Blogs

I’m sorry to interrupt. Excuse me. Pardon the interruption.

A story is told of Rabbi Stephen Samuel Wise, who was asked to speak at an anti-Nazi meeting in Brooklyn, whereupon he received numerous threatening letters, stating he would be killed if he attended or sought to address the rally.

Shaving. Washing your face. Buying gas or diesel for the vehicles. Mowing the lawn. And, in my end of the country, dealing with goat-heads or puncture vine. These are just some things that are regular, reoccurring – and not a big deal if done regularly.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness … it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair …”

“I love waiting,” said no one ever. But maybe they should.

When we sit waiting for a baler to be fixed, we may check our phones, emails or social media (if we’re lucky enough to get cell service in the field) or maybe even read the seed flyer now faded and stuck on the dashboard.

As I sit here in the barn thinking of what I should write about and reflecting on our annual show, which just concluded, I’m trying to think of a very unique piece of equipment to discuss.

Ron was new on the job, driving a semi. Sleeper team – he was the junior driver. He came to a stop sign, stopped and, when traffic was clear, he gave the truck a little throttle and eased off of the clutch.