all about how one thing led to another, and then another, until it became what it is today. Continue reading My Little Victory Garden: Sweet Safari!

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Silent Sunday: Little Bird

Friday night, Mick was turning the sprinkler on in the front yard when he noticed a tiny bump on the lawn. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a small baby bird. He called me to the area and we watched it for a while...it was shaking, rocking back and forth, and was constantly holding its head up as if to get food from its parents. We waited for a while, but didn't see the parents. Pretty soon, ants began to crawl all over the baby bird. Occasionally it would open its mouth but the call was so weak we became concerned. So, we went inside and began to research "how to take care of a baby bird who has fallen from its nest."

Continue reading Silent Sunday: Little Bird

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.