A Good First Time Heifer & Her Baby

Just like that, we had a baby and now she's two months old.

I'm not quite sure why time passes by so quickly when you are trying to embrace the most precious of moments, but it does.  Our little Glick Seed has gone from a tiny baby resting in our arms, to a wiggle worm with so much personality already that I'm unsure how my husband is going to survive us both.

I expressed to my husband recently that I thought I was a good momma cow.  

(Yes, this is how I think in terms of motherhood because of growing up on a farm.)  

His reply started with, "No...." which I thought he would say something about not being a cow, but no, like any good farmer he went back to the farm reference.

He finished by saying, ".....honey, you are what we call a good first time heifer."

"Oh.......thanks honey, I really do take that as a compliment."

And I do, a good momma cow is well respected by her herd and the farmer.

I really have to give thanks to my husband for the nice compliment only a farmer's wife would understand and for his patience.  I don't have to thank him for his help because he should be doing that anyway, I mean she is half his.

We respect each other enough to know we both have to chip in and make sacrifices for each other and her.  And when I do thank him for something random, his response is always, "I'm happy to do it".  

And I know he truly means it.

While I will be raising my little girl to love fancy things.....

.....he will be teaching her about the family business and helping her get her hands dirty.

And we both will teach her where she came from and where she can go. 

And now that the corn is turning from it's bright summer green to the harvest brown, the little Glick Girl is changing from a tiny baby to a chubby, smiley baby with lots of personality and curiosity. 

So as the time flies and the seasons change, we will continue to cherish and enjoy the precious moments with our little Miss Mae and those well respected cows.

The Stories Along the Back Roads & Dead Ends

We recently celebrated our two year wedding anniversary.

A lot has happened in two years and a lot will happen in the next two years.

Sometimes I can't get over how time flies when you are living life and creating your story.

For our anniversary we stayed in Story, Indiana at the Story Inn.

There's not much in Story, and honestly I think it really only has 2 residents--the owners of the inn.

I had been there a few times for their annual wine festival, for drinks with my once boyfriend now husband and for brunch after delivering a bull in Freetown, Indiana which isn't far from Story.

However, after staying there a few nights and spending days on the front porch of our rented house, there is a lot in Story.  There are lots of stories--ones created from the first settlers back in the early 1800s to the once thriving community that later never recovered from the Great Depression.

Today, Story seems like a paradise at a dead end along the back roads of Indiana.

Hoosiers that know the area, and other guests that have visited Story, understand that dead ends are sometimes the best places to continue your journey and your story.  Bikers, horseback riders, lovers of Indiana history, out-for-a-Sunday drive folks and those that enjoy a quiet, dead end know that Story is the place to visit.

My husband and I had finished our brunch and were wandering around the garden when he turns to me and says, "Let's go on a drive."  My immediate response was, "No, I drive all the time.  I'm sick of the road."

"No" he says, "I want to show you something."  

And that he did.

We hopped in the truck and down the gravel roads to "The Town That Was", Elkinsville, Indiana.  

I wanted to read the sign from the truck but he said, "Get out.  Just believe me."

He knows me pretty well, except that he didn't bring tissues so he must still be learning.

These families had to leave their little town so the federal government could build a reservoir 

for other families and other towns.  

I bawled.  I couldn't handle it.  

Tears were dripping down my face and he was laughing because he knew that I would love to see this and honor these people at this dead end.

I loved this memorial for the people that had to move so other families could have water and now enjoy what many of us in the area know as Lake Monroe.  But what's worse is that they actually didn't really have to move.  Someone miscalculated the elevation levels and the little town didn't need to be evacuated after all!

What I realized on this trip down another dead end road is that we are all a part of each other's story.

These people had to leave their town and so did so many others so that the reservoir could be built.  As a kid and a teenager, I went boating and swimming there and didn't even think about the families that had to leave their homes.  Even though without their stories, those memories wouldn't be a part of my story.

We headed down the road and came upon this house.  

I was staring at this once beautiful home with this fence and the open gate when I heard, "Those flowers are annuals.  Someone had to come and plant those and probably does every year." 

Again, I lost it, realizing that someone was trying to continue 

to honor the story of the residents that once lived here.

We turned down another road, and yet another dead end. 

An abandoned bridge that once connected one town to another and neighbors to neighbors.

There were stories on one side and on the other.  

And I wondered how many stories were created on that bridge too.

When I was in D.C. last week, I sat in a meeting room of the National Museum of American History discussing the new exhibit American Enterprise.  My fellow farmers and agriculture advocates were meeting with the exhibit curator about incorporating agriculture into the exhibit today and what it may look like in the next 20 years (the length of the exhibit).  I realized that my conversations were going to influence him to tell our story, the farmer and agriculture story, for generations to come just like those featured in the exhibit have influenced my life, my story.

I was also advocating for agriculture and our farm businesses and way of life while I was in D.C.

Two days later, I was at county 4-H livestock auction realizing my story, my advocating, was going to affect the kids in the arena and the way they live out their stories.

As I reflect on the past two years and appreciate all those memories and stories, I always try to remember where it all started.  It was the day when we signed on the line and committed to a lifetime of stories together while my grandma looked on, her story leading to mine and mine to the next.

And I have always known that each one of us is connected to each other through some story.

Sometimes we just need a reminder so we remember to not forget "The Town That Was" and the lives that were.

So here we are, starting our adventures down the back roads of the next two years of our story together.  While he drives us, I'll write it all down.  And I think he has learned to bring plenty of tissues along, especially to the dead ends with all the great stories. 

The Many Shoes of a Farmer's Wife

They say that a farmer wears many hats.

But what they forget to tell you is about the farmer's wife and her many shoes.

As a farmer's wife, you have to learn how to walk and run in anything and everywhere.

You must be prepared at all times.

Well, at least somewhat.  

I had an extra pair of boots in my car for this one but was in a dress at the time.

Sometimes you have to do what you have to do in your many shoes.

As a farmer's wife, sometimes you get a call before you even get home to come and pick-up one guy in the field and take another to the farm.  And during those critical times, like planting and harvest, you have no time to change your shoes.

Heels in the fields, it happens.

Other times, you are prepared, especially on rainy days.

Other times as a farmer's wife, and hunter's wife, you notice some red stains on your once nice boots.  Then realize you have worn them around the city and to meetings all day.  But that's just part of this fancy in the country life.

As a farmer's wife, we do get off the farm and live our lives at times.  

Walking in heels around at events......

.....and enjoying a fall weekend out with the farmer and our families.

Farmers' wives become experts in the many shoes we have to wear and the sacrifices we have to make.  

We learn how to run in heels through gravel and muddy barnyards (well at least I do), and we realize that work boots and rain boots don't stay clean very long on the farm.

But it's worth it, knowing that we are supportive and stand strong no matter the type of shoe we wear.

Sometimes the farmer's wife has to step into the shoes of the farmer, 

just like my mom did when my dad passed away.

While the farmer may wear the hat, you can't really go anywhere without a great pair of shoes!

Thanks to all the farmers' wives and farmers' daughters for wearing many different shoes!

Candy from the Hunt

I have been searching for quail recipes and dreaming of another bird hunt lately.  

So I decided to share some more photos about our hunt a couple of weeks ago as I try wind down from a busy week.

If  you ever come across an interesting recipe for these quail, let me know!

These birds are from our first day of hunting in Arkansas.

Memories were made, for sure.

Here we are after our second hunt that weekend.

We were a little more successful on day two......

So after you hunt and kill the birds, you have to clean them.  

I'm not quite there yet.  And we had Gerald.  

He had a wonderful, dry sense of humor and instinct for hunting the quail.

By the end of the weekend, he had learned how to push my buttons.

Here he is cleaning the birds--removing the feathers and saving as much meat as he could.  

Then he would put them into the water to soak before freezing it.

Gerald says quail are "the candy of all the birds".

I asked him why, and he replied, "that's just what they say.  They just are."

"I believe you, Gerald."

And he went about his ways, ignoring me and cleaning the birds.
Doesn't this just look like a chicken breast?

While Gerald went on with his work, I got distracted and looked around the shed.

I stumbled across this old bag of corn.

It always seems to come comes back to corn and soybeans for me, no matter where I am.

Always a farm girl.  

Always fancy and country.

And classic me, I took 5 magazines I needed to catch-up on.  As Gerald finished cleaning the birds and I enjoyed the quiet of the country, I opened one of my favorite magazines Garden & Gun.

And lucky me, I found this fried quail recipe in the magazine which I was really excited about because we now had 20 quail, or pieces of candy, to eat.  

On Super Bowl Sunday instead of buffalo chicken wings, we had fried quail with homemade hot sauce and homemade ranch dressing.  Big step for me to fry and make homemade dressings.  

Next step, clean the birds like Gerald and continue to enjoy the candy from the hunt 

and the memories made along the way.

Why Fancy in the Country?

It was the summer of 2005 and I was roaming the streets of Chicago with my sorority sisters.  One of the girls was meeting us on Michigan Avenue for some afternoon shopping and I was directing her where to go on the phone.  When she arrived she said, "so what suburb did you grow up in?"  I said, "I grew up on a farm south of Indianapolis."  With a stunned look she said, "wait, what?!  You grew up in the country?  Well then how do you know how to get around downtown Chicago?"  

That was it.....that is when I realized I was a little different.  I grew up on a farm in the country but could still enjoy the "big cities" and the fancy clothes.  And well, I did.  I loved high heels and all things shopping but truly enjoyed the smell of pigs, the joy of the cows waking me up in the mornings and the site of that tall green corn.

So after the years of contemplating how much to share about my "Fancy in the Country" life, I'm doing it, I'm taking the leap and starting a blog. Why?  Because every so often I like a good challenge.  And I am going to challenge myself to sit down and start writing and sharing about my life and all the things that bring me joy including those high heels and the cows.

And why today?  Well today is my mom's birthday and the blog in part is dedicated to her (that would be the fancy part).  She is the most hard working, strong willed, and passionate woman I know.  The woman who I thought was crazy for loving polka dots in the '90s, but who knew they would never really go out of style. I remember hating this burgundy polka dot dress she had with this ugly belt.  Well, guess what?  I have a navy blue one that resembles that same dress today!

My mom, otherwise known as MLT, taught me about being "fancy" in the country!

In college I had to introduce myself in a few words before my new, fellow interns.  Without really thinking I said, "I like to shop and shoot."  Clearly this is still the case.  

The second part of this blog, the "country" part, is dedicated to my dad, Tim.  My dad worked in the agriculture industry and was a farmer his entire life.  When he passed away from a farming accident in November 2009, it was like time stopped for hours as the harvest air came to a standstill and the clouds seemed to loom overhead.  But even though he is physically gone, dad gave my sister, mom and I was an appreciation for the quiet and calm of the country.  The phrase, "that's overrated" and our passion for agriculture and hard work among other things.  His presence is constant and remains with me day in and day out.  

Dad also liked to give me a hard time which always kept me on my toes.  "Katie, you think too much." or "Katie, now why would you do that?" were common phrases in our house and I am forever grateful for them.  When I was in high school, my parents and I went on a Mexico Mission Trip with our church and several other families and friends.  I turned 15 on the day we were mixing the concrete for the 3 room school house we were building.  Mom was nice enough to get me a cake and some flowers which somehow made their way into a trash can (all they could find I guess) and dad thought it was just hilarious.  Katie getting flowers in a trash can!  Well, they were the most thoughtful flowers

 I have ever received.  

I have always been a farmer's daughter.  And now as a farmer's wife, I feel like I have been blessed to continue to live in the country and on a farm.  While I still work in the city and love getting dressed for cocktail parties, I am honored to be married to a farmer who works day in and day out to care for our animals, the land we live and work on and the crops he grows for people around the world.  

And since dad's death, I have felt an obligation to tell the story of agriculture.  My sister, Sarah, and I have promised to do this in honor of him and all farmers in our great country.

When my mom gave me away to my farmer, I was holding her farmer's dirty glove along with her mother's Bible and some fancy flowers.  On that day I promised myself to challenge myself in this new adventure.  And this is one way I am doing it, sharing the story of agriculture and country life with a few fancy additions along the way.

I mean you never know when that fancy dress and colorful boots will get dirty doing chores on the farm.  As mom would say, "we can look for a new dress" and as dad would say, "that's just part of it."