What a great class! Professional, knowledgeable, well-spoken — wonderful ambassadors for their respective associations and the entire Farm Credit System. It has been an honor to work with such a high-caliber group of people this week. Each of them is a credit to their stockholders and the local communities in which they live and serve.

Back Row left to right: Rusty Jenkins, Louisiana Land Bank; Seth Wharton, Heritage Land Bank; Matt Klostermann, Ag Credit of South Texas; Brandon Beavers, Ag New Mexico; Jake Aragon, AgriLand; Chris Levine, Farm Credit Bank of Texas; Alan Benedict, Central Texas Farm Credit; David Loftin, Mississippi Land Bank; Amanda Simpson, Alabama Farm Credit

Front Row left to right: Jolene Curtis, TX AgFinance; Debra Wilfong, Great Plains Ag Credit; Jerry Spruill, Ag Texas; Blain Eubank, Panhandle Plains Land Bank; Camron Ward, Capital Farm Credit; Keith Finstad, Texas Land Bank; Sam Cooper, Louisiana Ag Credit; Amanda Necaise, Southern Ag Credit; Ed Boyd, Alabama Ag Credit; Joseph Crouch, Legacy Ag Credit

Pepper’s wounds were even more minimal than Ginger’s and we were able to put her back in the big enclosure in relatively short order with no ill effects. Ginger continued to recuperate by herself, apparently content, and she kept on laying an egg pretty much every day, as was her custom.

And then something strange happened: Ginger started to crow.

At first I didn’t quite believe what I was hearing. But then, as it happened more frequently, it became unmistakable. Our rooster, Big Red, would sound his regular morning call, loud and full, only to be echoed across the yard by Ginger, not so loud and definitely not so full, sounding a bit like she was gargling sulfuric acid. Despite its poor quality, it was nevertheless a crow rather than a cluck.

Now Ginger has stopped laying. What’s more, she’s not as timid as she used to be. I think maybe her comb is starting to get bigger. Whoa, Nellie!

I’ve read of the old wives’ tale that holds if you hear a hen crow it means that you’re going to die, but being disgustingly healthy and not a superstitious sort, I don’t give that any credence. And there’s an old saying, “Whistling girls and crowing hens always come to some bad ends,” but I’ve always thought it was just one of those aphorisms designed to keep tomboys in line. I never knew that a hen would, or even could, crow like a rooster. By this time though, I’ve even seen Ginger do it. She’ll flap her wings, throw back her head, stick out her neck, and let loose with her version of “I gotta be me!”

Apparently, although it certainly is not customary for a hen to crow, it is more common than you might think. Sometimes, when there is no rooster in a flock, a dominant hen might assume that role, but we are not rooster-less and Ginger is not a dominant hen. Another explanation maintains that if some of the hen’s egg-laying apparatus is damaged, it can cause such a change. I don’t think that applies in Ginger’s case since she has been regularly laying until very recently and she has been alone and out of harm’s way for quite a while now.

According to ehow.com, “Hens that strut like a rooster not only act out like the aggressive male chicken, but also begin to take on all the flashy physical characteristics of the rooster. The hen will stop laying eggs. The characteristics of the cock's comb —the spiky red headdress of the rooster — often begin to show up in the smaller hen's comb on top of the would-be rooster.” The website goes on to say that “Although the true hen-to-rooster transformation is an atypical occurrence, it does happen and has been calculated as a 1-in-10,000 probability.”

So those are the odds. At this point, though, there’s only one sure bet: we’re confused around here.

“The Border Collie controls its herd by maintaining vigorous eye contact and ‘clapping.’ When a Border Collie is ‘clapping,’ it stretches its front paws out and lowers its chest to the ground while maintaining a fixed stare at the sheep in what is similar to a predatory position.”
         --http://www.gopetsamerica.com/border-collie/border-collie.aspx

“Border Collies tend not to use force (initially) to drive the livestock where they want to but rather, use what is known as ‘eye,’ a sort of threatening stare-down that intimidates the stock into moving in the desired direction.”
        --http://www.bcrescue.org/bcwarning.html

Have you ever seen a trained Border Collie work a herd of sheep? It’s a remarkable thing to watch, as instinct and education combine to get the job done in a manner that looks as much like choreography as it does herding. As the blurbs above point out, in addition to speed and natural athletic abilities, the Border Collie depends a lot on eye contact to control its herd. The intense stare of a Border Collie at work is hypnotic.

That is, unless you’re a chicken.

As I’ve mentioned before (see Domino and Speedy), our Border Collie, Domino, does not have any sheep to herd, so he has to make do with our yellow Lab-mix named Shiner, the UPS truck and, for a brief-but-thrilling interlude, our chickens.

Domino’s ability to herd the cluckers has nothing to do with Border Collie ‘eye’, however, and everything to do with the ability to wear the girls down with agility and persistence. The intimidating fixed-stare that is so effective with sheep and everything else just doesn’t work on hens, which may have something to do with the fact that chickens have eyes that are similar to a reptile’s. Chickens have three eyelids: an upper, a lower and a transparent thing called a “nictating membrane” that moves from the front to the rear of the eye. The loser in the staring game is the one who blinks first, and chickens just don’t blink all that much.

Now that we have moved all the chickens except Speedy out of the chicken tractor and into a stationary enclosure, Domino can’t herd them anymore, either by eye or by physical prowess. He has to content himself with attempting to make them run around the pen at his approach. The Soda Pop Girls (Big Red and the Americaunas) all take off when they see Domino coming, which must be mildly satisfying for him, but that small sense of achievement is soured by the Golden Comets. A feisty bunch to say the least, the Comets stand their ground, and as Domino tries “clapping” and giving them the eye, they give him the eye right back. With that clear nictating membrane, they do not blink, and what’s more, they have the nerve to peck at Domino’s nose when he is in clapping position.

Poor Domino. Following these rather humiliating encounters, he turns his attention — and his frustration — toward Shiner, the Lab. The Border Collie eye works extremely well on Shiner, who moves around the yard at Domino’s bidding like a puppet on a string. My impression is that a lethargic Lab and a flock of hens is a woefully inadequate substitute, however, for a true herd.

I wonder what the neighbors would think if we got a flock of sheep?

By all standards, the American farmer is a great success story -- the most productive and innovative in the world; yet, on average, only 9% of a farmer's income comes from the farming operation.  The other 91% has to come from off-farm income, which partly explains why only 1% of the population is engaged in farming today.

This is the story Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack shared with our group over breakfast this morning as he highlighted the overall value proposition of the industry; and talked about the need to educate an increasingly urban population about the significant economic contribution agriculture makes to the U.S. economy.

Later in the morning, our group met with the head of the Farm Credit Council, which is the legislative and political trade association for the Farm Credit System.  He briefed our group on the issues of the day and helped prepare us for an afternoon of meetings with our members of Congress on Capitol Hill.

First stop, the Senate Agriculture Committee, where we met with key staff and talked about financial reform legislation and general agriculture policy before splitting into smaller groups and going our separate ways -- meeting with multiple congressional representatives about the valuable role Farm Credit plays in rural America.

This evening, we joined the National Council for Farmer Cooperatives at a Capitol Hill reception honoring agricultural cooperatives and the people they serve.  A number of distinguished guests and dignitaries from the Washington political scene attended, including my former boss and true friend of the Farm Credit System, Charlie Stenholm.  It was great to see him again and know that he is still at the top of his game and making a positive difference for agriculture.

In turn, each association representative was asked to talk about conditions in their respective territory and share their perspective on the issues facing the Farm Credit System.  It was a great round table discussion and opportunity to exchange ideas and share information.

We ended the day with a visit to the home of George Washington who, in addition to being our nation's first president, was a very successful farmer.  Following a tour of his operation, we shared a traditional colonial meal on the banks of the Potomac River and prepared for a full day tomorrow on Capitol Hill.

In the morning, our group is having breakfast with the Secretary of Agriculture, receiving briefings and training at the Farm Credit Council headquarters and then meeting with congressional representatives to promote the important role Farm Credit plays throughout rural America.

Funding Corporation CEO Jamie Stewart shared his perspective on the economy and the challenges facing the Farm Credit System as he talked about the role his organization plays in the System and the important role the System plays in the overall economy.He also talked about the financial crisis of 2008 and the impact it has had on the economy -- and the unpredictability and challenges that remain for the foreseeable future. He concluded that, in the end, they can tell Farm Credit's positive story to investors, but they can't make it up; associations have to be well-managed and have strong credit quality in a strong agriculture economy.He reminded our group that the day-to-day performance of Farm Credit associations throughout rural America is critical to his ability to get funding for them... and at what cost.

After a few hot dogs from a local street vendor, we toured the trading floor of the Bank of New York Mellon and received a briefing from the head of their Agency trading desk.He talked about what a great reputation Farm Credit has in the marketplace as he shared with our group how they broker Farm Credit securities to the investment community throughout the world.

I know New York is the city that never sleeps, but we're calling it a night.Tomorrow, the group hops an early train to Washington, D.C. to meet with the board and senior staff of the System's federal regulatory agency, the Farm Credit Administration.

Although road weary, Farm Credit representatives from across the district arrived safely in New York City Sunday.  For some, it's been a challenge to make arrangements at home and work to be here this week, but it's going to be a wonderful and valuable experience for them and I know they'll be glad they were here. 

This year's Association Leadership Program kicked off with an orientation and briefing at an historic hotel in downtown Manhattan.  It was a great opportunity for everyone to get acquainted and to make sure the group is coordinated before hitting the ground Monday morning.  The group will start the day at Grand Central Station, where we'll join millions of other people on the New York subway. Getting our group (most of whom have never been to New York City) on the subway at the same time will be tricky; and, if we lose someone, we may never see them again.  Oh well. 

We'll be heading to New Jersey to meet with the CEO of the Farm Credit System Funding Corporation, Jamie Stewart, and his staff.  Monday afternoon, the group will tour Wall Street and receive a briefing at the Bank of New York, which trades Farm Credit securities.  Before the day ends, everyone will have had a behind-the-scenes look at how the Farm Credit System gets money from Wall Street to rural America.  And, if things go according to plan, we won't lose anyone along the way.

Here, at Farm Credit, we think it’s a great idea, so we were thrilled when Texas Agriculture Commissioner Todd Staples stopped by the Farm Credit Bank of Texas office this week and conducted a press conference to kick off the event.

During the Restaurant Round-Up week, September 28 – October 2, participating restaurants across the state will offer special menu items featuring local, Texas grown-food and Texas wines.  Also, they will donate a portion of their proceeds to local food banks to help those Texans who don’t have enough to eat. 

Farm Credit is sponsoring this event because it helps highlight the important role agriculture plays in the economy. And, as lenders to this important industry, we appreciate the opportunity to be a part of something that helps support the farmers and ranchers we serve.

To help kick things off, our employees pitched in and raised $10,000 for the Capital Area Food Bank in Austin. 

Check out this FOX News video of Commissioner Staples’ news conference as he urged Texans to “Go out. Go eat. Go Texan.” 

In Act I of Shakespeare's play, “Anthony and Cleopatra,” Cleopatra speaks of, “My salad days, when I was green in judgment….” She is referring to her fling with Julius Caesar; but since Shakespeare's time, the term “salad days” has since come to be synonymous with a time of youth. To me, however, salad days refers to that time of the year when my garden produces enough lettuce and salad greens to supply a small country (or at least all my friends and neighbors), with the added effect of making my teenager screw up her face and moan things like, “We’re having salad for dinner AGAIN?”

Arugula, beet greens, cabbage, chard, collard greens, endive, kale, lettuce (lots of varieties), mache, mustard greens, pak choy, radicchio, sorrel and spinach, plus assorted herbs —a ll this leafy green stuff overflows the garden beds and into the salad bowls of everybody I know who lives within giving distance. I suspect that some people may even consider locking their doors and pretending not to be home when they see me coming with yet another bag of greens.

In addition to the satisfaction of producing all this vegetative matter, it’s possible to chalk up a serious amount of health benefit points. Leafy green things are way low on the calorie count and way high on the ridiculously-good-for-you scale in terms of vitamins, minerals, fiber, and antioxidants. So, not only do I get to play the gardening version of Lady Bountiful, but growing greens also allows me to back-pat myself in the family nutrition department.

I am not writing this to brag, but rather to tell you that growing salad greens is EASY, as in really, really easy, because if I can do it, anybody can. Lettuce and other greens adapt well to various conditions, from small-space, square-foot gardens to farm rows. Just pop those seeds in prepared ground in a sunny location, water them, wait for a few days, and then stand back and break out the salad dressing. Okay, so maybe that’s a tad quick, but really, not much.

According to Wikipedia, the “word ‘salad’ comes from the French salade of the same meaning, from the Latin salata (salty)…. In English, the word first appeared as ‘salad’ or ‘sallet’ in the 14^th century, while the use of ‘salad bar’ first appeared in American English in 1976.” Wikipedia goes on to say that while the Babylonians mixed greens with oil and vinegar 2,000 years ago, salads did not gain popularity in the United States until the late 19^th century.

My teenager probably wishes she had lived sometime before then.

“No, they’re not!” Alex said to me, emphatically, as I stared out the window.

I hadn’t uttered a word, but just before Alex said what he did, I had been watching a couple of squirrels frolicking around the yard burying acorns. Their movements were so cartoonish and comical that it made me smile and think to myself, “Aren’t squirrels just the funniest things?”

It would seem that Alex and I have turned into one of those little-bit-scary couples that can read each other’s thoughts and finish each other’s sentences. (If we start wearing matching polyester jumpsuits I do hope someone will kindly put us out of our misery.)

In any case, my husband and I differ in our regard for squirrels. He thinks the squirrel is an unmitigated nuisance, essentially a rat cleverly disguised by good hair. I think they’re funny little characters, and because I feel well disposed to pretty much anything that makes me laugh, they don’t bother me that much. I’ll fess up to even being amused by the fact that Alex gets so bothered by them.

Admittedly, the stats don’t add up in the squirrels’ favor. The little guys can do a staggering amount of damage. They can strip and damage electrical cabling to create severe fire and electrocution hazards. They will chew phone lines, car wiring, vents and pipe insulation. According to the Daily Kos, an online analysis blog, “Squirrels have successfully shut down the NASDAQ stock exchange at least twice and caused numerous outages at prestigious institutions like the University of Alabama. On average, about 25 percent of all power failures nationwide are inspired by suicidal squirrels.”

They can chew through your fascia board or roof in order to make a nest in your attic. If, in an effort to remove the homesteaders, you inadvertently trap them inside, squirrel family members on the outside will chew another hole to rescue their brethren. Squirrels can also wreak havoc with your landscape as well as your bird feeders, and they can drive your dogs crazy. They’ve even been known to burrow into dams and levees, compromising the structures.

Despite squirrels’ dark side, they still make me laugh. Every morning, I do a set of stretching exercises in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that faces the lake. One of the exercises involves a hip action that looks like I’m using a hula-hoop. The other morning while doing this, I noticed a squirrel standing on its hind legs in front of the window, watching me. The squirrel suddenly started moving the bottom half of its body just like I was. Yeah, it was pretty hilarious (the squirrel probably thought his view was as funny as mine), and I promise I am not making this up.

The most common tree squirrel varieties in the Texas Farm Credit District are the fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) and the eastern grey squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis). Both types are rodents belonging to the family Sciuridae, and are closely related to mice and rats. (Alex is right about the rats-with-good-hair thing.) A squirrel's teeth never stop growing, and because of this, if a squirrel fails to chew enough, its teeth will grow down in front of its mouth and it will starve to death.

A squirrel’s nest is called a drey, and it is made up of a ball of twigs, often with leaves attached, and lined with grass, fur or whatever they can find. Summer dreys are attached to branches, but winter dreys can be inside a hollow tree. There are two breeding seasons, December and June, and squirrel babies are called kittens. Squirrels are diurnal (active during the day), and they do not hibernate.

And their hair always looks good.

The gift of that little apron was the start of a lifelong attraction, and by that I mean that aprons are attracted to me as much as I am to them. Like iron filings to a magnet, moths to a flame, burrs to a dog, aprons come to me. When a friend cleans out her mama’s linen drawer, I get the aprons. When another doesn’t know what to do with all those aprons that belonged to an aunt or a grandmother, I get them. When members of my family see an apron at a garage sale or one at an antique store they think I’d like, they buy it for me.

I now own dozens and dozens of aprons, and while some people may call it a collection, it really is more of an accumulation. I have aprons from the 1920s up to the present: everyday ones, fancy ones, handmade ones, store-bought ones, crocheted ones, cross-stitched ones, naughty ones, funny ones, holiday ones. I even have an apron that I use at Halloween featuring bottles of poison.

An old French word for napkin, “naperon,” is apparently the source for the English word “apron.” That makes sense, because both napkins and aprons are intended to protect clothing and keep them from getting soiled. Back when washing was far more labor-intensive than it is now, having less laundry to do was a very big deal. The fact that an apron is tied onto the body allowed it to serve multiple purposes aside from just reducing the wash load, however. It was an early “hands-free” device.

Tina Trivett, a poet from Georgia, wrote a sweet poem about the apron’s multi-tasking abilities called “Grandma’s Apron.” It is reprinted here with her permission.

The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.
For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.

She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she'd found.
Or to hide a crying child's face when a stranger came around.
Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.
Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.

She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.
To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.
You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.

She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.
Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best.

For awhile, aprons came to symbolize domestic oppression and took on a negative connotation. Now they’re cool again, although unless you’re a chef, a chili cook-off contestant or a backyard barbecue aficionado, chances are you don’t wear one with any regularity. The days when one put on an apron first thing every morning are long past. I still wear an apron when I’m baking because, truth be told, I’m really messy. The food writer and chef, Marcy Goldman, says, “Cooking or baking without an apron is like driving without a seat belt,” and that holds true for me.

But mostly I like aprons because they remind me about people I’ve known in my life who wore one all the time. Aprons also make me think about the people I love who give them to me. I think they’re all fabulous.

Even as recently as 30 years ago, a clothesline in the yard was pretty much standard issue with a house — almost as much a part of the expected fixtures as doors and windows. And while it was true that having Mrs. So-and-So’s “unmentionables” or Mr. Whats-it’s long johns flapping in the breeze might have been too much information, the playing field was level in that regard. We were all in the same boat. Visual overload was a natural byproduct of washday, and nobody thought anything about it.

At some point (far off my radar), it became a status symbol to have a clothes dryer and, concurrently, a clothesline came to be associated with poverty. Nowadays, in the majority of private communities throughout the United States, it is illegal to hang clothes on a line to dry. Apparently, the thinking is that clotheslines lower property values.

As is the American way, telling folks they can’t do something is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. A whole movement has grown up in support of wind-energy drying devices, which is the latest term for clotheslines. There’s even a non-profit organization called Project Laundry List, dedicated to “making air-drying and cold-water washing laundry acceptable and desirable as simple and effective ways to save energy”.

There is no question that taking clean laundry out of the washing machine and throwing it directly into an adjacent dryer is far more convenient and certainly faster than hauling a basketful of heavy wet clothes outside and hanging them on a line. The dryer works at night, in the rain, during a snowstorm, and when the dirt is blowing. Forget about wiping down the clothesline with a wet cloth before hanging anything. Clothespins are not required, and nobody needs to know that Billy got new underwear for Christmas.

But according to the U.S. Energy Information System, almost 6 percent of residential electricity use goes toward the clothes dryer. Project Laundry List adds in the statistics for gas dryers and brings that tally up to 10 to 5 percent of domestic energy use in the United States. That’s pretty significant.

It’s interesting how, as we all become more environmentally conscious, the old ways of doing things start to reveal benefits that were never really considered before. Concerns about energy use, pollution and other environmental factors go up against convenience with more and more frequency.

I personally like the way laundry looks hanging on a clothesline. I like to hear the pop of a wet sheet catching the wind and flying out like a sail tethered to a mast. And, of course, there is just nothing like that smell!

This did not seem at all strange or unusual to me, because stopping to let a funeral procession pass is a custom I’ve known all my life. I’ve traveled and lived in enough other places, however, to know that it is not a routine practice elsewhere. I’m guessing that it is a rural convention, and one you'll find across the South.

There is no law behind the practice, just common courtesy and a desire to show respect for the deceased and sympathy for the mourners. I’ve searched for information about how the custom started, but haven’t been able to find anything, which leaves me no recourse except to speculate.

The reason I believe it to be a rural phenomenon is because it requires space and time. An urban environment allows for neither. Most city thoroughfares are not set up to allow cars to pull over easily and any effort to do so as a gesture of sympathy would likely be overlooked in the crush of traffic. In most cases, in fact, the practice probably would be seen as a hazard rather than a sign of consideration, because urban traffic grids are designed to keep cars moving. Congestion makes courtesy much more difficult.

Maybe it’s just easier to be nice on a rural road than it is on a busy city street. Out in the country, the pace is a bit more leisurely, and the roadways have shoulders. Less traffic and more open space make it possible for all participants to recognize the event and the resultant actions. Drivers can see the procession coming from a distance, giving them time to slow down and react. In turn, the mourners can appreciate the thoughtfulness being expressed.

As for why pulling over when a funeral passes by seems to be a common Southern tradition, I really don’t know. People from the South and Southwest have long prided themselves on being courteous and neighborly. Whether such is actually true may be a matter of conjecture, but minding our manners and being polite are traits we honor as part of our identity. I hope it stays that way.

Recently I was asked about the value of a 25-year-old tractor by a client who was in my office applying for a loan.

Well, I have no idea about the value of her 25-year-old tractor. I am a “city” girl — which in my case means I live within the city limits of a rural farming area. In our “city,” when a tractor comes down Main Street, moving from field to field, we give it the right of way, as if it were an ambulance on the way to an emergency, and the reverence one shows a funeral procession coming through town. (Yes, we still show respect by pulling to the side of the road here in our town for funeral processions, and I am proud of that!) Also, children love to watch tractors coming through town as if it were a Christmas parade.

Well, back to my story. As my client continued to fill out the application, my mind wandered to the value of tractors.

I thought about the young man I know who already has $300,000 in debt accumulated, mainly because of the purchase of a huge tractor.

Another young man came to mind, whose grandfather passed his tractor and equipment down to him after retirement, giving this grandson the greatest gift he could ever give, along with the chance to carry on the legacy of working the family land. That’s not to mention the peace of mind that comes with having less debt.

At the end of the year, when we compare these two young men’s finances, whether their figures end up in red or black will depend mainly on the tractor they are driving.

To a conservative farmer with good maintenance habits, the tractor is worth about the same as the day it was purchased.

To some farmers on the quest for prestige, the worth lies in knowing he is driving the newest tractor in town.

The worth of the tractor does not only apply to people. In winter months, when the grass is gone and the earth is bogged with mud, a tractor means there is transportation to deliver hay to cattle, thus providing sustenance for life.

Farmers and their tractors are a breed of their own. There are so many ways to gauge the worth of each tractor. As my mind drifted back to reality, the real worth of a tractor dawned on me. A John Deere tractor isn’t worth a flip if there is not a John Deere dealership with a good parts department within 30 miles. You can drive the fanciest, oldest, cleanest or newest tractor, but none of them are worth a dime if they won’t run!

On the flip side, I keep hearing people say that money is hard to get. Don’t listen! The money is also cheap. Yes, it may be difficult to get financing if you have an income source that has been greatly impacted by the recession (one example is the construction industry), but this does not mean that you should not try. Just realize that if you have been building 85 houses a year, and now you are down to 10, this may affect your ability to repay your debts, in the bank’s opinion.

For most people the biggest change is that the down payment may be larger than in the past. The industry has returned to cash-flow and down-payment lending.

Generally, to help the financing process go easily, you will need:
1) A contract to purchase and a legal description of the property to be purchased
2) The last three years’ tax returns
3) If self-employed, a current profit-and-loss and financial statement, as of year to date
4) A plan for down payment and verification of these funds (copy of bank statement, etc.) If you are using property you already own for a down payment, you will need the legal description and copy of your deed for that property, as well.
5) Verification of major assets and liabilities, such as bank, 401(k) and stock account statements
6) Verification of current employment (last pay stub)
7) General information to complete an application (name, social security number, etc.)
8) The last and most important thing to remember when looking for financing — CALL US! We will be glad to fill out the forms for you in our office and help you through the process. It’s our job.

Farm Credit has been in operation for more than 90 years. We have seen tough times before. Our senior management lived through the 1980s as loan officers with this organization, and they have trained the rest of our people. If you are looking at purchasing and managing large-acreage property, it may be a good investment from a business and lifestyle standpoint. We will do our best to make the financing process go as smoothly as possible.

I have been through the process of purchasing rural properties myself, and I understand the challenges our customers face. This is also true of many Farm Credit employees. That’s why we will work hard to help you.

Where are we anyhow? A beauty shop? A nail salon? A laundromat? A hardware store? The emergency room?

Nope, none of the above. We are at the annual county youth livestock show, where 4-H and FFA members are readying their cattle, pigs, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys and rabbits for the show ring. The items listed above are among the supplies used to make sure that the animals look their best when they’re paraded before exacting judges. As one source says, “Dirty birds don’t win.”

Whether it’s powdering a pig to make its white parts whiter or oiling it to make its dark areas shinier and then sprinkling it with glitter to make it sparkle; rubbing down a rabbit with a dryer sheet to remove shedding hair and make its fur gleam; shampooing, conditioning and blow-drying a steer’s coat to give it “bloom;” trimming chin hairs off a heifer to make her look more feminine; polishing a sheep’s hooves so they will glisten; bathing a chicken and wrapping it like an enchilada in a fluffy towel to dry; rubbing a goat’s tail with Bengay to make it stand up—you can find these and many other activities of the same type occurring, as the kids strive to put their animals’ best feet forward, so to speak.

Make no mistake: This is serious business. Raising and showing animals requires a lot of time and commitment, not to mention the acquisition of a rather surprising set of grooming skills. Take, for example, the process involved in making a steer’s legs look appropriately stocky, which requires the groomer to turn into a special effects artist.

To “build” legs, it is necessary to spray on a special adhesive. It may take multiple coats to get the desired effect, with drying time required between coats. Once the optimum level of fullness has been achieved, the legs must be sprayed with a specially formulated white paint. After that dries, black or reddish-brown paint, depending on the coat color of the animal in question, is sprayed on and allowed to dry. After the animal’s 15 seconds of fame in the show ring, these enhancements must be dissolved and removed with still other products having names like Undress™ and ItsGone™.

While many of these grooming activities take place at home prior to exhibition, visitors walking through the staging area of the show barn on the day of the livestock show might feel like they’re in a rather bizarre beauty salon. As an ag teacher of my acquaintance remarked, “It’s just like a woman putting on makeup. It’s all an optical illusion to impress the judge.”

I’ll think about that the next time I put on lipstick.

I recently attended an annual contributing editors’ workshop — an event that I always look forward to as an opportunity to share and exchange ideas with other Farm Credit colleagues. We usually have a guest speaker who motivates and “wows” us into thinking and doing things more creatively, and I always come back to my office armed with tips and new ideas, ready for another year.

This year, the last item on the agenda was a presentation by a New York commercial photographer, Paul Mobley. I sat back in my chair ready to learn some new techniques to aid me in my photo-taking endeavors.

Paul began to speak to us about the stress of being a commercial photographer in New York and how the competition between photographers and the expectations of perfection from clients was overwhelming. I must admit, I was beginning to question why he had been selected to be our speaker.

Paul kept speaking and shared how he had needed a break from the city and how reaching the breaking point turned into a life-changing journey for him.

Then, something surprising happened. He clicked a little button in his hand and a photo of Michigan farmer Don Schmidt, holding two pigs, flashed in front of us. This was certainly not what I had expected to see.  This farmer looked just like he could be one of my customers I work with each day.

Paul explained the story behind this photo and then clicked the button again. It was a photo of Allen King and his son and farm workers, standing near a combine in a Tennessee field. Again, this picture reminded me of all of my farmer friends I see every day, working so hard on the land they love. Another click: It was the Ernie Righetti family on their California avocado farm. They were way out in California, but there was something strangely familiar about them.

Something began to happen inside of me. I was puzzled. I had never seen any of these people, yet they all looked so familiar. Then with the next click, I saw it!  In some pictures, it was the eyes; in others, the hands, the posture or the wrinkles. Paul had captured it! It was the spirit of the American farmer and the heart of our country. The spirit of the American farmer was in each photo.

There is something about working with soil that exudes satisfaction in the eyes. The wrinkles in the photos smiled along with the eyes and enhanced the hands in a way only achieved through many changing seasons. I, too, have seen the posture of the American farmer that Paul captured so well. In the stance, the breadth of the shoulders is wide, but not in a boastful way. It is strong, yet welcoming, and it comes from decades of weathering the lifestyle of a steward of the land. 

By the time Paul had finished his presentation, I was in awe. I was so glad that he had shared his story with us, and published his photographs in a book titled, appropriately, American Farmer. His words and photos had made me immediately grateful for my job, serving the American farmer. Young or old, mountains or flatlands, animals or crops — it didn’t matter the age, the region or the products of the American farmer. I had discovered that the American farmer thrives and the spirit of the farming life flows from shore to shore. I thought of the Farm Credit System and how it was established by Congress in 1916, specifically to help the American farmer, and I felt humbled and honored to be a part of the rich history of this service. 

Today, I often glance through the pages of Paul’s book, feeling that I know all of his subjects and their pets on a personal basis and marveling at the spirit of the American farmer.

For this, I say thank you, Paul. I am thankful for my afternoon with you. Thank you for the pictorial tribute to the American farmer – the heart of our country. Your photographs honor America’s food and fiber producers and speak in a way that words never could.

“Chicken Sexer” is not the No. 1 answer to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, which probably comes as no big surprise.  I’ve written before about the uncertainty associated with sexing chickens (see Chicken Genders). The problem is, baby chicks all look alike. When it comes to poultry, separating the boys from the girls can be an iffy proposition.

 

Believe it or not, however, there are highly trained professionals whose job it is to do just that. I will spare you the details of the Chicken Sexer job description; it was actually featured on the Discovery Channel television program, Dirty Jobs. Suffice it to say that chicken sexing involves in-depth knowledge of baby chick anatomy and getting really up close and personal with our little feathered friends.

Chicken “vent” sexing originated in Japan in the 1920s and, since that time, most of the professionals are Japanese or were trained in Japan. There’s even an “All-Japan Chick Sexing Championship” that’s been held annually for decades. Usually, only the large hatcheries can afford to hire a pro, which means that most small poultry purchases come with the built-in suspense of not knowing exactly what you’re getting.

Until the Japanese perfected the art, chicken sexing was a less-than-scientific enterprise. One method claimed that a ring suspended by a piece of cotton and held over a fertile egg would swing one direction for a male and the other for a female (I’m not sure which way meant which one). Another method held that the shape of the egg could indicate whether a rooster or pullet would hatch. For a while, attempts to mechanize the process using a lighted telescopic tube were popular. And then there was the method presented to me personally, that of holding a chick upside down by its legs to see whether it fought to free itself (rooster) or passively submitted—oh, right— to the humiliation (pullet).

That was the case until someone came up with “feather” sexing, which requires that chickens be bred especially to show differences in their feathers as soon as they are hatched. These hybrid breeds are called sex-links. Sex-link females either have longer wing pinfeathers than the males or entirely different coloration, which makes it easy to tell who’s what.

The Golden Comet is one such hybrid, being a cross between a White Plymouth Rock hen and a New Hampshire rooster. From the get-go, the hens are red and the roosters are white, so when you buy Golden Comet pullets, you can be sure that you’re actually going to get a bunch of egg layers rather than a few guys (by mistake) who all think they are the most-perfect-rooster-in-the-entire-world. Our most recent batch of chickens is Golden Comets, and we got them because we didn’t want any more surprise roosters. Big Red is our latest surprise, and one rooster is plenty in a small family flock operation like ours.

As you can imagine, the development of feather sexing has not been a happy turn of events for your rank-and-file Chicken Sexers. Business is down. On the other hand, feather sexing works only with hybrids, so if you’re wanting to buy purebred chicks, it’s still up to the experts to sort out the hims from the hers. In other words, unless a Chicken Sexer has examined your purebred flock, it’s a crap shoot.

As much as I appreciate the tidiness presented by the sex-link solution, I feel a twinge of guilt over our Golden Comets. Every feather-sexed bird contributes to the underutilization of an experienced Chicken Sexer’s years of training. It just seems wrong that those guys who have worked so hard to learn how to do something so undeniably disgusting aren’t getting to do their job. There aren’t a lot of other employment opportunities out there for that particular skill set. I’m thinking that we’ll go back to purebreds for our next batch of chickens. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

But how do you go about buying your own piece of heaven? Who can help with the financing? And how does buying rural land differ from buying a home? Let me try and answer some of these questions.

I’ll bet you can drive around your area and find some farm and ranch tracts listed for sale.  The information on those for-sale signs can be very helpful, because even if you aren’t interested in that particular property, you can get the Realtor’s contact information. 

A good farm and ranch Realtor can be an excellent source of information about the local land markets; be that land prices, properties for sale, market activity or whatever. Another valuable source of information is your county agricultural Extension agent. He or she can tell you just about anything you need to know related to the livestock or crops you plan to grow.

Now, let’s say you’ve found the place you want. But who can help with the financing? Enter Farm Credit. The Farm Credit System has been serving farmers, ranchers and rural landowners since 1916. Your local Farm Credit lender finances all aspects of agriculture: land, cattle, crops, equipment and even agribusiness. If it is agriculture, Farm Credit has it covered. 

Your Farm Credit loan officer can also provide insight about the local agricultural scene, as well as make sure that rural Realtor is getting you a fair deal on your purchase. 

One last bit of good news — buying your ranch isn’t all that different than buying a house. You’ll still have to get title insurance, an appraisal and all of that good stuff.  Maybe a survey, maybe not. One thing to keep in mind, however, is that you might have to make a little larger down payment on your land than you did on your house — typically somewhere around 20 percent.  Other than that, there isn’t much difference. 

This fall, Charlene received a letter from Steve about how the sailors were working long shifts and enduring extreme heat and humidity and, with the holidays rapidly approaching, many were becoming homesick. That letter was all it took for the Texas Land Bank to spring into action. 
 
Each Texas Land Bank credit office has adopted a sailor from the ship and the staff has been working as a team to show our gratitude to these sailors for their service. Our employees have had so much joy searching for items to send to their sailors — both men and women — items such as mini Christmas trees, snacks, hand-held games, hand-written cards from grandchildren of employees, and personal thank you letters from employees. Our packages have also included copies of Landscapes magazine, along with notes about how the Texas Land Bank is thankful that the sailors on the USS Nimitz are sacrificing so that those people featured in our magazine can enjoy the freedom of living on this land of ours.

This effort to express our appreciation to the sailors has created a bond among our employees. We are humbled when we realize the role that the sailors serve in our business. The customers served by the Texas Land Bank love their rural land. The Land Bank team is proud to provide financing, so that our borrowers can acquire and enjoy their rural property. And the sailors on the USS Nimitz have dedicated their lives to protecting it.

The Texas Land Bank plans to continue supporting the USS Nimitz sailors while they are at sea, and we will do so until they are able to come back home with their feet firmly planted back on United States soil.

Black and Yellow Argiope - Argiope aurantia. The "writer spider" often includes a zigzag pattern in its web called the "stabilimentum". Scientists are not sure why this is done, but according to BugGuide.net, theories are that it "stabilizes the web, or makes it more apparent to birds which will thus not fly into and wreck it, or it reflects light to attract insect prey, or perhaps most likely helps to camouflage the spider in the web." Photo courtesy of Troy Bartlett/BugGuide.net

Orb Weaver spiders have a distinguishing characteristic that no doubt caused Mr. White to pattern his star character after this particular species. They make a big round web that frequently has a heavy silk zigzagging pattern running through the middle. The zigzags can look sort of like writing.

One of the most common types of Orb Weavers in this part of the world is the Black-and-Yellow Argiope, commonly known as the black-and-yellow garden spider or “writer spider.” They build their webs, which can be as large as two feet across, in sunny areas on shrubs or tall plants. If you get too near, the spider will cause the web to vibrate in order to make her body look bigger and scarier, although she won’t hurt you. Kids get a kick out of watching this happen, assuming they can get past the “ick factor” of being that close to a lady with eight legs.

I’m always happy to see writer spiders, despite the fact that they can get big enough to startle me if I realize too late that I’m on a collision course with their webs. They are carnivorous creatures that feed on all sorts of flying insects, including many of the bad bugs that can damage my vegetables. In fact, just the other morning, I saw something that probably helped save a fall tomato I’ve got ripening on the vine.

I was out working in the garden when a whopper of a leaf-footed bug, one of my least-favorite things, buzzed within millimeters of my ear, scaring the willies out of me and causing me to drop my watering can. (I’m convinced that leaf-footed bugs have selectively evolved to do this in order to retaliate for my sucking up their kinfolk with my Dustbuster cordless vacuum (see Vacuuming Tomatoes).)

Charlotte bags dinner.

What happened next was one of those little satisfying-but-rare moments of immediate come-uppance. The leaf-footed bug flew straight past my ear and right into the waiting web of a hungry writer spider. The web wowed out with the bug’s impact, and my own personal Charlotte was on that bad boy in a flash, despite the fact that it was larger than she was, and struggling with all its might. In a blink she had wrapped it up like a mummy and hauled it over to the edge of the web, to what I assumed was the spider equivalent of the pantry.

I snapped a blurry photo of the action with my phone. I wish I could have scribbled a congratulatory message on her web. Had that been possible, I would have written, “Bon Appétit!”

There are so many acorns falling that I’m sweeping them off the porch in piles. The deer, birds and squirrels are enjoying a feeding frenzy, as this manna from heaven keeps pouring down. Yesterday a doe and two older fawns were chowing down right outside our kitchen window in broad daylight. The abundance of deer yummies on the ground makes them even bolder than usual.

Such an unusually large crop of acorns piqued my curiosity. We’re coming off the worst drought in decades, which, I would have thought, would cause just the opposite effect. What the heck is going on?

Turns out, we’re experiencing what is known as a “mast” year. A mast year happens when the number of nuts that trees produce in a given year is exponentially higher than the usual. Apparently, masting occurs every four to seven years, but scientists are not sure exactly what triggers it. One reasonable-sounding theory is that the trees do it to ensure the survival of their species. In most years, not too many acorns are produced. All sorts of critters quickly eat those few before they ever reach the ground, so they never have a chance to germinate. In self-defense, the tree basically decides to overwhelm all the seedeaters so that some of the acorns can convert to seedlings. There’s an interesting article about all this in American Scientist by Walt Koenig and Jean Knops.
 
We have two kinds of oak trees at our place: Black Jack oaks and Post oaks. They look a lot alike, but as I walked around looking at them I noticed that the Post oaks were covered with acorns, while the Black Jacks had hardly any. Another mystery to research!

I learned that all oak trees fall into one of two groups: red oaks or white oaks. Black Jack oaks are in the red oak group and Post oaks are in the white oak group. White oak acorns typically mature in a single growing season and taste sweet. Red oak acorns take two growing seasons to mature and taste bitter. Last year’s late freeze evidently killed most of the red oak acorn crop that would have matured this fall, so the Black Jacks didn’t produce much. Since the Post oaks are in the white oak group and produce annually, they are able to inundate us with acorns this year. From the animals’ perspective, that’s a lucky thing, since the white oak acorns are, according to the experts, tastier.

The taste test was verified yesterday, as Alex was walking toward his office, which happens to be located in the garage next to our chicken enclosure. He heard a commotion and went to check it out. Acorns were bouncing off the roof and into the yard, and the girls were going after them like they were grasshoppers.

After years of drought, it is an amazing and wonderful thing to see the way nature rebounds, given a decent rain. Such resilience serves to remind us that regardless of how discouraging things can be, there’s always reason to be hopeful. Out of all those acorns falling to the ground, one of them is sure to take root.

Now consider this: Are Texas landowners any different than that little boy? In other words, are wind rights actually something landowners can legally reserve? Allow me to bring this home for a moment.

Farmer John is sitting at the kitchen table with his Realtor after he’s agreed to sell a tract of land. As he’s signing the contract, he comes to the portion where he decides which reservations he’ll keep. Farmer John doesn’t have any mineral rights, but considers whether or not to reserve his wind rights. After all, Grandpa Jones would have been rich if he had reserved his mineral rights back when he sold the family farm in the ‘30s. Driving by the old homestead today, it’s hard not to notice the 10 pump jacks sending that Texas Tea bubbling to the top. 

So Farmer John has to mull over the thought that his kids could see the same thing in 50 years, except with 100 wind turbines looming over the old homestead. How do you go about trying to reserve wind rights? Is it as futile as trying to rope the wind?

The way it stands now (which could change with any court ruling), wind rights are being reserved in the same manner as mineral rights. All the while, there is a noticeable difference — wind rights haven’t seen the division of executive and royalty rights that minerals have. The main reason is that a Texas Court hasn’t ruled whether or not wind is a natural resource that can be owned separate of the property or a surface right subject to the rule of capture, just like water. 

Let’s back up before we go any further. In the State of Texas, we have Unified Fee Ownership, which means the landowner owns from the center of the earth to the sky. However, wild animals can run through your property and you do not own them until they are captured. Until you shoot, fence, or cage an animal, it is owned by the state. 

To add to the confusion, the landowner privately owns the water running in underground streams under his soil. But, a neighbor can have a well situated on the boundary line of the property, feeding off that underground stream, and it’s legal — protected by Texas’ rule of capture law. 

While each of these natural elements has different quirks of ownership, they are all alike in the fact that they are deemed natural resources and can be regulated by the State of Texas per the state constitution. Subsequently, Texas water is regulated by water conservation districts which determine spacing of wells on property. They may soon tell us how much we can pump, but that is a whole other can of worms. The Texas Railroad Commission regulates oil and gas and how much of that can be pumped a day. Game wardens are dispatched across the rural countryside, managing wildlife populations and arresting poachers. 

Judon Fambrough, a lawyer with the Real Estate Center at Texas A&M University, brings up another really good point. The Texas Natural Resources Code states, “The conservation and development of all the natural resources of this state are declared to be a public right and duty.” (Section 89.001) Mr. Fambrough’s asks the question, “does the phrase conservation and development apply separately or together?” In other words, can we develop wind energy, and if so, do we have to conserve it as well? If you’ve ever been to West Texas, that sounds ludicrous. 

There are too many questions and not enough concrete answers on this topic to even attempt to write a conclusion. By no means do I propose to have all the answers; rather, I am trying to stimulate some thoughts on the matter, bring to the forefront the issues at hand, and get you cussing and discussing this topic among your peers. 

The questions that remain to be solved are these: Is wind a natural resource? What type of ownership do landowners have? Can you sell wind rights like oil and gas rights? Or do they stay with the property? Do we have to conserve wind per the code above? And will government come in and regulate this industry as well?

I’d be happy to discuss any thoughts you the reader might have on the topic. After all, we’re in this boat together.

The squirrels and I have six pecan trees—two natives and four improved varieties—and we fight over all of them. This year, we’re not even arguing. Thankfully, I still have pecans in the freezer from last year, which, even though it was a low-yield cycle, still produced plenty for our family use.

Of the states served by the Texas Farm Credit District — Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, New Mexico and Texas — pecans are native to all but New Mexico. (The pecan tree has adapted to the Land of Enchantment to such an extent, however, that New Mexico now consistently ranks among the leading U.S. pecan-producing states.) The pecan is the state tree of Texas, and both Alabama and Texas have named the pecan their state nut, beating out numerous politicians. (Old joke, I know, sorry….)

The pecan is the only nut tree that is native to North America. Thomas Jefferson took pecan trees from the Mississippi Valley and transplanted them at his home in Monticello. He also gave some of the trees to George Washington, who planted them in 1775 at Mount Vernon, where some of the original trees still thrive today. Because of the pecan’s uniquely American status, the U.S. Congress established April as National Pecan Month.

Pecan trees can survive for more than 1,000 years and can grow as much as 100 feet tall. While the nuts have provided nourishment for people and animals for centuries, all parts of the tree are useful. The wood can be fashioned into fine furniture, and it also can be burned for heat. The roots, leaves and shells of pecan trees are used to make natural brown, tan and orange dyes.

There are over 1,000 different varieties of pecans, and quite a few of them are named for various tribes of Native Americans, who relied on the nuts as an important part of their diet.  In fact, “pecan” is a Native American word that means “all nuts requiring a stone to crack.” I’m not sure I understand that exactly, since it is one of the easier nuts to shell, but that’s the story anyhow. Indians apparently made pecan milk by pounding the nuts with a mortar and pestle and adding water.  They fed this high-energy drink to their babies and old folks.

Settlers quickly learned from the Indians to rely on pecans as a tasty source of protein.  According to the Web site www.pecantree.net, the distinction of making sweets with pecans goes to a Swiss-born cake and candy maker, Gustave Antonio Duerler of San Antonio, Texas, in the 1880s.  The Web site goes on to say that “Gustav also developed a way of shelling pecans by using a railroad spike to crack the nuts and a sack needle to separate the shell and the meat.”  Gustav sounds like the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to mess with.

“Pecan” is one of those words that can pretty much allow you to guess what part of the country the person pronouncing it hails from. Northerners usually say, “PEE-can”, putting the emphasis on the first syllable and making it sound like something you’d use if there were no facilities available. Southerners almost always say “puh-KAHN”.

Another north/south difference is the cookie known as the sand tart.  In the north, a sand tart is basically a butter cookie rolled in cinnamon sugar (we always called those snickerdoodles where I come from).  To me, a sand tart is a rich, crescent-shaped shortbread cookie made even richer because chopped pecans are one of its essential ingredients. Another name for them is Mexican wedding cookies. They’re so good it doesn’t matter what you call them or how you pronounce “pecan”.

Sand Tarts

1 cup butter, softened
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 tablespoon ice water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup finely-chopped pecans
Powdered sugar

Beat butter at medium speed with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add flour and next four ingredients, beating well. Stir in pecans.
Roll dough into 1-inch balls; roll out to 3-inch logs. Shape into crescents, and place on ungreased baking sheets.

A few years ago, I used a Federal Land Bank Association loan to purchase part of the family farm from my parents. Afterward, my wife and I wanted to move to the farm, so we sold our house and got in a position to build.  Now, remember this: I have been with Farm Credit for 13 years, and both she and I are familiar with finance.  We had great credit and cash to pay down from the home sale, plus equity in the land that we were putting the house on.  I planned to survey the house and a couple of acres to qualify for a traditional 30-year fixed-rate mortgage in the secondary market. I was in for a surprise!

When the appraiser began trying to find comparable sales for my house, they could not find a similar-size house that had sold within 10 miles of my home in the last six months.  This is pretty common for most rural areas, and having done appraisal work with Farm Credit, I thought they would just widen their search area to find a similar appraisal neighborhood.  That’s not how it works anymore.

The mortgage industry’s underwriting standards have tightened as a result of bad appraisals in the past, making it extremely difficult to value homes in rural areas. In our community, there are several homes on the market that have been built in the last few years; most are larger and more expensive than the house my wife and I are building, but as with many homes built on family farms, they are not selling.  A situation like this leads to a very low appraisal or one that will not be accepted by the underwriter. Either way, it is not a good situation to be in.

Now, I understand better than ever how the Farm Credit rural home program can benefit people in rural areas.  For a long time when the real estate market was booming and there were sales everywhere, getting an appraisal was not a problem. However, as sales continue to slow down in this area, more and more rural people are going to find it difficult to finance through non-Farm Credit institutions that do not understand their specialized needs.

Thankfully, my wife and I have gotten the financing under control, and now we are building our home, and trying to keep up with a newborn, our three-year-old and all the farm work.

Sometimes life is the most fun when it gets interesting.

A few years ago, I used a Federal Land Bank Association loan to purchase part of the family farm from my parents. Afterward, my wife and I wanted to move to the farm, so we sold our house and got in a position to build.  Now, remember this: I have been with Farm Credit for 13 years, and both she and I are familiar with finance.  We had great credit and cash to pay down from the home sale, plus equity in the land that we were putting the house on.  I planned to survey the house and a couple of acres to qualify for a traditional 30-year fixed-rate mortgage in the secondary market. I was in for a surprise!

When the appraiser began trying to find comparable sales for my house, they could not find a similar-size house that had sold within 10 miles of my home in the last six months.  This is pretty common for most rural areas, and having done appraisal work with Farm Credit, I thought they would just widen their search area to find a similar appraisal neighborhood.  That’s not how it works anymore.

The mortgage industry’s underwriting standards have tightened as a result of bad appraisals in the past, making it extremely difficult to value homes in rural areas. In our community, there are several homes on the market that have been built in the last few years; most are larger and more expensive than the house my wife and I are building, but as with many homes built on family farms, they are not selling.  A situation like this leads to a very low appraisal or one that will not be accepted by the underwriter. Either way, it is not a good situation to be in.

Now, I understand better than ever how the Farm Credit rural home program can benefit people in rural areas.  For a long time when the real estate market was booming and there were sales everywhere, getting an appraisal was not a problem. However, as sales continue to slow down in this area, more and more rural people are going to find it difficult to finance through non-Farm Credit institutions that do not understand their specialized needs.

Thankfully, my wife and I have gotten the financing under control, and now we are building our home, and trying to keep up with a newborn, our three-year-old and all the farm work.

Sometimes life is the most fun when it gets interesting.

Once he gained adulthood and knew in his heart that he was the most-perfect-rooster-in-the-entire-world, Mr. Fanny seemed to find the humble confines of the chicken tractor far beneath his station. He much preferred to have the run of the property. I’m not sure how that happened, because our Border collie, Domino, basically viewed the chickens as sheep with beaks—prime herding material, in other words.

The Rhode Island Red Commemorative Monument in Adamsville, Rhode Island. The inscription on the monument reads, in part, ”To commemorate the birthplace of the Rhode Island Red breeding fowl which was originated near this location.“ The marker was placed in 1925.

Somehow or other, though, Mr. Fanny and Domino had arrived at a guy-thing truce that enabled them both to act like they owned the place. It was as though they each decided to completely ignore the other’s existence. “What dog? I don’t see a dog,” Mr. Fanny’s behavior seemed to imply. And Domino had a corresponding can’t-see-a-rooster-nope-no-rooster-here attitude.  Like I said, Mr. Fanny was mean as a skunk and Domino is no dummy.

When delivery people would ask whether our dogs were vicious, we would say, “No, but watch out for the rooster!”  They always laughed — the first time. Mr. Fanny looked innocent enough, busily scratching for grubs as his hapless victim walked past.  Pretending disinterest, he’d bide his time until the walker’s back was to him, then close in for the attack. Roosters can run pretty fast and he could cover a surprising amount of ground in short order, waiting until he was within striking distance before taking to the air with his spurs raised.  Although he never really hurt anybody, he definitely caused some heart rates to spike. I’m guessing there’s not much warning about aggressive poultry in the FedEx manual.

It got to the point where we kept a stick by the front door so that anytime we went outside, we’d be armed in case Mr. Fanny was feeling hostile, which was always.

Despite his cranky disposition, Mr. Fanny became the darling of our neighborhood.  I never intended to have a rooster because I didn’t want any crowing to bother the neighbors.  But instead of being upset, people would make a point of telling me how much they enjoyed hearing him.  Daily walkers would stop to admire him (he was handsome), make crowing noises in an attempt to make him crow back (he usually did), and brought him treats of grain or bread that they would fling over the fence (better safe than sorry).

Since nothing spoils a dinner party like being flogged by a rooster on your way to the front door, we always made a special effort to corral Mr. Fanny and put him in the tractor when we were expecting company. This was easier said than done, and required at least two people, usually Alex and me (Claire having the teenager’s sixth sense of anticipating when her parents are about to do something potentially humiliating).  I recall one memorable time when Mr. Fanny was leading us on a merry chase around the yard, Alex wielding a fishing scoop net and me acting as Border collie (Domino, also mindful of his dignity, was in the house with Claire). Every time we’d get close to catching him, Mr. Fanny would elude us with a flash of spurs and an agile maneuver. And then, just as the garbage truck was passing by, Alex swung the net and missed and I tripped and fell down, while Mr. Fanny sprinted out of reach. The garbage truck came to a screeching halt — and not because the guys were emptying our trash bin.  They were laughing too hard to drive.

When a hawk finally got Mr. Fanny, I was surprised by how sad we all were. He’d been nothing but an utter pain to deal with, and yet, things just weren’t the same without him. Hearing of his demise, neighbors stopped by to say they missed his crowing and strutting. Even the delivery guys had a kind word for their former tormentor.

“I wish we had another rooster,” Alex said one day, out of the blue. We now have Big Red, and Alex understands what the Chinese were talking about when they came up with the ancient curse, “May all your dreams come true.”

A "chain" of purple nutsedge plants linked together by tubers and rhizomes

Photo courtesty of www.walterreaves.com

My enemy happens to be a little plant called purple nutsedge, aka purple nutgrass (Cyperus rotundus L.). Based on firsthand experience, my opinion is that nutgrass sprang fully formed from the fiery furnace of hell and, along with cockroaches, was placed on this earth to cause me personal torment.

Following Sun Tzu’s advice, I decided to learn all I could about my opponent. What I found out did not make me happy. A native of India, nutsedge has been called the world's worst weed. It is a perennial that, in true triple-threat fashion, can reproduce by means of seeds, tubers or rhizomes. Cold-hearty and drought-tolerant, it thrives in most any kind of soil. Under optimum conditions, a network of nutsedge plants arising from one tuber can produce 100 or more tubers in about 100 days. Once tubers form, they can remain viable for years, and they can penetrate the soil to a depth of 18 inches. When emerging from the ground, the tips of the young plants are so sharp and sturdy that they can pierce asphalt. Herbicides and pre-emergents (stuff that can essentially vaporize less demonic plant matter on contact) are ineffective.

Obsessed by the Foe
My first real skirmish with nutsedge came when I bought a couple of pallets of buffalo grass sod, intending to turn a sunny little area next to the garden into a “pocket prairie” of native grasses and wildflowers—a vision (okay, make that a delusion) of self-sustaining naturalness that would require no mowing, no weeding, no fertilization, no water, no attention. The only problem was that in tilling the soil prior to laying the sod, I inadvertently gave fresh life to bazillions of dormant nutsedge tubers that had been laying half-way-to-China deep (Sun Tzu, can you hear me?) in the soil, just waiting for their chance to spring forth. As my poor, pricey buffalo grass quickly began to be muscled aside, I got, um, sort of obsessed with the opposition.

“Dad, where’s Mom?” Claire would ask.

“Digging nutsedge out of the pocket prairie,” Alex would answer.

“But it’s dark outside,” Claire would say.

“She’s focused,” Alex would defend.

“Dad, why can’t I have a normal Mom?” Claire would ask.

“Good question,” Alex would reply.

The more I dug, the more nutsedge appeared. I felt like Mickey Mouse in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Since the straightforward assault was getting me nowhere, I decided to attack on a different front.

Solar Weed Control
I’d heard about a method of weed control called solarization, where the trick is to cover the affected area with a clear plastic tarp for six weeks or so during a hot, dry period of the year when the soil will receive maximum direct sunlight. The soil will heat up to as high as 125 degrees, hot enough to kill a wide range of soil-inhabiting pests and noxious weeds. This year, we experienced the hottest summer since the mid-1800s and the worst drought since the 1950s, and we saw nothing but direct sunlight from May through September. Hot, dry period of the year? Check! Maximum direct sunlight? Check!

In a test area of the pocket prairie, I eagerly laid out clear plastic sheeting and pegged it down with rocks, entertaining visions of a hidden army of tubers withering in defeat. I checked regularly, delighting as I watched the nutsedge leaves turn brown and shrivel up. After waiting many more than six weeks just for good measure (take no prisoners!), I finally removed the plastic sheeting and was positively thrilled to see no apparent signs of life in the formerly lush growth. I ran a mental victory lap.

All was well until the other day, when there was a freak thunderstorm and we actually got a little rain. After the storm too quickly blew over, I went outside to check on things and enjoy the wonderful aroma that only comes after a rainfall hits parched earth. As I strolled  past the solarized area, my eye fell on the unmistakable bright green spears of baby nutsedge bursting through the soil—by the hundreds!

I am now convinced that no nutsedge can ever die. The stuff in my yard is no doubt the original nutsedge from the Ganges River Valley. I may write a horror movie about it.

Meanwhile, back at the pocket prairie, a few stalwart clumps of buffalo grass remain. Mostly though, it could be better described as the nutgrass prairie. Or, as my family might say, “the nut’s prairie.” Maybe it’s time to consider other strategies.

I wonder if it was Sun Tzu who first said, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?”

I wondered about this and what it meant.  Did it indicate that young and middle-aged people don’t care about the whole county fair experience any more, other than possibly the carnival rides and show animals?  Maybe it was just an unusual year in that particular county, or perhaps it merely reflected that people in those demographics were at work or school and didn’t have the time to volunteer or participate. Whatever the case, their absence was noticeable.

In rural communities all across the United States, late summer and early fall usher in the time-honored ritual of the county fair. These can be simple or elaborate affairs, but they almost always feature competitive exhibitions of homegrown produce, baked goods, canned foods and livestock. There was a time when the county fair was an anticipated social event in rural areas, a chance to gather and show off the results of hard work and skill. In today’s world, with a bewildering selection of activities and attractions vying for our interest and with our schedules over-packed with things to do, the county fair might seem quaint and unimportant. 

Not so.  At its most basic level, the county fair celebrates what nourishes us, what keeps us fed.  The fair is an ancient tradition and it has always been about recognizing the significance of a bountiful harvest to our survival. We are what we eat. There is a nationwide resurgence in home gardening , while canning and jelly making are coming back into fashion.  Farmers’ markets are increasingly popular in urban areas and being a “locavore” and “eating locally” are the current buzz words for the sort of mindset that has always been the focus of the county fair. While being more directly connected to the production of our food may be an idea whose time has come, in truth it is one that has never lost credibility—nowhere more so than at county fairs.

County fairs serve as a link to our agrarian past, true, but they also reflect the vitality of our agrarian present.  So here’s to the county fair! If you’ve got one in your county, I hope you’ll attend, enter a competition, and volunteer to help.  It’s a tradition worth continuing.

Some folks in different parts of the country have had normal rainfall amounts this year; but even if you are one of those lucky people, you’re familiar, no doubt, with what a prolonged dry spell can do to your landscape or garden. It’s brutal.

When nature decides to shut down the water works, there is something you can do to help your plants hold on until that happy day (it IS coming, right?) when the skies open up and rain starts falling again.  I can tell you what it is in one word:  mulch!

Putting 2 to 4 inches of mulch around the base of plants can reduce the soil temperature by as much as 10 degrees and can significantly slow the evaporation of water from soil exposed to baking sun and moisture-pilfering winds.  Better yet, a layer of mulch helps keep weed seeds from germinating, thereby eliminating competition for the moisture that is available. But wait—there’s more! As organic mulch begins to decay, it adds valuable nutrients to the soil. High organic content helps the soil absorb water more quickly and hold onto it longer.

Because it usually takes a major weather event to actually break a drought, that can mean when the rain does come, it does so with a vengeance. Mulch can break the force of a hard rain and, in so doing, prevent soil erosion and compaction. It can also keep mud and soil organisms that cause plant diseases from splashing onto the plants during a rain. And if that weren’t enough, mulch can tidy up the overall appearance of your landscape too.

A wide variety of materials can be used as mulch, and many of them are free and may even be as close as your own yard already. Grass clippings, shredded leaves, wood chips, pecan shells—all sorts of things can be used as mulch. Oklahomans, for example, may be able to use peanut hulls, and if you live in Mississippi, you might have easy access to loblolly or longleaf pine straw. Sometimes power companies, municipal solid waste departments, or tree trimming services will offer free or low-cost mulch in bulk.

Mighty mulch is pretty much the superhero of the garden, and there really is very little downside to mulching (as long as you don’t count the work required to spread it around).  You do have to be careful to avoid letting mulch touch the base of plants, especially trees.  It is also possible to mulch too deeply, which keeps water away from the plants’ roots instead of making it more accessible to them (putting soaker hoses down before you mulch eliminates that problem).  Check out the following Web sites for more information on the do’s and don’ts of applying mulch. Whether you’re experiencing drought or a rainy spell, mulch is a good deal.

• Alabama Smart Yards, Mulching
• Mississippi State University, Mulching
• New Mexico State University, Mulches for Gardens and Landscapes
• Oklahoma Cooperative Extension Service, Mulching Garden Soils (Acrobat .pdf file)
• Texas AgriLife Extension, Dept. of Horticultural Sciences, Easy Gardening…Mulching