Saturday, April 29, 2006

Swinging Wild.

Obvious injustice. Legally arrived at. Seems somehow familiar. Welcome to America, Kiddies.
Judge Dean, a widely respected 20-year veteran of the Dallas criminal bench, said he wouldn't discuss the two cases because he might have to rule on them again someday. In general, he said, he tries to evaluate "the potential danger to the community" when someone violates probation "and what, in the long run, is going to be in the best interest of the community and the person themselves."
Article in the Dallas Morning News.

Hard Candy.

“I f*cking hate Goldfrappe.”

I’m exhausted, but not sleepy. Just watched one of the most intense movies of my life. Irreversible included. Do yourself a favor and watch this movie before it leaves the theaters. My muscles were wobbly as I walked out from being held clentched for too long.

Friday, April 28, 2006

The Cockpit Ain't A Bar.

Wagering on cock fighting and on dog fighting, two of the most honorable small town pastimes of past *cough* eras. Years ago there was a well known dog fighting pit in the eastern part of the county. I think that after some bad PR (perhaps it was the cy-dog breeding) in the late 70s the cops finally were forced by the public to shut it down. I don’t know if that really stopped the fights or just drove them further underground. Less a question, and more an open secret would be the profusion trailers with yards filled with blue barrels, each chaining it’s own rooster. Now, I’ve never been invited to a cock fight. Wrong circles. I don’t know they happen too often. But I do suspect that Knox County isn’t know nationwide for breeding amazing chickens. Thicker thighs, meatier breasts, redder combs, don't come knocking around here. The houses that most usually sport the blue barrel infestation are the same ones that are later pictured in the paper for their propensity to chemically abuse cough medicines.

They shore is priddy though.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

The Tough Coughs As He Ploughs The Dough.

When it was found that corn was required this year I had about a week’s window for getting the ground plowed so that I could disc it twice before planting and get the planting done before the first cutting of hay was to be mowed down. My dad had written me a two page letter attempting to explain plowing to a farming n00b. I solicited extra plowing advice from some guy named Jeff.

It took me from last Thursday till tonight to finish plowing two smallish fields. I was held up by the rain, by playing ultimate, by dismantling my car, by women’s pro football, by breaking the plow (and minorly, the tractor), and by moving cows. But it’s done.

I broke the plow Monday evening but my Uncle’s hunting buddy, down to hunts the wild turkey was willing and able to weld me back together on Tuesday. Someday I won’t be so lucky and will be forced to learn the clever arts of cutting torch and stick welding myself.

Plows are badass pieces of machinery. I take my farmer hand and make the earth to do my bidding. "Flip over, Earth, flip over."
Each share (blade) cuts and flips over a 7inchish thick piece of sod. My plow has five blades. They are shiny. And pretty. My tractor has somewhere around 50 horsies* available. My tractor struggled at times pulling my plow through my soils. How ancient (pre-internal combustion engine) peoples with only a couple of horses available to pull a plow ever got anything done is beyond me.

* you car people have a stilted view of what a horsepower is and does.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Turkey's Don't Moo.

This morning I got up early to move the calves and the cows and the calves to their next pasture. So I could go to prison. The turkeys are gobbling back in the woods at 6:15 in the morning. The wild turkey population, like the coyote population, has been recently booming in the county of Knox. What I noticed this morning is that gobbling turkeys make a noise remarkably like the word gobble. Cows do not moo. They make a noise that sounds exactly like a phone on vibrate that at the end tilts sharply up in pitch. Try spelling that.

Prison is far away. Almost two hours. Plus any additional time you may spend sitting behind the school busses. I had to go today because while two weeks ago I was sure I would have a whole bunch of excess hay and that therefore I could get away with growing only hay his next year and not any corn, the weather conspired against me with a fistful of 32 degree nights artfully placed to reach maximum lack of grass growth, and that made me use up all my excess hay and suddenly it was back to the place where I would need to grow the corn and the hay to be able to survive the next winter but I had only found this out the day before… *breathe in* and I needed to talk this over with my dad. Who is in prison.

Corn is far more complicated than hay. But I think I might grow to like it better if all my machines don’t break down on the same day. Prison is strange. Prisoners, felons especially, are given no consideration for anything. Even your normal gov’t bureaucracy slows down to the most plodding of paces. Because, naturally, who gives a fuck about a convicted felon? Having been found guilty of whatever the charge, they deserve no rights. Before having a dad in prison, this made sense.
Thing about it is, you know, he’s not guilty. Those of you who knew me and saw me when this thing first went down might have heard me confess that I didn’t know if he had flown out of control and done something against the law. I didn’t know, and it was certainly within his power. I did claim that if his side of the story was true, he would be absolved. Turns out, and it came out during the trial, he was telling the truth. I could believe it after I saw it played out. The flaw with my thinking was that a jury of peers and shit would settle things then and there.
But the verdict came back wrong. And now my dad is friends with some strange men. Embezzlers. Rapists. Drug Dealers. Murderers. Sex Offenders. Lots of Sex Offenders. We go and chat and liven up his day a bit. He tells me what all I’ve been doing wrong on the farm. What all I need to do in the near future to fix all that. He tells us little stories about what goes on, on the inside. Funny vignettes with funny little characters. I try to picture these stories taking place and pretend while I’m there that I can. Then I walk outside and see the real prisoners taking a smoke break and it crashes down. I don’t know. I can’t know.

A Hole Large Enough You Could Drive.

Uncle Doug bought a backhoe.
Construction grade, John Deere.
Some years ago.
Probably doesn't need it, but.
Dug some ditches.
Straightened some rivers.

Fell through a barn floor once.
It's been parked in the main bank barn at my Uncle's place most the winter.
A storm rolled up Friday morning.
Doug decided it was good day to wash the behemoth off.
He got halfway to the door.
Fell through a barn floor twice. This is a picture of halfaways through extraction.
Tempers were hot when I arrived and the beast was still stuck.
A photojournalist in Iraq I am not.
But here's the gaping hole she left.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

___NOTICE___

This property is an agricultural district.
At times dust, noises, spraying, insects,
and odors occur due to normal farming
activities. Anyone interested in locating
near this property should take it’s current
use into consideration.
___FARM BUREAU___

Rural Sprawl.

Guest Post - Bradley Hull

‘Go West young man’- Manifest Destiny, the idea that there is more/better land just over the horizon is a cultural tradition in America. Unfortunately that ‘destiny’ was achieved generations ago, but the idea is still ingrained in the American psyche. We hear about hundreds of thousand of acres of rain forest lost each year (the size of the state of Delaware annually), and are outrage by this misuse of resources/environmental injustice. But no one pays much attention when this type of destruction occurs right in front of them- because it is masked with the term ‘development’. We live in a system where growth is necessary. Who ever talks about equilibrium anymore?

Knox County was a quiet little rural county for generations. People grew sheep. Then cows and corn. Now soybeans. Land was cheap because farmers are poor. In the 1960’s farming families started to ‘move into town’- for some of our family that meant Fredericktown or Mount Vernon. It was unheard of to own a house in a field that was not a farm. This meant that rural areas were rural. Sometime between then and now something changed. People from the cities and the towns decided they wanted to live in the ‘country’. And thus the suburbanisation/gentrification of the farming landscape began.

Our valley contained 6 ‘farms’, or the amount of land one man could work a year successfully- as defined in the 1830’s. Our families own three of them, and in the early 1980’s the other three were purchased from the old families by a guy named Buster K. Lychan*. Now this Lychan was a farmer after a sort- actually he was a little unhinged, but he worked the land. So one day in 2002, we hear from one of the neighbours that Lychan is planning on selling up. The neighbours on three sides get together and make Buster K. an offer for the farms- with each of the families taking the acreage closest to them.

The reason we were so keen to do this is that there is about 20 acres separating the two main farms and with increasing amount of traffic on the Old Mansfield Road, it is not unheard of to be overtaken on a hill by some moron who can not wait 30 seconds while you have a load of hay on the tractor/wagon. This is obviously very dangerous for whoever is on the tractor- and there have been many close calls. (I always find it ironic that 180 years ago it was members of my family who helped cut that road through the forest.)

Well Buster K. turned down the offer because he said he wanted more money. We found out later that he had more than 2.8 million dollars worth of loans out on a little over 200 acres- that’s just insane. So the next thing we know the farms are split up and are to be auctioned off piece by piece. Initially things go well at the auction. The neighbours all get the acreage they want. But then the auctioneer pulls a fast one- because his commission is determined by percentage. Instead of accepting the bids from several families, he re-offers the whole farm as a single unit. A phone call comes in from an outside bidder and they raise the bid by $75,000. Lychan realises that something is up, and tries to make a side deal with us, but the auctioneer call the auction closed, and the sale final. Little did we know then, but the valley was well and truly lost.

The land was purchased by a company called Country Tyme. Now, let’s be clear from the outset: all realtors/developers are the lowest form of human life. But the nice folks at Country Tyme make your average Bank One/ReMax realtor look like they belong on the right hand of God. Imagine Quasimodo with a briefcase and an evil disposition. Several of our neighbours will not even speak to anyone associated with this company. In an effort to preserve as much of the valley as possible, we had a meeting with some Country Tyme representatives. We made a good offer, but they wanted 3 times more- to cover expenses they claimed. When we said it was ridiculous they effectively threatened us with whole suburban developments- up to 400 homes they smirked.

The Knox County version of Wisteria lane has not appeared yet. But the land was broken up into various lots- each sold at 15 times its actual agricultural value. More than 30 available ‘lots’. And morons from the cities have bought them up. So far we have 1 McMansion, 2 Crapshacks, and a Modular home. In place of fields that produced food, we have ramps for fourwheelers, drive ways for boats, and people, more and more people. People who will eventually have a problem with they way a cow looks at them, then sue us for having animals on a farm we’ve had since before Ohio was a state. Ah, development.

So you asked, is this just a case of NIMBY? (Not in my back yard) No- it is a single example of a growing and frankly terrifying trend in the ‘breadbasket’ of the US. The loss of agricultural land. Save your crocodile tears. Take a minute to think about food. Where did the ingredients for your frozen pizza come from? How bout that delicious frappachino? You never think about it, really. We take for it all for granted. Ask a kid where a hamburger comes from and he’ll tell you McDonald’- not a cow. Take a look at one state- Ohio:

Since 1995, more than a million acres of farmland have been converted into housing developments, strip malls, condos, etc. Almost as much land loss as rainforest loss in Brazil. The land no longer produces anything. And if you’ve ever visited one of these great new ‘communities’, I’m sure you’ll agree we need more condominiums and Wal-Marts. A day will eventually come when we won’t have enough land left to produce the ingredients for our ever increasing waistlines. Don’t worry, I sure soilent green will be available by then.


Lord of the Barnyard - *name changed so if anyone trys to google his real name they don't find this. The county of Knox is the one directly above where the word Columbus is on the map (centerish).

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

The Confederacy's National Anthem.

It was warm last Friday. Rusty called me after work and told me to get ready to go to Kenyon College.
We had previously discussed driving to Kenyon in our work clothes, in my farm truck. The plan also included buying a six pack and sitting on lawn chairs in the bed and gawking at the coeds. But my truck is currently fuel-tankless. Cars aren't made for gawking. So we took showers and put on not poopy clothes. Which was okay too, cause Gambier is the only place within 50 miles with a decent art gallery, decent coffee shop, decent bookstore, and decent girls.
Dan Emmett is from Mount Vernon, Ohio. And you ask, "Who the hell is Dan Emmett?" because you are no patriot. He was the first blackface minstrel. He fell into the ashes of a cork tree fire and was stuck with a beautiful thought. And he wrote Dixie. You know, "“Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land." Every year we commemorate his wonderfully productive life and forward thinkingness with the Dan Emmett Music & Arts Festival. Complete with little silhouette minstrel logo. Mount Vernonians are really known to class a joint up.

Ben and Lou

Several years ago the Snowden Family claimed that they were in fact the authors of Dixie and that Emmett was a sham. So a professor at Kenyon looked into it. Wrote a book entitled Way Up North In Dixie. The book describes Knox County in the late 1850s. The author came to the conclusion that, while there is no proof, it is more than likely the Snowdens (who were quite black and very recently not slaves) penned Dixie. Which makes sense if you note that the song tells the satirical tale of an ex-slave living up north and pining for his previous life living it up on a plantation.

Rusty picked up the book and started leafing through it, giggling, as he is wont to do. Showed it to me. I flipped through it and noticed that there was a town on the map that no longer exists. Then I saw a passage that claimed that there was a marker on the grave of the two Snowden brothers who were reputedly the ones to teach the song to Dan. And that the grave was located in a graveyard next to a clapboard church, three miles north of Dan Emmett's own grave. Now, everyone in Mount Vernon knows where Emmett'’s gave is. And five miles north of Emmett's gave is, my farm. But I couldn'’t think of any graveyards or churches between town and my place.

We, of course, had to see the gravestone, because it purported to claim ownership of Dixie on the stone itself. We drove the three miles north from Emmett. And came to the middle of no graveyard. I pulled into the nearest neighbor's drive and asked there if there were any old graveyards in the vicinty. And there was indeed. Right next to an old church. One turn and mile later we found it. After twnety minutes of trying to dicipher age old gravestones we found it.
The proof was ours. Everybody knows graves don'’t lie.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Rock is my make-believe Dracula.

Neko Case has a new album. And a fancy new website.

I have a terrible taste in music. I know it, I'm ok with it. Peaches, t.A.T.u., Gold Chains, Th' Legendary Shack-Shakers. I enjoy to listen to these bands. I can wholly understand why other people would be well inclined to stay away.

But, to the same extent, I know when what I enjoy is quality. When other people should be introduced. Drive By Truckers, Arcade Fire, Subset*, Loretta Lynn. I understand why critics like them.

Neko has pipes.
Neko has red hair.
Neko writes better than you.
Neko is smoking hot.
Blacklisted.
Neko has a phenomenal band backing her.
Neko is country in every way that NASCAR isn't.
Maow.
Corn Sisters.
New Pornographers. Even if,
The New Pornographers are wasted on Neko.

The new album is fox confessor brings the flood.
Don't buy it at a record store. Drive to Virginia on the 11th and buy it from her.

"Hanging the Livestock, Burning..."

Barns. The farm has three barn barns.
And many many other outbuildings like quonset huts and corn cribs and garages and sea shipping containers and hangers and milking parlors and spring houses and pole barns and chicken coops.
Dingo's doghouse was the springhouse. Darwin's doghouse is this ratty looking corncrib.The barn barns are old. Old old.
I'm not real good with the emphasis part of writing.
The barn at the Merrin place marks the date it was erected. And the start of the Civil War. No slaves were used to build her. The other two I don't know the exact date for. The only one with the required barn-red red is the newest one. All three houses are also as old as their respective barns, but because we live in them they are repaired and rebuilt and added onto much more extensively, effectively hiding the original appearance. The barns however were built with lumber cleared from the land here, rough-hewed with hand axes to create the poles, and fitted together with wooden pegs instead of nails.
It's amazing what some people can do. Especially those dead ones.
An untreated wooden structure exposed to year-round sun, innumerable violent storms, freezing and thawing a thousand times, will fall apart. The surrounding county is littered with half-collapsed and dead pool worthy barn carcasses. Tempting to us hicks with 4wd trucks and log chains at our bored disposal.
My main hay barn has issues. Less the regular rot and collapse issues and more the "not designed with tractors in mind" type issues. When I first got home my tractor stuck a hole in the floor. When we stopped pulling up rotting floor, we were left with a hole 8'x12'. That was patched. Now my roof on the main addition is falling in. Mostly from being very gently tapped by a cotton-candy tractor lugging a hovercraft of a haybale.
So this week my cousin's cousin Becky and my uncle and I shall try to return one more barn to usability. Sometimes it's nice to have a life that is measured almost exclusively very measurable things. I have 36 calves. I have 75 bales of hay. I do not have an 8x12 foot hole.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Cow Bio - Scarf


Scarf is that funny looking calf. Scarf has mittens. Mittens belong on kittens, not calveses. Nevertheless.

Beyond that. People have asked how the farming goes. How I'm handling it. I'm not. By that I don't mean I'm not coping, but that up till and including now, no farmer would call what I've done "farming." I've taken the corn silage and hay that my dad grew and harvested from their respective containers and fed them to his cows. That is all.
Come May I must start to harvest my own foodstuffs to keep my cattles alive through the next turning of the earth. My Dad and I decided to not grow any corn this year. This makes things a little easier on me, but it also will mean that from May till August I will be fighting the weather and the machines nonstop. Every available field will be turned to hay. Anyone have a free week to volunteer to help out?

I saw Inside Man and it was surprisingly good.
I saw V for Vendetta and it was disappointingly bad. Kudos to Alan Moore for disowning it.

Braincoians, Hope Me.

I need to write an ad for my beef. But I’ve been having problems kick starting my inner copywriter. That’s where all you graduates and drop outs come in handy.

My first problem is the problem all clients have. I want to say too much. I was thinking of running ads about the size of a City Pages quarter-page. I need to sell what is called "freezer beef." All the cuts you’d get from the butcher, but all of them at once. Most people have never bought beef this way. It needs to be explained in the ad. I don’t really think I want it to have too much concept, this ad will never ever appear in anyone’s book.

My second problem is the idea of grass-fed organic beef. There is absolutely nothing special about this beef. This is just beef as it has always been raised since we domesticated cattle, what, 10,000 years ago. The only reason it is better than everything else on the market is that in the last couple decades we started feeding our cows unhealthy shit like cow brains and keeping them penned up in standing room only feedlots. It’s not any innovative improvement on how beef is raised.
I’m having problems selling what appears to me to be something so stunningly obvious that it hardly needs saying. My only luck comes when I talk about how crap the feedlot process is, but that’s not a good way to sell quality beef.

Here’s my mom’s email she sends to people who request info:

We charge $1.75/# hanging weight for the meat (average comes to $260-300/ quarter depending on the individual critter) and have it processed at Dee Jay's Processing here in Fredericktown, OH. The cost is about $75-85 /qtr depending on how you have it done (888-DJS-MEAT or 740-694-7492). You tell the processor what type of cuts you want, how many to a package, how thick, etc. They walk you through it. These costs are competitive with grain-fed, non-organic, lord-knows-where-it-came-from meat. Our meat is very tasty and tender and lean (thus we think you get more actual meat for your dollar). If you want to place an order either e-mail or call us (740-397-4664) and we will put you on our list.


Here’s what my dad would want in an ad:

That the price is competitive with grain fed beasties.
That they are being raised on a farm which has been organic for over 25 years.
That they are 100% grassfed Angus which means the meat is incredibly lean.
and possibly, That they have more good proteins.


Here’s the poo I’ve excremented on a page so far:

local organic grass-fed Angus beef
sold by the quarter 1.75 per pound

Grass fed beef is different from grain fed. Most of the meat you will find out there is grain fed.
The reason we feed grass is that cows are ruminates, built to eat grass.
Grass fed is the alternative to feedlot beef.

beef raised the old-world way.
without pesticides.
without grain finishing
without overcrowding.

it’s not healthy to feed a cow grain. cows are ruminates, grass eaters.
when you feed grain, you don’t need to provide the land for them to forage on, why not keep them in the barn?

somewhere along the line of raising beef we Americans stopped thinking right. stopped feeding them the foods they needed. start

raised the way nature intended a cow to be raised. On open pasture land, under the sun, and without unnatural foods and chemicals.

ask a kid to draw a cow.
you get a black and white beastie with horns in a field.

cows eat grass. any five year old could tell you that.
most beef farmers today would tell you that a cow ain’t “finished” till it’s
but as farms became run more and more like factories, scaling up in size and eking out profit from every area, certain things were ignored.
Cows are designed to eat grass.

it is a very rare thing when humans improve on mother nature. feedlots to put grain into cows to fatten them up at the end of their life, is not one of those rare times.

we didn’t figure out how to do it better than mother nature.

10,000 years ago cows ate grass.
1,000 years ago cows ate grass.
40 years ago cows ate grass.
Most of the beef you can buy out there is now grain fed. The people responsible for selling this feedlot variety of beef will tell you that it’s fatty marbled-ness makes it taste better.
Living in a feedlot is not healthy.
Eating something your body isn’t designed to eat is not healthy.

If you ask a child to draw a cow he will put the cow in a pasture. Because that’s where cows go. Even he can tell you that a cow eats grass.
That we have to special-raise cows now to be “grass fed” is silly.

Grass fed beef is better than grain fed. Most meat out there is grain fed.
The reason we feed grass is simple, cows are ruminates, built to consume grass.

It’s sad that our beef needs so many descriptors, but if your package just says ‘beef’ you can probably count on it being shipped, full of pesticides, and finished on grain.

Organic is natural. Nature has done a good enough job so far, we’ll let her keep going.
Cows are ruminates, built to consume grass.
So we feed them grass. The cows are healthier and so is the meat.
Angus is tasty.

Angus is tasty. Grass-fed angus is tasty and healthy and happy. Organic grass fed angus is tasty and heathly and happy and safe.

organic most people know about. free from man made chemicals

Grass fed beef is different from grain fed. Most meat out there is grain fed.
The reason we feed grass is that cows are ruminates, built to consume grass.
Grass fed isn’t new and different and trendy, it’s the old and natural way to raise beef. Grain fed is the “new and different” way to raise a cow, and now we’re beginning to see that it doesn’t work so well.
feedlots are stuffy and overcrowded.
pastures are wide and in the open air.
grain is digested too quickly, resulting in physical ailments and oversized fatty muscles.
grass is digested slowly, resulting in even growth, though slower.
grain fed meat is unhealthy to eat. that’s the red meat your doctor warned you about.
grass fed beef is entirely different. it’s lower in fat and calories. extra omega 3s.

grass fed beef does taste different.

it’s the differnece between a body bulider and a hard working man.
It’s sad, but a list of the reasons to eat grass fed beef is really a list of the reasons not to eat grain fed beef.
Grass fed beef are healthier. Grain fed beef have physical problems resulting from their diet. For example, they can have acid build up from digesting the grain too fast.
Grass fed beef are lower in stress. They live in their natural environment, the pasture. Grain fed beef don’t need to forage and so they are kept in feedlots.

Most all the reasons that exist for feed

A grass fed animal is happier. That may sound trite, but it’s true.
They are out running around in the fields rather than cooped up in a barn or feed lot. This does a lot for their psyche.

Natural
Nutritious
Safe
Healthy

Our cows are born and raised

on a generation-spanning family farm. a closed system which uses no pesticides and as little off-farm input as possible. Cows are ruminates, built to consume grass. Grass-fed cows are healthier while living and healthier for you.
Angus is the breed.

Cows are ruminates, built to consume grass.

All cows are built to eat grasses.
Most beef cows are fed grain.

Cows that eat only grass will be healthier.

Compared with grass-fed meat, grain-fed meat contains more total fat, saturated fat, and calories.

Cows that spend their entire lives eating grasses are healthier than those whose diet has been switched to grains.


Here is my small-type explanation of how freezer beef works:

If you’ve never bought beef directly from the farmer, here’s how it works.

The minimum amount we sell is a quarter of a cow. You don’t get to choose which quarter, it’s an average quarter of the available meat on the animal. If you want a half or even a whole, that’s fine too. To hold a quarter of a beef you will need freezer space. The one attached to your refrigerator will not be enough. You will need…
You call us at 740 397 4664 and tell us what amount you’d like. When an entire cow is accounted for, we take the animal in to DeeJay’s to be processed. They weigh the animal. We bill you $1.75 per pound of hanging weight. The average is between $260 and $300 per quarter.
They call you to find out how you would like your meat cut (how thick your steaks, what cuts, etc.) They walk you through this part. They charge you for the cuts separate from what you pay us for the meat itself. The cost is about $80 per quarter, depending on what you have done. They will tell you when the processing will be complete.
You drive to Fredericktown to pick up your beef.


And here is the website explaining grassfed to the uninitiated:

Eat Wild

So there is your assignment from me. Send me an email. Reply in the comments. Make it funny. Make it serious. Make it sell. These ads will be running in the Columbus alt newsweekly, The Other Paper. If I use an idea someone else comes up with, all credit will be yours, and a steak will be brought when I come to visit Chi-town and Murderapolis, sometime in mid-May. Thanks.