Just another day on the ranch...

 Last Saturday morning was one of those days in late August when there's just a hint of fall in the air. After weeks of stifling heat and humidity it was a morning that gave a person hope that those miserable dog days of summer were nearing an end. Everything felt different somehow; even the cows and calves were feeling frisky when I headed out to feed and check their condition. It was the kind of morning that just made you look at everything with a fresh perspective,

I was feeling really good about things until I wasn't...

As I was heading back to the barn, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of one of the calves standing off by itself across the pasture. For those of you non-ranchers out there, this is not typical behavior. Usually, when there's feed involved they all come running to partake in the culinary delights know as, well... as cattle feed. Something was wrong...

So, I veered from my usual path and headed to where the calf was standing all alone. I couldn't detect anything from the distance, but as I got closer it started to trot away, limping badly. It was a nice heifer calf, and she didn't get very far before she stopped again. Her left front leg was hanging limply, and she refused to put any weight on it. On closer examination, her leg was undoubtedly broken below the knee. Probably found an armadillo hole while running across the pasture, but there's no way of knowing for sure what happened.

Anyway, not really sure of the proper protocol in these situations, I called the vet for advice. Being a Saturday morning, my text was answered by the "on call" vet whom I had never met. We discussed the options (none of which were very promising) and ended the conversation without a clear-cut plan of action. At least I wasn't told to simply put her out of her misery! I wasn't sure if that was good news, or just procrastination. 

The next morning, the calf was nowhere to be found. Fearing the worst I searched for a couple of hours and never was able to locate her. The next few days proved nonproductive as well. I finally gave up and prepared myself for the inevitable. After all, the loss of livestock is one of the pitfalls of the business, and it's a rare year that you don't lose a few head to disease, injury. weather, or difficult births. It's all part of the risk of ranching.

Fast forward to today...

After searching the pasture again, I was heading back to the house when low and behold, there she was. Still limping, but in overall good condition and spirits. I've talked to a few of the more experienced cattlemen in the area, and once again, found that the options are limited for her to have a full recovery. However, she seems to be able to get around okay, and maybe, just maybe, nature will take over, and with some help from the Man upstairs, she will get through this on her own....I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best, but as you all already know....What do I know!

 PS: Your prayers are appreciated.

It was magical...

It was just another phone call, like many others I field every day. A young man on the line said, "I understand you have a place where I can hunt whitetail deer, and I'd like to come to Kansas and give it a try".

We had just purchased some land with a cabin, and were trying to establish it as a place for hunters, fishermen, and others to explore the abundant outdoor activities.

The young man was from Texas, and was to be our very first customer. I replied, "Sure, we'd love to have you". So, after we worked out the details, he headed north to hunt for one of our majestic deer.

His first hunt was less than successful. He shot at a nice buck, but his arrow was off the mark, and he had to watch as his trophy buck bounded off into the timber. He felt terrible about the hunt, but fell in love with our place, and asked if he could come back in December with his parents. He wanted to show them this new found paradise. He was such a pleasant young man, so of course, we agreed on the dates for a return trip.

Upon meeting his parents it was apparent where the young man came by his personality. His dad was tall with a warm smile, and his mother was delightful. You could just tell that she was a little dynamo who lived life to the fullest. Her eyes twinkled, and the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes told the story of someone who smiled easily and often. We immediately liked them both, and just like their son, they loved the cabin, lake, and land. They spent the weekend hiking and relaxing before heading back to Texas.

Like many of our guests, they left a nice note expressing how much they enjoyed the beauty of nature and thanking us for sharing it with them.

Then, there was this PS added by his mother.

"I bet this place is beautiful when it snows.  The next time it happens I'd love to come back and bring my grand kids to share it". 

We didn't give it much thought, and assumed there would be plenty of opportunities to share that experience with our new friends. It was not to be.

I hadn't heard from the young man, so the next fall I reached out to him to see about another hunting trip. His reply was unexpected, as he said, 


"I'm sorry, but I won't be coming to Kansas this year. Mom passed away suddenly last month, and our family is devastated".

I was shocked as well, and felt his pain. I sensed that he and his mother had a very special bond, and that his loss was very deep indeed. His world would never be the same.

A year passed, and he reached out to me inquiring about a hunting trip for him and his dad. We visited a bit, and I again expressed my condolences. Miss Elizabeth mentioned that she thought we still had the notes his mother had written, and it might be something that they would like to have. I agreed, and after asking if they would like to have them, mailed the notes, including the PS about his mother's desire to see the snow.

November rolled around, and the two of them arrived for a week-long stay. Just the two of them this time, and I know it weighed heavy on their minds, not having that third member of the family to provide the additional spark that meant so much. The memory had to be bittersweet. They both mentioned how much she had enjoyed their last visit to Kansas, and how much they appreciated the notes we'd provided. It was good to see them again.

The next morning dawned bitter cold, and there was SNOW....She wanted to share it with her family and it was magical....

As you all know, I'm just a simple man, but my faith is strong, and I think God speaks to us through these special moments. We just need to listen.

They were back again this past week, but there was no snow. They've already reserved the date for next year. Yes, I believe they were listening...but really, What Do I Know.

1969 - Such a short time ago....

It was a simpler time, or perhaps that's just the picture in my mind - faded over time, and gathering dust in my attic. Regardless, the memories are mine, and from time to time a current headline will elicit the stark comparison of events over the course of a single lifetime. This past weekend Miss Elizabeth and I attended a milestone event of our own. People from across the country came "home" to celebrate the 50 years that have passed since we all bade goodbye to the high school where dedicated and proficient teachers had prepared us for life outside those hallowed halls.

My memories are of a time when days were whiled away with friends, Dads went to work, Moms stayed home, and people would have civil conversations, even when they disagreed. Schools were places of learning, teachers commanded respect.

My friends then, many of whom are still friends today, were an eclectic bunch. Color didn't seem to matter much to us, even though the National stage produced a different story. My friends were Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and Whites.....neighborhood families that welcomed all of us into their homes. We shared more in common than not. Most of us on my side of town were, shall we say, not "well-to-do". Our parents were for the most part, "working-class" who toiled at blue collar jobs and brought home just enough money for a house, a car, groceries, and clothes. Money was hard-earned, and wisely spent, with little left over for frivolous expenditures. It was just the way things were, and we didn't give it much thought.

Like in so many small towns across America, many of us left soon after graduation to pursue our dreams. College educations were deemed to be important, but so was military service, and many of our classmates chose one or the other. Others became second and third generation owners of the family business, while some started their own. As we mingled among our friends to catch-up on the last fifty years, the stories were as varied and interesting as the people relating them. After all, it was the class of '69, and in our minds, we were all destined for greatness. Our class produced doctors, nurses, lawyers, accountants, actors, engineers, bankers, entrepreneurs, ranchers, and just about every other vocation imaginable. Not unlike thousands of other graduating classes across the country, but this was "our" class and "our" story, and it was great to see how it has played out.

For many, the story continues, but for others, their stories were cut short. As the photos were projected on the wall, their young faces captured from 1969, when life was yet to be lived, but for how long? A few tears were shed for friends lost too soon, and for their dreams which were never fulfilled. Life's a journey, and for some, the journey ended way too soon.

It was good to rekindle those old friendships, some which go back much further than when we graduated. Some friends who were there, I've known since before elementary school. There are very few secrets among friends of that duration, but on the other hand, there are secrets that will never be shared.

Those years were a very special time in our lives, never to be lived again, except in our memories. Just like this weekend, it too, was a very special time, and sadly, the next time we gather there will be fewer of us at the tables, and more of us whose pictures will be projected on the wall.

Life's a journey, and friends make the journey all the sweeter.

Take care all my dear friends, and until we meet again, just remember, I'm Jack, and What Do I Know!

Diversity or Unity....at the crossroads

It's a rainy Monday morning here in SE Kansas; a bit on the cool side as well, but I'm sitting in my cozy office, contemplating the state of affairs in our once proud Country. What the heck has happened?

I'm not a particularly political guy, and usually skirt those conversations when confronted by someone trying to convince me that they're right and I'm wrong. Maybe I am, but maybe it's in the gray area of "to be determined", and it's them who may be proven to be wrong.

But really, can't we just agree to disagree on the issues where we have different points of view?

We've become a humorless society. No one can say anything that someone else doesn't take offense. I mean, folks have become so adamant about diversity that we no longer have any unity. Remember when we celebrated the fact that we were the United States of America, not the many fractured, individual segments that previously united together as one....I miss those days.

Yes, I'm considered to be just another stodgy old man, whose opinions are to be cast aside by those who believe they know better. Perhaps they do, but maybe, just maybe, history will play out differently than they imagine. I struggle every day with some of the ideas that are put forth as being "main stream". Some of those are so radical, and foreign to my way of thinking that I've never even seen the "stream"  they're talking about, let alone ever drifted downstream in it.

Tomorrow is election day, and the news is filled with the typical rhetoric, polls, and projections of which party will take control. The hot topics are fairly typical, except that there is more volatility from the people espousing both sides of every issue. In some cases, it borders on pure hatred for the opposition, rather than civil discourse regarding their opinions.

I'm tired of the mess that has become politics in our country. I'm tired of the terms "far left" and "far right". I'm tired of the divisive nature of the various factions that propose that their way is the only way, and if you don't agree, you're an idiot. But, most of all, I'm tired of what we've allowed our country to become. Yes, I'm old-school, and it's doubtful that, at this point in my life, I'm going to change my views on some of the issues that are deeply embedded in my soul.

So please, if you want to convince me to come over to your point of view, be prepared to have a civil conversation, based on facts, figures, and sound reasoning. Raising your voice does nothing to support your cause. Using profanities, threatening violence, or calling me names will lead me to quickly dismiss the validity of your argument, so please don't waste your time.

I realize that my words will have very little impact on those who oppose my views of our politicians, our divisive rhetoric, or on the issues which I hold close to my heart.....I weep for what we've lost in this once proud Country. But, once again, What do I Know.

Big Headline, No Substance....

The 2018 Winter Olympics are in full swing, so I was browsing through the headlines to see if there was anything extraordinary going on in the way of the athletic performances. Of course, it's the Olympics, so every performance is over-hyped, over-stated, and over-analyzed. It makes for interesting stories, but nothing I've seen so far has been earth shattering.

Then, there it was, in bold letters at the top of the page; Gay Athletes Make Huge Statement.

"How is that" I asked myself. What kind of "huge statement" was made, and who did they make it to?

It certainly couldn't be the fact that gay athletes were competing at the highest level, that's been happening for years. Perhaps there was something else, but as I scanned the article it was severely lacking on anything of substance, just the same old tripe about how important it is that "these people" are making a statement. Nothing really about winning a gold medal, or setting a world record, or even introducing a new political agenda. No, it was just some reporter trying to stir the pot where there was nothing of substance to be shared.....Big headline, no substance.

The statement was made long ago. We live in a country that allows freedom of choice, whether 100% of the citizens agree or not, it's a freedom everyone has. Women, Men, Blacks, Indians, Gays, Asians, and every other American citizen can pretty much participate in whatever endeavor they choose, and have been able to do so for years. Yet, we have those in the media who continue to find controversy where none exists. Under the guise of inequality, they continue to publish the big headlines, no substance.

True equality will only exist when the headlines don't begin with the words, Gay, African-American, Asian-American, etc. etc.. As long as we feel the need to attach an identifying label to every person who makes the news, applies for a job, or participates in the Olympics, we continue to create the division among our citizens.

Those are my thoughts on the subject, and they come from my heart, not my political beliefs. I refuse to assign labels to my friends and acquaintances, and certainly not written in big bold letters in the headlines. No, they are just my friends, some old, some new, and some yet to be made. But, as all of you know by now, I'm just an old man, so What Do I Know?  

I felt very small...

This year for Christmas, Miss Elizabeth's gift to me was an old set of books. I had mentioned that, although I had watched it many times on television, I had never read the Lonesome Dove series by Larry McMurtry. To my surprise she was able to locate a used set of the books and made the purchase. I'm already enjoying the first book.

I've always been an avid reader, even when I was very young. I would read anything I could get my hands on, magazines, newspapers, paper backs, or comic books. It didn't really matter, I just loved getting lost in the pages and seeing the characters develop in my mind. Heck, I even enjoyed reading See Spot Run, and the other introductory reading primers back in elementary school. As I got older I read a lot of sports books, mysteries, science fiction, and of course, many of the Mark Twain classics like Huck Finn, Life on the Mississippi, and Tom Sawyer.

Today, most of my reading material comes with the push of a button or the click of a mouse. I can browse through my Kindle, and with one click, have a new book at my disposal. Technology is wonderful, but it's robbed us of the pleasure of either giving or receiving the gift of a book.

One of my oldest friends, someone I met soon after we moved to town from the country, doesn't, to this day, know the impact he had on me regarding gifts and books.

We must have been eight or nine years old, and were fast friends, Every weekend I would be at his house, or he would be at mine, having sleep-overs or just hanging out. We would hike in the woods, swipe pears from old Mrs. Brittan's tree, or lie in the sun swapping tall tales about various escapades we'd either experienced or imagined. Young lads, living life and having fun.

That year, as Christmas approached, each of us was given a dollar to buy a Christmas present for the other. His mother took us downtown to the J.J. Newberry store where we were to find the perfect gifts and give them to her for wrapping. We split up and began our search. I spent my time in the toy section and found what I thought was something he would enjoy. He was lost elsewhere in the store, but delivered his selection to his mother as well.

Later, when we tore off the wrappings to unveil the gifts, we were both excited to see what the other had bought. Expecting a toy of some type, I was speechless when I saw a brand new book. I still remember it....Treasure Island. It was the first real book I'd ever received, and I was in awe that my friend had given it to me.

I also felt very small.....My gift paled in comparison, a toy versus a book!

He seemed to be thrilled with his new toy, but I felt as though I had failed to deliver anything of substance. I know it's supposed to be the thought that counts, but I've always felt a little guilty about the inequality of those gifts.....I still remember his gift to me like it was yesterday.

A dollar well spent my friend.

We're moving to the city...

Until I was four years old, my family lived "out in the country". To be more exact, we lived in a rented farmhouse outside the town of Chetopa, Kansas. Since I was too young to go to school, the days were spent playing with the dogs, catching turtles and other reptiles, and skipping rocks on the pond. I remember little snippets of life on the farm, but not much. I'm sure I had a few friends, but I only recall playing with my sisters, and cousins who came to visit on occasion.

Let's just say that I don't remember having much of a social life before the "big event".

I vaguely remember walking through a brand new house that my parents were considering. I was fascinated by the vinyl runners that we were told to step on as we meandered through the "huge" five room house. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and one bath (indoors).

The next thing I remember was the announcement that we were moving "to town" where I would start school in the fall. An adventure for sure, and quite a different life than the one to which I was accustomed.

We moved to the town of Coffeyville in April of 1956, and one of the first kids I met was a boy named Sonny "Boy" Watson. His family lived across the alley from us, and like most kids on the block, he made his way over to our house shortly after we moved in. Sonny Boy was a big kid with a few extra pounds larded over a large frame. He also knew everything, or so it seemed to this naïve country boy. Yeah, you might say he had his bluff in on me from that first meeting. I could tell that he held a position of power with the other kids as well.

Sometime within the first week or so, Sonny Boy had me in tears and running home to mama. I don't remember if it was a physical altercation, or if he had just hurt my feelings. Regardless, I ran home to be consoled. All was good until the next day when it happened again, and the day after that as well.

Now, one would have to know my dad to understand exactly how, and why, he reacted as he did, but after about three or four days of seeing me run home to mama he had had his fill of it.

He stood up, looking down at me with fire in his eyes, and through gritted teeth said, "The next time you come home crying I'm going to give you something to cry about!" My dad didn't tolerate any sissified behavior, and he made it abundantly clear that I'd better learn to take care of myself when it came to handling that neighborhood bully. I guess that would be the end of that!

My social skills were still in the state of development, and I had yet to learn the fine art of diplomacy, so that left only one avenue available.....the manly art of self-defense. Trouble with that was that, other than some spirited wrestling matches with my cousins, I didn't know much about fighting either. All I knew was the fear of my dad's wrath outweighed my fear of Sonny Boy Watson.

Shortly thereafter, the opportunity presented itself; either go home and get whipped, or start flailing away. I was already crying anyway, so it didn't much matter if I got worst of it. I put everything I had into those punches, finding Sonny Boy's soft belly to be an adequate landing place, and soon we were both bawling and brawling until, much to my surprise, he just up and quit. It was over, and just like that, the bullying was history.

Sonny Boy and I never became best friends, but we learned to co-exist in the neighborhood. Maybe I earned a little respect, or maybe he hadn't expected the little skinny country boy to retaliate. Either way, I no longer ran home crying every time one of those city boys hurt my feelings, and that was a good thing. But, then again, what do I know?

No adult supervision required...

"Playing baseball just for the fun of it; No coaches, no parental involvement, and no pressure to perform."

I was half-watching the national news the other night when I heard the commentator utter those words. Of course in these days of "not keeping score", "no winners or losers", and "everybody gets a trophy" the story line wasn't particularly intriguing. I mean, it seems like every other day there is another story about how competition has ruined society.

We've removed it from the classroom, the sports field, and are working diligently to remove it from every aspect of life. Problem is, you will never be able to completely remove the competitive spirit from competitive people. That spirit is what drives us to succeed.

But, lets get back to sandlot baseball. I rarely see a group of kids gathered at a park, or at a vacant lot with makeshift bases and grass worn down to dirt along the base paths. I don't ever see games with both boys and girls enjoying the thrill of competing against each other, along with the jeers and cheers that often accompany the errors and bonehead plays that everyone makes from time to time. I don't see the variety of age groups engaging with each other as the older kids gently, and not so gently, mentor the younger ones in the "rules of the game".

So, somewhat interested, I began to watch the news story on television.

The first thing I saw was that it was all boys of the same age....no girls involved, and no older or younger kids on the field. There was also an umpire, replete with all the gear, and there were parents watching the game. Wait a minute, I thought this was "Playing baseball just for the fun of it."

Then, it all came out; one of the parents had decided that it was too "competitive" in the league games, so he organized these so-called sandlot games.

Trouble is, they in no way resemble the sandlot games of old. Really, we would have been embarrassed to no end to have our parents show up to watch us play baseball with our friends. No self-respecting kid would have tolerated it. Of course, our games were all-day affairs with kids coming and going as they deemed fit, and parents were either at work or too busy with other duties to waste time watching the kids play.

No, it was truly, "Playing baseball just for the fun of it." No umpires, no batting helmets, wooden bats with taped handles, shared baseball gloves left laying in the field for the one side to use while the other was at bat, and most of all.....no one telling us how it was supposed to work. Was it without competition? Not a chance. Did we keep score? Of course. Was there "No pressure to perform"? Not a chance. The younger ones wanted to impress the older ones, the older boys wanted to impress the older girls, and the girls....they did their best to impress the boys....Pressure to perform? Oh yeah, there was plenty of pressure to perform.

The difference was that it was all self-inflicted. No adults to organize it, no coaches, no parents, no umpires, but most of all, the freedom to just be kids. I'm glad I grew up in a time when we could spend all day with our friends, playing baseball, just for the joy of the game.....

I thought it was great, but what do I know?

Looking back....why?

Looking back....why? I don't know.

I guess it's because I've come to accept the fact that I'm closer to the end than to the beginning. That's a hard pill to swallow for a guy who's always fancied himself as a long-term planner, and one who has always looked to the future.

To be perfectly honest it's a bit unnerving to realize that most of your life is in the rear view mirror, with the horizon looming larger and larger ahead of you. It's not that I'm afraid of what lies beyond; I'm not. I'm very comfortable with my faith, and know that our short stint here on earth is just the beginning.

What, then, should I be doing for the next twenty years, or so?

I continue to work, even though most of my friends can't figure out what I do, or why. However, there's a bit less work on my plate now, and my appetite for doing it is waning. I still enjoy what I do around the ranch, and it's still rewarding to see my clients succeed as I play a small role in showing them the way.

Life continues to be good, and a new life begins everyday!

Looking back....why? There is still so much to look forward to!

I'll continue to plan for the best, and cope with the rest. Will it be good? Who knows? Life holds no guarantees; it's what you make of it that counts.

That's what I believe, but as everyone here is already aware, What do I know!

I'm sorry, but that's absurd...

Later this month, I'll attain the ripe old age of sixty-six. I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good, but for the most part it's been a great ride.

I graduated from high school in 1969, and turned eighteen on the Sunday morning when Jimi Hendrix woke up the folks at Woodstock with his stirring rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.....wish I'd been there to see it in person, but alas, I was hard at work in Kansas.

The sixties were a time of civil unrest, anti-war protests, sit-ins, love-ins, Hippies, and racial strife. It also brought about the advent of that old axiom, "Make Love not War", now what normal, warm-blooded all-American young man could find fault with that!

Yes, I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good.

When I was born in 1951, the doctor spanked my butt for the first time, made a quick assessment of the vital parts, and announced to my parents, "It's a boy!". No ifs and or buts about it; of course my parents took a look and confirmed the doctor's diagnosis.....Yep, it's a boy.

There were more spankings to follow, as my dad was a firm believer in "Spare the rod, spoil the child". Was it wrong? Today, society finds it unacceptable to mete out such punishment, but it taught me that there were boundaries that were not to be crossed, limitations as to what was acceptable behavior, and respect for authority. It's hard for me to find fault with those outcomes.

Yes, I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good.

For my entire life I've known who I am, what I am, and never once considered it to be the least bit odd that my God put me here on earth to be exactly what he intended. On the other hand, I've known a few, very few, people who seemed to be at odds with their gender. It was never a big deal, and everyone has experienced those encounters from time to time. We all understand that sometimes those genetic anomalies occur, and we've dealt with it.

Recently, I read of a case where the parents of a new baby "X" were not going to make a gender decision until "X" was old enough to make that decision for itself.....I'm sorry, but that's absurd.

It's not that I don't have empathy for those few who have to deal with the gender identity issue, I do. But really, is it that prevalent, or is it mostly hype? It seems to me that it gets a disproportionate amount of attention these days, most of it being generated by politicians and those who don't have to deal with it on a personal level, but who love to be a part of the hysteria.

Yes, I've seen a lot of changes through the years, some good, some not so good.

So now, as I get ready to "celebrate" another year on this earth, I have to wonder just how long God is going to allow His children to challenge His creation. But, as always, what do I know.

Music, Manners, and Cowboys

When did we lose our sense of decorum, etiquette, and just plain good manners. Everywhere I go I'm somewhat disappointed in the way people present themselves; the way they dress, the way they talk, and the "me-first" attitudes.

This weekend we attended an outdoor symphony. It was a beautiful venue at a ranch in the Flint Hills of Kansas. It was an event to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the old Chisholm Trail in Kansas, and the day was filled with educational talks, art, and wildflower tours. It really was quite wonderful.

After spending the afternoon attending several of the presentations and checking out the tent full of art, Ms Elizabeth, her sister, and I were looking forward to an evening of music and relaxation as dusk fell over the panoramic vista of the ranch.

The concert was scheduled for two hours, with a twenty minute intermission to allow for a nice stretch, a little visiting, and perhaps a trip to retrieve a beverage.

Now lets remember, it's an outdoor event, so one might expect the attendees to be a little more boisterous than at an event staged inside a concert hall, and they were. People to the side of us spent the entire evening talking loudly, in total disregard of those sitting within earshot. Another, who was sitting a few seats in front of us, made five trips to the beverage tent to retrieve a fresh beer while the performance was in in full swing. With each trip he interrupted no less than twenty people who were seated nearby. We sat near the back and watched the same scene play out over and over in front of us.

The grand finale, however, was when cowboys were moving a herd of longhorn cattle across the pasture behind the orchestra.....wave after wave of people left their seats to take photographs of the cattle. It was rude to the members of the symphony who continued to play. It was rude to the people who stayed in their seats to enjoy both the music and the view of the cowboys and cattle. And, it certainly interfered with the cowboys, who had to break rank to keep people from crowding too close to the longhorns, and causing a safety issue.

Just getting my "beef" of the day written while it's still fresh in my mind.

I would like to hope it will be different next time; I doubt that it will, but as always, what do I know.

You can't make new old friends...

I'm at the point in life when it's comforting to be with old friends, people I've known virtually my entire life, and who know things about me that even I've forgotten.

Once a month several of us meet for breakfast and memories. Sometimes we linger longer than the conversation supports, so we just sit in silence, sipping coffee and enjoying the companionship of  old friends.

Recently, I was reminded of a friend whom I haven't seen nor thought about for many years. A Facebook friend posted a short video about the SST Concorde. and how it was the most beautiful airplane ever built. It was fast, sleek, and short-lived. I never had the opportunity to fly on the Concorde, but my old friend did, and he shared every detail of his experience. A young executive - living large. Unfortunately, he too, lived a lifestyle that was sleek, fast, and short-lived.

We met shortly after moving to Tulsa and became fast friends with much in common. He had played college basketball, I'd played football. We played on the same softball team, played weekend basketball games, and even worked as umpires for a youth baseball league. We and our wives spent most weekends out on the town or at each others' homes playing cards, games, or watching that new television show, Saturday Night Live. We were both young with all the world at our disposal, or so we thought.

My career took off, and so did his. We both spent time on business trips, entertaining business associates, and doing all the things that we thought were important.

Then, about the time we started our families, things began to change. While I started to resent the travel that took me away from home, he seemed to relish it. While social drinking was the norm for business dinners, he began to take it to extremes. Soon the drinking seemed to the primary driver in his life. His home life deteriorated, his business associates began to drift away, and before long he was divorced and jobless.

The downward spiral had started, and I lost touch with my old friend. We've maintained our friendship with his ex-wife, and through her, I've kept tabs on his whereabouts and well-being. Life has not been kind to him, but had he made different choices, perhaps he too, would find comfort in the company of old friends.

I miss my old friend.....wish life would have been different for him, but what do I know. 

Technology consisted of a stapler and a phone...

I remember walking into meeting rooms and thinking to myself, I'm the youngest one in the room. Now I walk into the room and think, My goodness, look at all these youngsters.

Time passes by, and for most of us who've been around for several decades, the changes are almost incomprehensible. Technology has completely changed our lives; computers, smart phones, drones, video-conferencing, and on and on....

I graduated from college forty-three years ago and after a few interviews with different companies, started work for a major oil company in Tulsa, Oklahoma. My first office consisted of a corner in the file room that had been divided off by several file cabinets. My technology consisted of a desk, a stapler, and a phone. Across the hall was a Xerox machine capable of making legal sized copies of the contracts we prepared. If you needed letter size copies, there was a commercial duty paper cutter on the table.

We had a bevy of typists who churned out the mounds of paperwork we created.....all of it on the latest IBM Selectric typewriters. No word processing machines existed, and mistakes meant starting the whole page over. Typos and grammatical errors were unacceptable. Those gals were good!

To a small-town boy from Kansas it seemed to be a constant whirlwind of activity. We had access to a Telex machine, a secretarial pool, dictation machines, and all the paper and postage we needed. Contracts were generated and mailed to the other parties for review......weeks would go by before responses would be received, and negotiations could proceed. We thought we were being efficient if we could complete the process in a month or two. 

I remember the first IBM word processing machines we installed.....they were as large as a desk. I remember the first desk top computers....given to engineers and geologists only. I remember the first internal emails, the first video conferences, and when it was a big decision to allow access to the internet. Wow, the changes I've seen.

While the technological changes have been dramatic, there have been other changes as well. Corporations have become more demanding of their employees. The workplace has become less genial, and more impersonal. It seems as though people have lost the ability to communicate on a one-on-one basis, and everything is driven by the current task at hand. Personnel departments don't even accept hand-delivered applications and resumes anymore. It all has to be submitted electronically so the computer programs can screen the application for "key words".

So while I embrace much of the change that the last fifty years has brought to bear, I truly miss the folks who knew how to manage and lead people, which is much different than the management of technology.

But, let's face it, I'm no longer the youngest one in the room, and those times have passed us by. Will they ever return? I doubt it, but after all, What do I know!

Effective leadership is a lost art....

I recently travelled to North Dakota with a colleague to deliver a workshop that he developed. One of the things that both he and I have discovered in our work, is that there is a significant lack of leadership skills throughout our great land, and it's especially true in rural America. It's not because we lack people who want to make things better in the communities where they work and live, but in many cases, they lack the knowledge of how to be an effective leader.

I've worked in rural Kansas for many years helping rural businesses and communities become more entrepreneurial in how they approach the problems they face. It's been challenging to institute a change of the culture, especially at the community level, but the results have been nothing short of amazing.

So, back to North Dakota where we met with a group of ranchers who comprise the board of directors of a non-profit organization to assist their members to become more productive and profitable. Again, all of them were well intentioned, but the organization was struggling to be an effective force in what they were trying to do. We were called in to help.

We delivered our Board Excellence Workshop to a group of sixteen board members, and at the end of the day, every one of them had a different perspective as to their roles in becoming effective leaders and board members.

How many of us have been members of boards, committees, or organizations where we became frustrated with the lack of direction, or progress, toward what we thought we were supposed to accomplish? It happens all the time.

If I might be so bold, I suggest that if you are a member of such a group, that it might be time for you to step up and be the "leader" who institutes a change in the culture of the organization. Make it clear to the group that without a vision, and without a plan, we are all just wasting our time. You don't have to be the elected "leader" to make a difference, so go for it....

I certainly don't know everything, but if you need some help in making a difference, let us help.

2016 = The Beginning

January 10, 2016. It's a crystal clear morning with a slight north breeze and a temperature of 9 degrees Fahrenheit. At least the ground is frozen solid so there's no need to be wading in the mud when I feed the cattle.


I sold three unbred cows last Thursday. Hated to get rid of them, but it makes no sense to carry them through the winter when no income will be generated from having  a calf this spring. So now I have 23 cows that will start calving sometime in February....hoping all goes well and we end up with 23 healthy calves. We also have six young heifers that will be bred this spring for calves next year, and we'll replace several of the older cows in the fall.


I'm going to try to write a weekly update of the events of 2016, and create a diary to capture the daily activities. It should be an interesting year as Miss Elizabeth and I both hit that milestone of turning 65 years old and begin to deal with Medicare, and related insurance options. Not sure where the time has gone, but I'm grateful to still be around to experience all that life has to give.


Until next week.....

Idle hands...

It's Monday, the start of the first week after Christmas. The weather outside is a nasty mixture of freezing rain, sleet, and snow, but inside the house it's a comfortable 72 degrees. I usually take a few days of vacation at this time of the year, and this year is no exception. It's a dead week as far as work goes anyway, so why not take advantage of the time.

Unfortunately I'm not a very good idler, and after a few hours of doing nothing, I'm ready to find something productive to do. Right now I've just returned from pacing through the house, sat down to check emails, browse the Facebook activity, and find something that will keep me out of harm's way in the kitchen where Miss Elizabeth is busy preparing a big pot of chili for the evening meal.

I've already checked the livestock, filled the birdfeeders. walked to the mailbox, and fiddled around with the TV remote, searching for anything "remotely" interesting on the 150+ channels of High Definition programming.....reminder to self, why do we subscribe to this junk??

The house seems to echo whenever either of the current occupants makes a sound. Somehow. after a few days of kids and grandkids celebrating a grand Christmas here at the ranch, the silence is almost as unsettling as was the near constant buzz of activity and laughter. The whirlwind of activity created by seven grandkids (ages 10 and below) is breathtaking.....especially for a grumpy old man like me. But, oh, how I miss each and every one of them when the depart. Like all Grandpas, I guess my bark is worse than my bite, and the grandkids see right through the gruff façade.

Well, it's nearly 3:00pm.....almost through the first day of my week long vacation. Time for another pass around the house.....stir the chili.....maybe even sneak a taste when her head is turned.....

Geez, what's that old adage about "idle hands....."

Oh well, tomorrow's another day, followed by another, and another, and another......but what do I know!

How's that salad......really!

I raise beef cattle, and I eat beef steak. There, I've stated it about as plainly as possible, and I apologize to no one for being a part of the life cycle of beef. From field to fork, and enjoying it every step of the way.

Periodically, I post to Facebook a picture of a nice looking calf, or a very pregnant cow, or a massive bull whose sole job is to provide the seeds for future generations of prime beef cattle. Even though it's a hobby more than a business, I love the work. There's something very satisfying about caring for the herd and watching over the baby calves from birth to weaning.

Invariably, after posting a beef related photo, I hear from those who absolutely abhor the thought of cutting into a big, juicy T-Bone. It must literally make them sick, for they go on and on about the evils of killing animals for food, and my goodness, the health aspects of ingesting red meat, it appears that I may die tomorrow!  I've even had people tell me that I'm trying to poison my fellow man by creating this demand for my very fine beef. I guess that vegan fare you're stuffing in your mouth must leave a lot to be desired.

How is it that by simply posting a photograph of a nice, sizzling steak on the grill, I can generate such animosity?

Methinks the lack of red meat in their diet has created a chemical imbalance that has driven them to the point that reasonable conversation can no longer take place. Instead, I'm pelted (pun intended)with every lame-brained, ideologically based, and vegetable only dietary study that's ever existed.

Well, excuse me while I go eat my dinner......wait, we're having what?

It appears that tonight's menu is.......fajitas, a combination of vegetables and BEEF!

Maybe the vegetable part of this dinner will satisfy my vegan friends, but then again, What Do I Know....

Rainy day mornings...

I woke up late this morning. At least it was late according to the bedside clock. A glance outside revealed an ominous sky, scattered raindrops, and a pre-storm atmosphere.....perfect for catching a few more minutes of sleep, but alas, it was too late. I was already awake for the day.

There was a time when days like this would entice me to stay abed until mid-morning. Now, it's just a pleasant break from the typical August day, and the enticement is to grab a cup of coffee, sit on the back porch, and enjoy the serenity of the cows grazing on the still green grass of summer. I think as I get older, the pleasures are more about the time I spend awake than the hours lolling in bed.

Rainy mornings, and they have been plentiful this summer, are times to be savored. Some of the typical chores can be put on hold until the weather is more cooperative, and like most, I enjoy the respite from the drudgery.

So, why is it that, today, I find myself wandering through the house, waiting not so patiently for the skies to clear so I can get back to what needs to be done?

Sometimes, I find it difficult to figure myself out......again, giving support to why this blog is named What do I know!

I get by with a little help from my friends......

I lost a piece of my past today.......

It was just before the Christmas of 1970, and I was getting ready to head north for college in January. It was an exciting time as I made a list, checked it twice, and decided there were still a couple of  "must haves" missing.

First, college was in South Dakota so a nice warm coat was mandatory. And, second, I was lacking a dynamite stereo for the dorm room.....an essential piece of equipment for any self-respecting college student.

A friend, Tom Jones, was to be my roommate. We were destined to play football for the SDSU Jackrabbits, but right then, we were both more concerned about acquiring the college necessities before piling into his 19968 Olds 442 for the drive to South Dakota.

First stop, the music store and the purchase of a portable stereo system with lots of wattage and big speakers.....it was awesome. Next stop, Weinberg's Western Wear, where Willie Weinberg was more concerned about our choices of coats than either of us were. She knew I would struggle to pay for the coat she had picked out for me, but she insisted, and I relented. She then rang up an amount that barely covered the sales tax, and threw in a nice warm pair of gloves to boot. I was astounded, and if her husband, Maurice, had known.......Oh, but it was the Christmas Season!

On the way back to my house, I figured I still had a few extra dollars in my pocket (savings from the gift of the coat you know) so we stopped by the record store for a couple of new albums. It was a great time for music......

First selection; Sly and the Family Stone with the featured track, "I Want to Take You Higher".

Next selection; Joe Cocker, Mad Dogs and Englishmen.

Practically every song was destined to become a classic, and Joe Cocker became my all-time favorite performer. Who will ever forget his 1969 performance at Woodstock!

I turned eighteen the Sunday morning when Jimi Hendrix electrified the crowd on the last day of the festival, so it was a very special time of life.

This morning, at age seventy, Joe Cocker died. I feel much like people must have felt when a plane crash took the life of Buddy Holly.......immortalized by Don Mclean in the song, "The Day the Music Died".

I still have the albums we bought that day......I think I'll run a needle through a few of the old tunes of my youth, and conjure up memories of a time when one of  my very best friends entertained us all with his spot-on impersonations of Joe Cocker singing "The Letter". What times we had.

Rest in peace Joe. It's been a great ride.

What just happened??

The letter began, "Based on a national program, the Kansas Power+Hope award recognizes individuals...."

The event occurred a few months ago.

It was a typical August day, hot as blazes outside, which was why I was firmly ensconced in my home office with the air conditioning cranking out a constant stream of cool air. Working from home has it's advantages, one of which is the ability to do professional work while clad in shorts, tee shirt, and flip flops.....no one is the wiser.

I caught a glimpse of the pick-up as it flashed by my office window, so I was in the process of heading outside when the pounding on the front door caused me to reverse my steps. No one ever comes to the front door.....I didn't recognize the face of the young man, but anxiety and fear was written all over his face.

"You've got to come quick!" he said. "Your neighbor has had a bad accident, and needs help." Immediately, my mind started racing, Which neighbor, what kind of accident, is he hurt badly, and what the heck am I supposed to do. At that point I just headed out the door to see what we could do.

"He's flipped his tractor over and he's trapped. He's been there for nearly two hours and is in bad shape." Tom, the fellow who was now driving us back to the site of the accident, was talking a mile a minute. He was scared, and was short on details except to say that my neighbor needed help right away. He was right. We both scrambled out of the truck before it even stopped, and I rushed over to the ditch where the tractor was turned on its side. I jumped up on the wheel, grabbed my young neighbor by the arm, and asked, "What happened?"

He was in shock, barely conscious, and was pinned by a t-post that was impaled in his thigh. For two hours he had been in the hot sun, unable to move, and now it was almost too late. The relief on his face was almost too much for me to bear. He just assumed that we would be able to handle the situation. I, on the other hand, had no confidence at all that this would turn out well.

We had no coverage for the cell phones, so Tom used his truck radio to call for an ambulance. It would be at least thirty minutes and we were running out of time. Again, my mind raced for an answer. 

What do we do? I don't have a way to cut the post, I can't risk nicking an artery, but he's going to die if we can't get him free.

So we did what anyone would do, we prayed for some divine guidance and went to work. A chain was located, and as Tom backed the truck into position, I attached the chain to the tractor. Another prayer, and we tried to raise the tractor enough to get him free. It was working, so I climbed back on the tractor, grabbed the young man under the arms and lifted him from where he'd been trapped.

I'll never forget the look on his face......and, I suppose he'll never forget mine.

When the ambulance arrived, we had him ready to go. His blood pressure was almost immeasurable, his kidneys were shutting down, and he had a leg that didn't look like it could be saved. So, we prayed again, hoped for the best, and sent him on his way to Wichita for surgery.

I've visited with him several times since. His initial surgery was to cleanse and repair the leg injury, and a second one was needed to remove some damaged toes. But, he's alive, he still has his leg, and recovery is well on its way. Another prayer of thanks for prayers that have been answered.

And now, Tom and I have been given this award in recognition of our actions in saving someone's life. Awards are nice, but I've already received my reward;  Every time I see my neighbor walking upright, and smiling as we greet each other, I rejoice in God's work and happily embrace His miracles.

But really, what do I know!