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I didn’t marry a farmer, but I am married to one now. There is a difference, if ever so slight. When he chose to purchase that first cow, all I could do was shake my head and laugh. I knew he had some ambition to farm life, but I did not realize the depth of that ambition.

Winter had been dragging on for what seemed like forever. The notion of warm, sunny days and green grass seemed about as distant and likely as a Cleveland Browns Super Bowl victory parade or a referendum for common sense on a San Francisco ballot.

Anybody out there remember Germade? It’s a breakfast cereal made from wheat, just a bit coarser than Cream-of-Wheat. Growing up, it was preferred to oatmeal, which we sometimes had. It came home from the store in bags – cloth and finally paper.

Nevermind I’d never strapped on snowshoes or wasn’t physically in shape for the trek. Nevermind I didn’t have ski gear. A spectacular opportunity presented itself – a chance to go with a hydrology team on snowshoes in the mountains as they performed their snowpack survey report at Mores Creek.

If someone were to ask what kind of farm I live on, after maybe a moment’s hesitation, I would have to answer a mud farm. I live on a mud farm.

These are catchphrases used at different companies that became game-changers: