A trip worth waiting for

My dad is on his way home from what may have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Two weeks ago, he left behind his crops (which are ready for harvest), his cattle, his wife and his job at the bank to travel to Russia on a Kansas Beef Marketing trip with the Kansas Secretary of Agriculture and the Governor of Kansas.  He has spent the last two weeks spreading the word about Kansas beef to people on the other side of the world.

When I stop to think about the life he left behind compared to the world he has been exposed to in the last 14 days, it renders me, well, without words.

But maybe that's because I know his whole story.

The story that began with a young boy growing up chasing fly balls and quarterbacks in the neighborhoods of working-town St. Joseph, Missouri, and ended with a cattleman that earned the respect of a Governor and his fellow agriculturalists in the State of Kansas.

My dad learned of the farm and experienced the farm through his grandparents.  His own dad wasn't able to take on a farming and ranching livelihood given the agricultural technology of the 1950's coupled with severe asthma and allergies.  His dad, my grandpa, married my grandma, moved to St. Joseph, raised six children, sent them all to Catholic school, watched them all graduate from college, and only on rare occasions missed a little league game.

My dad went to Benedictine College in Atchison, Kansas.  He played football and baseball - was fiercely competitive and athletically astute.  He married my mom, earned a degree in English (his vocabulary dances circles around mine), and started a career teaching and coaching at his old high school.

Not long into his teaching and coaching gig, I came along.  My brother followed 13 months later.  Teaching and coaching at a catholic high school in the early 1980's wasn't exactly paying the bills.

He took a risk, moved his family, and tried his hand at banking.  Turns out, he was good at that, too.

He took another risk.  Moved us one more time.  Took another banking job, and began investing in farm ground and trying his hand at farming.  The farming thing really seemed to suit him.

My two younger sisters joined the family, the farming operation grew, and our family grew up chasing fly balls, quarterbacks, point gaurds, 4-H livestock, and Simmental cattle across the northeast Kansas countryside.

And that pretty much sums up life for the past twenty years.  Add in college, some weddings and some grandkids, but mostly, you'll find my dad chasing cattle and following K-State football.

I have always had a deep respect for my dad.  The trip to Russia didn't really change that.  What I wholeheartedly admire is the way he has "delayed the gratification."  He has spent his years quietly building his herd - his family and his cattle.  And now, into his fifties, he is stepping away from the farm, the ballgames, the grandkids, and doing something that is personally rewarding.  Satisfying.  And well deserved.

I'm so proud that someone else recognized the knowledge and experience my dad can bring to Kansas agriculture.  I've known it all along...

They just keep comin'...

The changes.  These changes just keep coming.
























I dropped Tucker off on Tuesday for his first day of preschool.  He was all smiles.  And the report on the way home: "The work wasn't that hard, Momma."

 By Thursday, he was eager to go back.  As we approached the drop off, I saw all the other parents walking their children to the door, holding their hand.

Okay, we can do that, too.

From the backseat I hear , "Momma, can I walk up there by myself?"

"Sure, buddy!"

He grabbed his backpack, jumped out, and smiled and ran all the way to the front door.  In a way, it was more emotional than walking him to the door holding his hand.  And it was complete reassurance that waiting a year to send my summer-birthday-boy to school was the absolute right thing to do.

These moments of change are happening every day around here...


 

Wednesday evening, in celebration of a much needed relief from the summer's heat, we took bikes to the church parking lot.  Noah scored a big-girl bike this summer.  Her old training wheels don't touch the ground.  So, it was time to really ride that bike.

I expected that after a long day at school, her endurance for bike riding would be short-lived.

Wouldn't ya know, that little gal proved me wrong!  She was wobbly and wiggly, oh sure.  And she took plenty of spills.  But she jumped right up and persevered.

"I've almost got it, Mom!" she'd yell from across the parking lot.  Sure enough, after a bit of support from Dad, she was riding the length of the parking lot.  (And then crashing clumsily and getting up to do it again.)

We returned the next night for another go-round.  That little gal could make it two complete laps around the parking lot.  (Before crashing clumsily and getting up to do it again.)

 Like I said, these changes are happening fast.  Daily, in fact.

 

And while it's sad to watch them take these first steps from the nest, how beautiful and rewarding it is to watch them begin to fly.

Kindergarten sure changes things

Noah started kindergarten.  Two weeks ago.  She's been a full-fledged kindergarten student for two whole weeks.  I'm almost getting used to the idea.

Noah is the sort of daughter who any mom with heart-tugging-prone-to-tears emotional attachments to her first born baby should feel blessed to have as their first baby.  And I do.

It makes the "sending them out the door to a school you're completely unfamiliar with and teachers and staff you barely know" much easier.  (I have control issues, I know.  That's why I had to stay home with my kids.  I like to be in charge.).

But, as I was saying, it's easier to let go because Noah's a naturally bright little gal.  And she's socially confident.  (Have you met her Daddy?)  I know she'll be a good student.  So long as her academic motivations conquer her social motivations. 

Two weeks in, and she's mastering the life of a kindergartener.  Oh sure, she's had some after-school meltdowns that remind me of her toddler days.  But the girl's completely exhausted.  Bedtime is no longer a battle.

Aside from Noah's personal transition to school, and my emotional transition to mom-with-school-aged daughter, it seems we're all feeling the effects of an adjustment to school life.

The two younger kids are up and at 'em with Noah.  (Or earlier.)  Breakfast is wrapped up by 7:15, and we send Brent and Noah out the door by 7:45.  It's not that we didn't have a schedule before, it's just that preschool didn't start until 9:00.  There was time for some play, or cartoons, or an extra pancake.  Our day is certainly much quieter.  Tucker and Nell miss their buddy.  She was the ring leader for the really fun stuff - like digging in the mud and turning the living room into a vet clinic.  And now, nap time comes quickly after lunch so we can make it to the 3:05 dismissal. 

Oh, dismissal.  The time of day when every parent in town congregates at the same intersection.  It's a lovely sort of chaos.

Then there's Brent.  His entire morning routine has been over-run by our kindergarten student.  Mornings have never been his thing.  Now they come earlier.  He has to get to work on time.  And he doesn't have enough time to swing by his favorite convenience store for his morning Diet Dr. Pepper.  Poor fella.  I'm making him coffee each morning to try to cheer him up.  But now all my favorite coffee thermoses are lost in his office.  And, do you know how hard it is to try to enjoy my own morning coffee without my favorite thermos?

Sheesh.  Who knew kindergarten had such over-reaching effects?

In four more days, Tucker will start preschool.  That will leave Nell and I alone for two mornings each week.  That'll certainly be something different.  Completely different.  A thought that I couldn't have comprehended when she was born two-and-a-half years ago.

I guess you could say things are changing around here.  As a mom who likes to be in control, it's trying on me to let my little ones take these first steps out into the world.  How thankful I am for the time I've invested in them.  Albeit it frustrating and isolating at times, I know I'm completely responsible for my children's early, formative years.  The good and the bad.  I'm 100% accountable.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.

4-H: Locally Sourced Food, Lifelong Learning

Submitted for publication in the Ellsworth (Kansas) Independent Reporter

In response to: http://eatocracy.cnn.com/2011/06/23/does-4-h-desensitize-kids-to-killing/

A recent post on the CNN food blog site, Eatocracy, posed this question: “Does 4-H desensitize kids to killing?”  A timely question considering county fair season is in full swing across America; yet a question that could have only come from someone who drove by a county fair.  Once.  A long time ago.  

The Ellsworth County 4-H Fair is in full swing this week.  Pigs, cows, chickens, sheep, rabbits, homemade baked goods and hand-crafted arts project have descended upon the fair grounds.  It’s a great, low-cost outing for you and your family.  And it’s a perfect opportunity for you to answer that question for yourself.    

It’s becoming quite vogue in American culture to know where your food comes from.  And while I firmly believe that it’s imperative to understand our food systems and to share that information with your children; it’s equally imperative that you base your information and food purchasing decisions on facts.  From the source.  Like a 4-H’er who has spent the past six months or more caring for his or her cows, pigs and chickens.

So as you and your family stroll down the aisles of animal exhibits at the fair, ask a 4-H’er about the care they gave to their animals.  What type of feed did they use?  How often did they water their animals?  What did they do to keep them cool in this summer’s extreme heat?  Will their animal be going to market or going home after the fair?  How do they feel about that?

In my lifetime of 4-H experiences, I know that 4-H animals are among the best cared for livestock.  They truly live a luxury life.  If it’s possible for an animal to live in luxury.  And I know that 4-H sensitizes and educates children about our animal production systems in America.  I have been heartbroken over steers and pigs headed to market.  But I was privileged to grow up in the understanding that animals destined for human consumption deserve a life of good care and respect.  

I hope your trip to the county fair this week will allow you a glimpse into the world of livestock production.  And that it will allow you to see how 4-H is preparing the next generation of livestock producers to care for and respect their animals in a way that you can feel good about.

A non-traditional DC vacation

I'm just getting settled back home after what could be called a non-traditional DC vacation.

Or, a weekend in the Washington DC area as those who actually live there may wish to experience.

Because my little sister, Mary, actually lives there.  And if you've seen the Capitol Mall on a Saturday in June plastered with tourists and students from every state, then you too, may wish for a bit of an escape in the hills of eastern Virginia.  

Don't get me wrong.  Every single American should take at least one traditional Washington DC vacation.  Tours of the Monuments.  The Capitol.  The Museums.  A stroll by the White House.  (Unless you know people who know people who can you get a private tour of the West Wing.  Accomplished this on the DC trip three years ago.  The latest change in the administration means I no longer know people who know people.) 

















We arrived in DC on a Friday afternoon.  Mary picked us up curbside in her new Volkswagon.  No taxis.  No tour buses.  We were among the locals now.

Mary suggested we spend some time strolling around Old Town Alexandria to avoid the mess of rush-hour traffic.  We stopped into a local coffee shop - I needed a little pick-me-up.  I ordered an iced vanilla latte.

"We don't have flavors, mam." 

Right.  It was now apparent I was a Midwestern tourist with limited urban coffee drinking experience.

"Well, then, just make it skim, please."

Sister Molly - also a big city-dweller - then gave me a few "coffee snob" pointers so I could order coffee without the stress of a barista looking down his nose at me the next time.  Sure wish she could have made those tips available before I perpetuated the (largely misguided) Kansas stereotype.

Moving on.  We encountered tiny bundles of lavender selling for $15.  (Mom has a beautiful plant in her yard.)  And expensive Turkish hand-painted dishes where the shop owner kept a close eye on giggling Midwest sisters.  Then got a glimpse of the wide Potomac.  (Makes the Smoky Hill River look like a babbling brook.)

Then back to Mary's apartment.  The third floor of a row house that overlooks the Library of Congress and is steps away from the Capitol.  Six hundred square feet at a monthly rent price that will make your mortgage and 1,400 square feet home seem down-right cheap.

Mom had a new scarf to wear.  And that meant we were going out for a nice dinner.  You've got to love logic like that.

We decided on a Mediterranean restaurant in Eastern Market. And I'm almost embarrassed to say that I ate lamb for the first time.  How's a farm girl live 32 years without eating lamb?  Good question.  But I liked it, and I will certainly eat it again. 

Pause.  Time for a mommy agvocacy moment.  Given the growing popularity of Mediterranean food, lamb market prices are on the rise.  I'm considering investing in some ewes (that's the mommy sheep), and some pasture, and a farmhouse, and a good sized barn for lambing, and a chicken house just because I like chickens...

Focus.  The lamb was good.  And so were the two drinks I ordered.  Which turned into a conversation about a few more things "mom was right about." 


A good day always begins with Good Morning America and good hairspray.

A handful of chocolate chips will make bad days melt away.


Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman happy, healthy, wealthy and wise.  (mostly)


So we headed home.

And Mary had us out the door and on a six mile walk by 8:00 am Saturday morning.  (That's pretty early for vacation standards.)


We walked by the Capitol and down the National Mall, around the Washington Memorial, around the World War II Memorial, and down to the Lincoln Memorial.  And back. 

By then, the tourists were beginning to descend on the National Mall.  So we headed east.  Or south.  I never know what direction I'm going in that city and that makes me crazy.  (Type A personality.  Not surprising.)  We drove in the general directions of berries and vineyards in Virginia.

 





















We climbed hills to pick strawberries and raspberries.  I had just picked strawberries the week before and made strawberry jam.  But the Middle Eastern family picking alongside us doubtfully picked strawberries and made jam the week before.  Therefore, we should all be thankful for the opportunities provided by Virginia's agri-tourism farms.  (Hand picked berries for the city-dwellers.  Premium prices for Virgina farmers.  I love free market capitalism.)

How about all these beautiful pictures?  Mary snapped these with her snazzy camera.

And then to the vineyards.  Along with never eating lamb, I've also never been to a wine tasting at a vineyard.  I know, I know.  I have lived a sheltered life.

The first vineyard, while picturesque, was a bit snooty.  And their wine was a bit on the yucky side.  (I'm not a wine snob, either.  Yucky is an acceptable adjective if you're not a wine elitist.)

The second vineyard was more my style.  Casual, rustic, comfortable.  And the wine was yummy.  Very yummy.  (I should be a food writer.)

So yummy, in fact, I napped all the way back to the city.  Where we made a strawberry and raspberry cobbler and had a cook-out with Mary's beau Tyler.  I had failed to give consideration to the challenges of having a cook-out when you live in an apartment in a city.  We hauled charcoal and a cooler full of food and sangria to a public park that had grills and picnic tables.  Tyler expertly managed the grill...as if he owned his own and cooked on it every night.

The non-traditional DC vacation continued right on into Sunday.  We leisurely made our way to 10:30 Mass and then Sunday brunch at a popular, hip little joint.  And while I'm on a roll with "firsts," I'll add one more.  I ordered my first "cocktail before Noon on a Sunday."  The college-girl in me is so proud.

We walked off cocktails and brunch as we strolled through a flea market and farmer's market.  I picked up goodies for each one of the kiddos, and we bought Mary a way-cute dress for her birthday at a funky little second hand store.  (You're right.  We got off cheap.  I'll mail her a gift card.)

On the topic of Mary's birthday, we celebrated with frozen yogurt later that evening and a walk around our nation's Capitol, sans tourists.  Well, only a small group of crazies on Segways.  But otherwise, quiet and peaceful.
 






















And sniff, sniff, it was time to drive Molly to the airport for her flight home to Detroit. 

But don't be sad.  Molly is considering a move to DC to be a potato lobbyist.  Mary - employed by the big beef lobby - told her about the job and Molly thinks it's a perfect fit for her.  She loves all things potato!

And we're not sad.  We're already planning the next trip.  We considered the vineyards of California; for a fleeting moment.  Decided we're not hip enough.  The casual, car-free atmosphere of Makinac Island sounds better suited for us.

You know, perhaps it seems silly to have flown all the way to DC to pick berries in the hills of Virginia.  But, there's nothing silly about spending a little time with your mom and your sisters.  Together.  It was seriously worth the trip.

Mom was right...

Turns out, my mom was right about a lot of things.

She was right about Hamburger Helper.  That stuff's just not good for you.

She was right about plucking my eyebrows.  "Sometimes it hurts to be beautiful, sweetie."

And about chasing a college education and a career.  She knew I'd set it all aside to raise my babies one day.

She was right about reading books, never leaving the house without mascara and putting family first.

But the one thing she really had right.  The thing that put her way ahead of her time.  Our dinner plates.





















About three weeks ago, the USDA released the new Choose My Plate visual aid, replacing the antiquated and complicated food pyramid. 

For at least the past thirty-two years, this is how the dinner plates at my childhood home have looked.  A fruit, a vegetable, meat, bread and milk.  But always, a fruit and vegetable.

I put up plenty of fuss.  I was certainly no angel!  I smashed peas under my dinner plate.  Forced myself to gag on hominy.  Preferred extra servings of meat and bread and milk. 

But, my mom made sure the fruits and vegetables were there.  Every meal.

And it only took thirty-two years for the USDA to vindicate her meal-time choices.  It took me about twenty years to get it right and really get serious about making fruits and vegetables a priority. 

I have said a word (or two) about the new USDA dietary guidelines, no need to repeat myself.  But I wanted you to see the new dinner plate.  It's simple.  Easy to understand.  Do-able.

And while it pains me to give credit to the current federal administration - much like it's painful to admit when mom is right - I should give credit where credit is due.

Thank you USDA, First Lady and super-smart graphic design folks!  This dinner plate thing deserves my sincerest "thank you."

(My mother said so.)

The Inaugural Camping Experience

We survived our first family camping trip.  And if you forget about the rain, the frightening gust of wind and collapsing tent, well then, you could even call it fun.

The kids definitely thought the trip was fun.  Dirt digging, crawdad hunting, hot dog eating, no bath taking fun.

We arrived at Wilson Lake with almost everything we needed for the weekend.  Except matches.  Thank goodness for friendly park rangers.

We then unloaded our gear and successfully put up our (massive, yet accommodating) eight-foot-tall-tent, and met up with Brent's cousin, Scott, and his son, Jack, for a trip around the lake on their boat.

While swimming in a cove, cloudy skies turned to rain.  Rain turned to wind.  We feared for our eight-foot-tall-tent.  We buzzed across the lake to see our campsite.  And a collapsed tent.  As the men climbed up to re-establish the tent, I could see towards the west huge swirls of dust blowing our direction.  Did I forget to mention that I was holding the boat in the water while four small children waited along the shore?

Now back to those swirls of dust.  That wind hit the water and what was happening before my eyes looked like something that should be happening in the middle of an ocean.  Not on a lake in the middle of Kansas.  That wind gust blew "spray" across the water and I watched the wind race toward us.

"Jack, hold onto Nell," I yelled as I braced the boat as if I could protect it from the nearby rocks.  The wind and spray lashed at us.  Tears and cries came from the four small children.  Two worried daddies raced down to the shore.

Well, that wasn't exactly something I had considered to be a part of our first camping experience.

Moving on.


Boat to the marina.  Set the tent up.  Again.  Cook burgers with Scott and Jack in the comfort of their cabin. 
 

Explore nearby ponds, caves and wildlife.

 

Watch the sun set on a beautiful, still evening on the lake.

 Patiently wait while Daddy starts a fire to cook Smores.

Get into the marshmallows while not-so-patiently waiting for Daddy to build a fire to cook Smores.
























 Create a wonderful ending to a rough start of a camping trip.

















Ahhh...peaceful.

About two hours later.  The wind came back.  Why am I not surprised?  Some really, really, really smart folks have built the largest wind farm in the state of Kansas just a couple miles south of Wilson Lake.  Guess they knew what they were doing.

The tent held up quite well.  I should know.  I listened to the wind beat against the tent all night long.  Waiting for the worst.  Around 4:00 am, the southwest support pole gave way.  Brent supported it with his feet while trying to sleep in Nell's pink sleeping bag.  (Hilarious.)  By 6:30 am, the entire southern half of the tent gave way, caving in on Brent, Tucker and Noah.

We got up.  Got dressed.  Fed the kids a hot dog and a bun for breakfast.  I'd like to meet the man who could have started a fire and cooked monkey bread and scrambled eggs for the kids in that wind.

One quick trip down to the water to hunt for sea shells, and the inaugural Goss Family Camping Experience came to an abrupt ending. 

Tired mommy + tired daddy = time to go home.

After a shower, a nap, and some time to reflect, I have decided there was just enough good to compensate for all the bad.  I'm not yet giving up on conquering nature and creating dirt digging, crawdad hunting, hot dog eating, no bath taking fun for my family.

Just as soon as we buy a camper...