In case this slipped by you, our focus in the paper this time is FFA, which means “Future Farmers of America.” I thought it might tie in with that theme if I were to blather on incessantly about how the family farm is almost a relic of the past and how corporate farming has taken over, etc. However, I decided not to do this because I didn’t want to depress the members of FFA or myself, now that I ponder.
I had visions of imparting memories of my youth pertaining to farming but am NOT going to do that. Do you understand that I will avoid the topic at all costs? I will not sob violently whilst typing about how this way of life is fading fast.
Also, I won’t discuss how directly “behind” this property there was once a delightful farm that was owned by my father’s family.
Grandma and Grandpa Houserman owned what became the “Sanderson Farm,” many moons ago. (Actually, I think it had an official name but we called it “The Farm Above” or just “Sanderson’s.” Grandma and Grandpa H. didn’t farm the land but simply lived in the large white farmhouse which matched the barn.
In fact, this house and the house next door, in which I grew up, are both perched on land that was once part of that particular farm “region,” so to speak. My parents started out married life in the big white farmhouse and I think “Pumpkin,” their favorite child, was born up there but I could be wrong. (What I mean is that she spent her first few months of life on the farm “above.” She was born in a hospital.)
So, as you can see, I’m not going to talk about this at all. I refuse to revisit my youth and bring to light stories about some of the farming kids with whom I went to school. I won’t mention people like Patty McMaster (Oswald now) and her family or the above-mentioned Sanderson clan or the Rendulics of Shermansville, for three examples. I simply will not do this.
Patty and her twin, Pam, would rise at 4 in the morning, milk cows wildly and then fall back into bed for something like ten minutes. They thought it was the greatest thing to be able to fall back into bed for an additional ten minutes of sleep, after the morning chores.
I think that is kind of an adorable memory, even though I might be getting it wrong. Keep in mind, I’m recalling events that took place when I was in something like eighth grade, a thousand years ago.
I won’t talk about how corporate or “factory farming” is not only leading to the destruction of the family farm but has also led to major pollution and other hideous issues. All sorts of chemicals are used in the food and in the animals actually, when it comes to that type of farming. (I can’t think of any other word for farm or farming so I shall just continue to be redundant.) You will NOT hear or read anything of the sort from this woman!
We used to tease my father back in the day because, after I got my first horse in 1978, he would make arrangements for me to get a load of hay from one of the many farmers he knew. For some odd reason, he would stop to “check the load” along the way to make sure that it wasn’t going to fall off the 1970 Chevy pick-up with the homemade wooden bed. He ALWAYS seemed to have to “check the load” in front of a local farmer’s house! My friend Kim Abbott and I would always joke with him about this. We thought he was showing off more or less in some manner—and he probably was.
The funny thing is that he was more than likely wearing a sports jacket and nice slacks whilst hauling a rather large load of hay. That was my father for you. For those who knew him in real life, none of this will come as a shock at all.
Veering back to not talking about the McMasters for a minute, I remember spending the night there and helping with the chores the one day. WOW is about all I can muster in terms of the work involved. Larry (the dad) yelled at me because one of the “doodads” slipped off of the cow’s teat on my watch or something and evidently that can or could lead to issues of sorts. He just scolded me as he would his own kid, I guess. I adored that man and was so sad when he died tragically. Wow, I am doing a great job of NOT reflecting on my youth and my times with farming friends, huh?
I always describe this area as a farming community and a resort area rolled into one. I confess that I feel kind of depressed that the description isn’t as accurate as it once was. I also have noticed that I sound like I’m 120 years old and am reflecting on the famous “good old days.” (I did just have a birthday but did not turn 120.)
I wonder what the future holds for an organization like FFA. I believe someone told me that there aren’t nearly as many members as there once were which is a bit sad. I think in this area that it will most likely always exist due to our rich farming heritage.
Well, I didn’t do a very good job of NOT talking about the things I said I wouldn’t discuss but at least I filled this space. I can’t really think of anything else to say at this time so I shall end by simply thanking the area farmers for all they do for us. I will also tip a hat (bandanna currently) to the FFA advisers and students. I hope this continues along for many years to come.
All we can do is be as supportive as possible of the local growers and milkers and all other words associated with farming. Perhaps we can purchase produce and other items from our area farmers as much as humanly possible. I’m thinking any sort of support helps in the long run.
I don’t really have a cute way to wrap this up with a giant bow and all that jazz so I shall simply sign off.
THE END (Interstate Crosscheck, “War is a Racket” by General Smedley Butler, “Where Did the Towers Go?” by Dr. Judy Wood)