Living With Purpose

I've always been a people watcher.  Since I can remember, I loved to watch and observe the differences in all of us.  Why do folks do the things they do, think the way they think, etc.?   (I guess it's not surprising I minored in Psychology.)  I think it's all purely fascinating.

I've worked with and been around a lot of different people in my life, but the majority of them have been involved in agriculture, most of them actively farming in some fashion or another.  There are so many different "categories" of ag folks - the farmer (male or female, both very different), the farm wife, the hired man, farm kids, etc.  

 Dad.  (Photo by Martin Burwash)

Let's focus on the farmer for this instance.  What does our mind's eye conjure up when we are told to think of a farmer?  A ball cap?  Overalls?  Rubber boots?  Maybe an old John Deere tractor?  Or, depending on your age, maybe a team of horses in an open field, pulling a plow?  Usually, we all paint a very similar picture in our heads.  My dad is a farmer, as was his father, and his father before him.  I have a lot of experience with farmers.  They're some of the most unique people on the face of the earth, and although each and every one is their own person and they are indeed their own breed of cat, they are oh-so-similar.

Farmers are some of the strongest men I have ever known.  They carry so much on their shoulders.  They are the rocks and cornerstones of so many family dairies, and they deal with so much.  The daily trials and tribulations of a farm - all the little things that can and do go wrong, and that pile up - the stress, the worry, the pressure, and uncertainty,  These are the men who deal with life and death; sometimes in the same day.  Who work through bitter cold and sweltering heat and humidity.  Who get up early to milk cows, so they can ride a tractor all day, only to come back from the fields to milk cows again.  Who wear a rotating hat of plumber, electrician, mechanic, veterinarian, nutritionist, psychiatrist, agronomist, and general contractor.  They have a job to do, and they do it, with no expectation of a thanks or gratitude.  

This isn't to say that these men are cold and heartless, with no feelings at all.  They feel sadness and joy, are passionate about what they do, are proud of their accomplishments, are terribly dedicated, and are capable of love in the purest forms. 

I was thinking about it this afternoon, and this blog started writing its self.  I love the childlike excitement that comes over these same stoic men when it comes to certain parts of farming.  These are the guys who are overjoyed with a heifer calf from of a special mating, who are delighted at a cow scoring well, and they are the ones who understand the importance of family being there for it all.  These fleeting expressions of emotion show that these unflappable men, who are tired and dirty, and depending on the day frustrated and stressed, do what they do because they love it.  It is for these special moments.  The ones that seem so insignificant to others, but mean the world to them.  They're the little bits and pieces that soften them, that peel back the thick layers of calluses, sweat, and grime and show the passion inside.  I think it's special.  There aren't many people who get to see these rare glimspes.

Home Sweet Home

"Home".  

I've kind of thought about what home really is over the past few months.  There's the home where we live.  We go there every night after work or school and we make it our own.  Our hometowns (it has the word right in it) or where we grew up will always be "home".  When we go back to visit, I think a lot of us naturally say we're going home for a while. 

Washington will always be home for me.  I just snuck back for a quick visit last week, and it was

Mt. St. Helens on the approach to Sea-Tac

natural to say I was going home for a while.  I've lived a lot of places, but the Evergreen State is the only one I call home... with one small exception.  It's been very easy to transition into calling Wisconsin home.  Funny story with that actually.  When I came out here in May for my interview, as we were all making our way off the plane, the flight attendant was doing the standard, "buh-bye, buy-bye now".  As I walked passed, he looked right at me and said, "welcome home."  It took me aback, especially since I was wearing an Oregon State University Dairy Club sweatshirt, and absolutely nothing that affiliated me with Wisconsin whatsoever.  I shrugged it off at the time.

It's rare that I settle somewhere and it all feel right so fast.  I never did feel at home in Ohio, Brattlerboro grew on me, but not instantly (it is still one of my favorite places though), it even took some time to settle into Pullman.  Friends and family back home may not like this, but Madison, Wisconsin, the Midwest instantly felt like home.  


A good friend asked me last week if now that I was back home, if I truly missed it and didn't want to come back to Wisconsin.  The follow up to that was an inquiry into how long I thought I saw myself in this new job, and if maybe I'd head back to Washington when my time was up at Expo. 

The road to my adorable little neighborhood

I can't say how long I'll be with Expo.  I've been here five months... that's not long enough to decide if you're going to become a lifer, but I can say I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon.  Now, as far as where I'll end up when and if the time comes to change, I have absolutely no clue.  I can say this though, although it was absolutely fantastic to go home for a bit, and yes, I miss my friends every single day, I can't say there was an uncontrollable urge to stay... or go back.  

The Midwest truly does feel like home now.  I have always sorta felt like a Midwestern farm kid stuck in a Western farm kid's body.  Things out here are just different, and the people are too.  They're welcoming and friendly.  Seriously... how many of you have ever started a new job and had a coworker, whom you have never met, offer to let you live with them for as long as you need to until you find a place??  

I kind of feel like I've rambled a bit with this post, but here's the long and short of it, I'm home.  And I'm happy to be here.

'Tis The Season

I'm an exceptionally visual person.  Always have been.  I have to see something to understand it... put a picture in front of me, show me how it's done.  Let me touch and do and I'm golden.  Tell me directions or how to do something, or make me listen to a lecture and I've got nothin'.  Give me a story problem and I'll just roll over and give up. (Ask any of my high school math teachers.)  

I think this visual tendency is why I associate so many items with actions.  A smell will bring up a memory or event.  Songs bring up instant memories of specific activities, people, stories, jokes, or moments in my past.  Certain times of year have associations with events and people.  A sweatshirt carelessly tossed in my tack box and then retrieved weeks later will transport me to a fair somewhere.  The Matrix soundtrack puts me on a windy road in southern Vermont at 5am, Cotton Eyed Joe puts me at any Jr. Holstein mixer in the past 15 years, and any Sugarland song puts me on a random adventure with Abby.  Warm rain in November means pineapples and flooding, and cold, wet, thick morning fog giving way to bright warm days means it's time for the Evergreen State Fair.

There may be no more telling feeling of what "time" of year it is though than fall in Wisconsin.  I've been here for summers before, and a couple times in the spring, but I've been in the Land Of Cheese every fall for nearly the last 15 years.  Those crisp mornings and bright but mild afternoons mean one thing - Expo.  It's an unmistakable feeling for this outsider.

2003 WSU Judging Team

The planning and preparation for this year's World Dairy Expo started more than 14 months ago.  I've been working on it steadily since July.  We all know it's coming.  How can you not?  If not for the countdown clocks on everyone's desks, surely the looming 2,500 head of cattle, over 1,000 exhibitors, and more than 70,000 spectators who will all be judging your work are a small reminder.  As are the endless interviews and inquiries.  

The days have been long - 10-12 hours at least.  No day is the same, the phone never quits ringing; there is always something to do and something that should have been done yesterday.  Last week, I was spray painting marks to lay curbing for our temporary city in 98 degree weather.  I know it's the time of year for Expo, the calendar tells me so, but it sure didn't feel like it.

This morning however, it was Expo time.  I walked out the door to chilly crisp air, sunshine, and not a cloud in the sky... and a sense of familiarity.  I felt a strong urge to find a grilled cheese and a red cushy stadium chair.  To hear accordion music and smell pine shavings.  I've been motivated for this job since the beginning.  But today it was like someone flipped a switch.  It's go time kids.  Nay, it's Expo time. 

I think we all associate "things" with "stuff".  It's how we remember special events and put ourselves back in the moment.  But really, for those who have been there, for those who live for this time of year and the opportunity to come together for the greatest show with the greatest people during the greatest time of year, it's almost Pavlovian.  There's less drool, but just as strong of a response.

So, if a pot-belly leaves New York loaded with 10 Jerseys and five Holsteins, four of which are All-Americans, traveling at an average speed of 61 miles per hour, and another pot leaves British Columbia loaded with 12 Brown Swiss and an Ayrshire, and a few are All-Canadian, traveling at an average speed of 67 miles per hour, how long until we pick Supreme Champion? 

A Fair is a fair is a fair...

I’m nearly one week “postfair” now.  Like postpartum, but different.  Well, not all that different really.  Similarities can be drawn between the two.  In both instances, you plan and prepare, you nurse something along and grow it until it makes its shining debut to the world.  You hope everything goes smoothly and wonder if you’re really ready for all this.  A fair and a kid really aren’t that different when you think about it.

That being said, a fair is a fair is a fair is a fair.  It doesn’t matter where it is held, they are all the same.  There are still kids and animals, projects that impress, food and rides, and of course, drama.  I have experienced a county fair in just about every capacity one can experience a county fair – as a spectator, as an exhibitor, as a judge, and now as an administrator/management.  Each time and in each varying capacity you observe something different and learn something new. 

As an exhibitor I cannot tell you anything that happens at any given fairgrounds if it occurs more than 100’ from the dairy barn, or is not on the direct route to the parking lot from the barns.  People come through the barns and ask all the time, “where is ____?”  They always stare back with shock and guffaw when I say I have no clue.  No lie, last year was the first time since I was 10 years old that I leisurely strolled around the Western Washington State Fairgrounds just to take it all in.  And after I had, I looked at the friend I was with and said something to the effect of, “well that was a first… and probably a last.”  As a judge, I head straight for the ring, get the job done, probably grab a burger or a scone (more Wisconsin’s drastic oversight in omitting the Fair Scone from their festivities later), and head home. 

It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good fair.  I love every single thing that a county fair stands for and what it represents – food, friends, kids, families, etc.  It’s just that I’m pretty much just there for the cows, not the crowds.

 

The view from the dairy barn.  See... good things are always centered around cows.

Having made it through my first county fair as an administrator, I have to say, it was an interesting experience to observe a fair from the inside.  I was involved in every aspect of the fair, not just the animals this time.  I felt 110% comfortable handling questions or disputes and offering advice and guidance in the livestock realm, but wow, get me over to handle the pocket pets (how exactly do you display snakes, bearded dragons, rats, and hamsters in the same area without causing some kind of critter to have a heart attack and another to lick its lips??) or to decipher how one evaluates a bucket of silage or a knitted hat and I am lost. 

But let’s focus back to the livestock side of things.  Let’s go where I’m comfy…  Watching these kids work with their animals, don their whites or show jeans, drag themselves in a little slower and slower (and perhaps a little later and later) each morning to do what they love was like watching our kids at home.  Let’s be honest.  It doesn’t matter where you are, these kids are one in the same.  They are hard workers.  They are spunky and compassionate, they know right from wrong, they know juuuuust how hard to push something or someone before it’s time to high-tail it back to the barn.  They know how to have a good time, that a straw pack is the best place for a nap, and that the wash rack on a hot Sunday afternoon is a dangerous place to be.  They know that the bedding goes down and the heifers are washed and fed before you even think about breakfast.  They all know that a purple ribbon is the best pay-off for their efforts, but the older kids know that a third or fourth blue can be just as important as a rosette if they had fun, and the really wise older kids know that if they can teach another kid or be a role model, a mid-level blue is juuuust fine.

 

Junior champion Registered Holstein.  Oh yes, they have such a big 4-H show, they split it up into Registered and Grade, and Dane County is just an average-sized 4-H show out here.

Part of my job included coordinating the Master Showman contest (Wisconsin’s version of Round Robin for you Washingtonians who read that and went “huh” – just like I did the first time).  We needed to refresh the shavings in the ring, move some chairs around, set up all the awards and paperwork, etc.  Now, Wisconsin apparently does not believe in shavings unless they come in a bag.  Baled shavings are da bomb apparently.  So, as we’re schlepping bales of shavings around the arena, up comes a couple kids.  “Need a hand??”  “Sure, thanks,” I responded and watched as these two kids, probably no more than 8 and 12, already hot and sweaty, drug bales around and spread out shavings right alongside us, smiling the whole time.  “You let me know if you need anything else,” said the youngest boy.  “I’ll be right over there with my sheep,” he said as he pointed in the general direction of approximately 50 lambs who all looked the same.  THAT is a 4-H kid right there; always willing to help, respectful, and a joy.  But I digress…

As I sat and watched, tabulating scores and timing the rotations, I couldn’t help but think back to my own experiences in Round Robin, and to more recent years, watching the kids at Evergreen.  These showmen finished up their rounds, returned to their animals and waited.  I know that feeling oh-so-well, wondering how you did and thinking back to that damn pig that wouldn’t stay out of the corner. 

We announce the results of our Master Showman from the bottom up, and each kid gets a cash award.  Names were called, and soon there were just two… the beef showman and the swine showman.  Then the beef girl’s name was announced, and the whole crowd knew the swine boy had won.  A cheer went up from the crowd, a grin covered his face, and he was handed a trophy the size of a small child.  But that’s not the cool part.  The best part of the whole afternoon was when the other four showmen, still holding on to their respective animals with one hand, smothered him in one ginormous group hug.  This wasn’t a little hug out of formality.  This was a full-on, smothering, giggling, squealing, animals looking on with a “what in the…” look on their faces, pure glee, hug.  These kids were genuinely happy for that boy.  It oozed from them.

Watching this, I couldn’t help but think of the image of the dairy kids after Round Robin at Evergreen.  It started one year after a dairy kid had won, and he was hoisted upon the shoulders of his peers, as his friends gathered round, and posed for a picture.  This tradition continued for a handful of years, and was a mandatory pose before everyone dispersed for the following barn put-luck dinner.  These WI kids are no different from those WA kids or any other 4-H kids across the country…  they learn life lessons, form friendships and bonds stronger than steal, and have life experiences that will stick with them for the rest of their lives.

 

The trophy-hoister is a bit more wee than our Snohomish County winners, but it's the same premise. 

Each fair has little things that make it unique, but really, they’re all the same, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Real Goodbye

After I accepted my new position with World Dairy Expo, there was, as one would assume, a moment of pure exuberance.  I was beyond thrilled to start a new life in Wisconsin with one of the most prestigious companies in the dairy industry.  But not long after, there was a moment of sadness (in fact, as I called one of my best friends to tell them I had gotten the job, there were tears in my eyes and a crack in my voice).  Why on earth would I be sad about this fantastic opportunity?  Logically, there is the initial reaction of leaving family and friends behind and the fear of change, but for me there was more… leaving The Children behind. 

As an individual who literally grew up within the confines of the National Jr. Holstein and Brown Swiss Associations, 4-H, and FFA, these groups have become part of who I am.  They have taken me around the country, influenced what I pursued academically, provided me internships and jobs, and have provided some of my most treasured memories and achievements I have in my life.  That being said, the work and time I have put in with the kids as an advisor and leader over the past sixish years has made a bigger impact on me than any of my own youth involvement possibly could. 

Upon my return from Madison, the whirlwind of preparing to move began.  I rode a pendulum of emotional mood swings… happy to sad and back and forth again.  But, in all honesty, I was too busy to really focus on either end of the spectrum.  Time slipped by, dairy bowl practices passed, packing took place, dinners and coffee dates to say goodbye filled the calendar, and all the preparation for a move went down. 

With two days left before the mass exodus, there was one dairy bowl practice left; picture day actually.  In the days leading up to it, I was filled with dread.  This was the last time I was going to work with my kids.  I say “my” because well, they are mine.  I am protective of them.  I am proud of them.  I get annoyed with them.  I love them. 

Practice came and went, and we headed to the river for pictures.  After pictures began

2013 Convention Group - sans a few kids

the awkwardness of leaving.  Who was going to leave first, what do you say, what do you not say?  With fewer tears on my part than I had anticipated, we got through goodbyes, with me reassuring The Children we would be seeing each other in just four short weeks at National Jr. Holstein Convention.  I knew that Sunday would be tough, but was planning for the next day to be way worse.  I know how my brain works, and staring at 2,100 miles of open road was going to give said brain time to wander, roam, and think entirely more than it should. 

Goodbyes said to my parents, Starbucks in hand, and a kitty who was entirely too excited to ride shotgun, I was east bound and down.  What’s this though?  No tears?  Not a single tear the entire way from Seattle to Madison.  I was as surprised as you.  Seriously, I figured I would drip, at minimum, all the way to Spokane. 

So, this brings me to this past Friday.  Perhaps somewhat of a blessing in disguise, I was stricken with a wicked migraine Thursday night and as a result did not get up at a ridiculously early hour of the morn to drive back to Madison from Indy.  This all allowed me the opportunity to say goodbye to The Children.  More goodbyes said and The Children herded in the direction of the shuttle, I headed down to the parking garage.  A good friend accompanied me.  Choking back tears the whole way down, I loaded Trucklette, we said our goodbyes, and I headed for home.  This time however, with the reaction I expected four weeks ago… not in mid-July.

This pretty much sums up our relationship

From Indy to the Illinois line, and sporadically on the way to Wisconsin as I traveled north through Illinois, there were bouts of tears.  It finally donned on me.  What I was telling The Children to get them through that Sunday in June was really more for me than it was for them.  Those weeks have passed, and this goodbye was for real.  No smiling giggly faces to come see me in another month.  No kids to keep me on my toes.  No one to do stuff for, fill out paperwork for, to keep track of, to chauffer around, to care for.  This one is for keeps.   

I LOVE my job, and KNOW this is the place for me.  But I saying goodbye to those kiddos is by far one of the hardest things I have done thus far in my life.  They are in absolutely capable hands.  They will be just fine.  They’ll grow and learn and mature and become amazing individuals, all without me.  But, they will always be mine.

Catching Up

In an effort to keep everyone back home abreast of my travels, experiences, and life events, I've bit the bullet and started a blog.  It may be as much for me as it is for friends as family, as it should provide a filler for the void I now have in my writing world, and offer a platform to share the goings on in my world.

Enjoy kids!