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EDITOR'S NOTES

Progressive Forage editor Joy Hendrix was raised on a multi-generational family farm and ranch in southeastern New Mexico. Growing up raising heifers in 4-H and reciting speeches while wearing blue corduroy she knew she never wanted to leave this industry.

LATEST

I have chickens on the living room wall. My husband is disgusted by chickens. “It’s a quilt,” I say, “Get over it. Why do you hate chickens so much?” I think his objection is “We are blessed” embroidered on the quilt next to the chicken fabric seems like an oxymoron.

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Why is it a farmer can run a $300,000 harvester but can’t turn on a dishwasher? Why is it parents and kids can work nine months on a 4-H steer project day after day, but after six hours in the hot sun during the quality show at the county fair nobody cares who wins anymore?

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I’ve been ruminating for awhile now on what is growing in my neighbor’s field. I’ve never seen plants like that before. I drive by it at least twice a day and it bugs me that I don’t know what it is. I tried an internet search with no results.

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And then I realized something important about my son, my husband and the whole bloomin’ family – it’s not their fault. Their outrage gauge is broken.

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Think of a time when you walked in someone else’s shoes. And I don’t mean when you forgot your muck boots helping a neighbor sort cows. I’m talking full-on “I’ve been where you’ve been” type of a thing.

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So, I’m wondering if it’s better to choose randomly or wisely. My husband prefers to choose wisely. “We can’t burn those tree limbs today,” he says, “it’s too …” hot, cold, wet, dry, early, late – there’s always a reason.

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