Our farm community lost one of its finest members on August 29^th.  That was the day Berks County farmer Ed Hartman died from leukemia.  His life of 82 years was devoted to agriculture, his fellow farmers, and his family.

Ed had a smile a mile wide, and his face would light up when he was happy about cattle prices.  His face would also be grim if he was sharing a serious concern he had about the future of farming and preserving the land.

I served with Ed for more than a decade on the Berks Agricultural Land Preservation Board and valued his dedication to the program.  His regular attendance at our monthly meetings, even when he was not feeling well, was a true indication of his deep caring and understanding about the impact this program will have on the future of agriculture in our county.  The work that was started in 1988 to keep farms in production perpetually will outlive all of us who have contributed countless hours to the cause.  Next month we will be celebrating 50,000 acres of farmland that will remain in agriculture forever.

Ed Hartman knew he wanted to be a farmer from the time he was a child.  His sons shared with me the statement that Ed wrote in his high school year book as we reminisced about his life.  As a teenager, Ed left no question about his future career in farming, and enthusiastically told how he wanted to apply modern farming practices to his chosen field.  Throughout his life, Ed’s passion for agriculture built a network of scattered farms in eight townships.  He lived his dream and teamed up with wife Josie to raise a family of five sons, along with beef, dairy, grain and swine.

As a fellow beef farmer, I enjoyed sharing Ed’s special passion for raising steers.  We would catch up on market prices, futures and supplies of cattle every month before our chairman called the Ag Land Preservation Board meetings to order.  Sometimes Ed would keep right on talking since his hearing was not as good as it once had been and the entire board would wait for us to finish our animated beef about beef prices!   One of my favorite pictures of Ed that the family shared at his funeral showed Ed, along with his brother and partner John, standing in their feedlot with beef cattle all around them.  That snapshot will remain in my memory forever.

Ed served the farm community in many ways.  He was a member of the Berks County Farm Bureau board from 1982 until 2006.  During that time, he served as president from 1987 until 1998.  He was a member of the Berks County Agricultural Land Preservation Board from 1995 until his death.

Ed’s devotion to farmland preservation was evident even in his final request that when he departed his children would ask friends and family to send contributions in lieu of flowers to Adopt An Acre Inc.  As one of the founding members of that non-profit organization for farmland preservation, I was deeply honored by Ed’s gift and this final gesture of devotion to the land he loved to farm.

Ed’s lifelong passion for farming has been passed on to his sons and his grandchildren.  His mentorship has laid the foundation for their future in agriculture and related fields.  I’m sure they also have inherited Ed’s love of life, livestock and the land.  God bless you, Ed, for everything you have accomplished for agriculture, even after death.

Adopt An Acre Inc. supports land preservation for future generations through conservation easement and education programs.  Contributions in memory of Ed Hartman can be sent to P.O. Box 251, Wernersville, PA 19565.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.

As the dog days of summer wind down, a sign that fall is upon us can be seen gathering on the telephone and electric lines that run along roadways and across fields on our farms.  By the hundreds, swallows congregate in the evening hours like tiny notes on a musical score.  They gracefully shift positions along the wires with slender wings fluttering fifteen times a second.  Their forked “V” tails make this evening exercise seem effortless.  They make little noise as they peer down from their lofty perches.  Occasionally they dart off to swoop and snag a last-minute bug meal as they prepare for another evening in Pennsylvania before their long trip ahead.  Soon they will migrate to South America where the weather is warmer and insects abound.

I get a bit melancholy as I watch the antics of these agile insect eaters in the weeks following Labor Day.  I am sorry to see them go south but know the cycle is key to their survival.  Our harsh winters would starve the swallows.  I have to remind myself how wonderful it feels to watch them return every spring.

I never tire of watching them work as pairs to build or repair mud nests under the rafters of my barn.  Within a few weeks, those nests are near to overflowing with four or five hungry, feathered mouths that open wide each time a parent swallow alights with lunch in its beak.  I marvel that baby birds somehow manage not to tumble over the edge of the nest in their effort to be first to feed on whatever insect delicacy is served by their hard-working parents.  With hardly any hesitation, the adult swallows deposit the bug morsel and dart off again, sharing the task of finding food for their nest full of begging babies.

The adult barn swallows tolerate sharing their barn with livestock and farmers.  They swoop off the nest as we approach, chattering if we get too close to their offspring.  It becomes a game of sorts for the swallows, as they see how much they can startle us and make us duck our heads in reflex reactions to their dive-bombing flight, narrowly avoiding collision with a last-second swerve.

As the end of summer approaches, the swallows’ nests are empty as parents and youngsters spend hours in flight, searching for food.  They are my frequent and much-welcomed companions during the hours I spend mowing and raking hay.  They entertain me with their aerobatics over the tractor and I feel good to be sending an easy meal their direction.  I’m happy when I still see a few hold-outs keeping up with my rounds in the field as we wind down our season’s hay-making activities.  I know that soon these useful partners will begin their flight to another hemisphere to help farmers south of the equator keep flying insect pests in check.

As a youngster, I learned that swallow were considered good luck.  It was good to have them in your barn.  Unfortunately, when I was six years old, my parents’ barn burned after lightning struck it.  The entire barn, including the swallows’ nests, was consumed by fire but no livestock were lost.  Soon a new barn was erected and became home to my parents’ commercial herd of Hereford cattle.  But no barn swallows built nests inside the stable.  Barn sparrows moved in with little hesitation, but it took many years for the swallows to take up residency again.  When the first mud nest appeared, it was cause for celebration.  Our barn had once again become home for these beneficial birds.

I never knew why swallows were considered a symbol of good luck until I recently did some research on them.  I learned that sailors on the high seas gave these birds this distinction because seeing them was a sign land was near.  Swallows do not travel far from land.  Their aerial presence was a sign that homecoming was imminent for these weary ocean navigators.  Swallows are found around the world in Europe, Asia, Africa and the Americas.  Before they had the convenience of man-made nesting sites --- our barns and bridges --- swallows nested in caves or on cliff faces.  Their numbers increased in North America during the last century, but seem to be dropping off as changes in land use and management have altered the availability of insect food.

Swallows are a sign of good luck for sailors and farmers.  They are a litmus test to the health of our environment.  We need to keep them coming back.  I want to be able to celebrate their homecoming each year and partner with them as we F-A-R-M, enjoying the beauty of their flight and the benefits of their voracious appetites for bugs.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized. 

It swooped into my peripheral vision with no warning.  A dark streak that startled me out of the trance I sometimes find myself lulled into by the sound of the hay rake and the smell of the windrowed hay.  Suddenly my hypnotic routine of raking the field was transformed into a game of tag as the Redtail hawk darted after field mice scurrying to get away from the tires and rotating teeth of the farm equipment passing over head.

After an unsuccessful attempt to latch mouse with sharp talons, the hawk launched itself into the air, just seconds before my tractor would have blocked his takeoff.  No small bird, this hawk had my heart racing as I watched it soar to a nearby electric pole to watch my circling rounds with the rake.  His piercing eyes seemed to be watching me, and there were moments when I felt like I might be its prey if a mouse meal didn’t come soon.

While my mind told me that was far fetched and hawks avoid people and are not aggressive toward humans unless threatened, my senses made every nerve tingle when I passed below his lofty perch, expecting at any second to feel the rush of his wings and the sharp sting of his talons on the back of my neck. Too many fiction books of murder and mystery, I kept telling myself as the hawk seemed to gain courage with each pass of the tractor.

As I made the next round, my keen-eyed observer was no longer at his post.  I started searching the sky to see where this hunter might strike from next.  As I came around a bend in the field, I was startled when brown and white feathers leaped up from between the front tires and  a four foot wingspan slapped the air around us a bit more heavily than before.  The unfortunate mouse was clutched tightly by the hawk as he lifted upward and vanished out of sight.

I kept watching for the hawk to return as I finished the field and began to wonder if this was the same Redtail hawk that has kept my father and me company over the years as we work the fields on our home farm.  I had read that their lifespan sometimes reaches twenty years.

As a child, my fascination with birds of prey grew as I watched them circle high in the heavens, far above my horse and me as we spent hours traveling the countryside.  Silhouetted against the sunshine, I’d find my breath taken away by their beauty and majestic flight.  The rays of light made their red tail feathers glow against the sky's blue and white backdrop.  I began to learn the differences between the hawks that floated on air currents high in the sky, and those that darted between tree branches as my horse and I cut through the woods.

I read about Hawk Mountain in Berks County and the annual migration of eagles, hawks, vultures and falcons, and convinced my parents to make that migration to the mountain near Kempton each year to gaze at these creatures through binoculars.  With hundreds of other people, I sat on cold rocks with my thermos of hot chocolate for hours on end, hoping to have a chance to see an eagle fly through on its way south to another continent for its winter home.

The sun was almost setting on that chilly mountain top on one of our many visits, and my parents and I were about ready to give up our vigil, when a hush came over the crowd.  Everyone’s lenses turned in unison, as silently and stately, a bald eagle approached from the distance.  We stood transfixed as this national symbol seemed to show off his majestic presence to the final band of bird watchers on that cold, October evening.  He held his flight pattern to an eye-level elevation so we were looking straight at this regal eagle.

No one breathed or uttered a sound as he swept past in just a few moments, with feathers fluttering ever-so-slightly against the strong winds that carried him without a flap of his wings.  The sun was spotlighting his white head and tail feathers, striking against his dark brown body, and glinting off his golden beak, as both he and the sun began to disappear into the horizon.  This Kodak moment was indelibly captured by my mind and is pasted in my memory book of childhood highlights.

I borrowed Maurice Broun's book, Hawks Aloft, from our local library and read it cover to cover.  I was delighted to receive my own copy of this book as a gift from my daughter, Emilie, this summer to read again and remember his literary lessons that made an impact on me and the rest of the world long before Emilie was born..

Once targets of shotguns and rifles, Broun's advocacy resulted inbirds of prey being protected by law.  Misguided bounties haven’t been paid for their lifeless bodies for a half century.  The population of these feathered predators, almost decimated at one point in the mid-1900s, has rebounded so that they are no longer a rare sighting but a common occurrence.

Pennsylvania’s Rachel Carson helped to point out the effects of DDT on these birds when I was young.  The removal of this pesticide was controversial back then, and many disagreed on the need to protect this important part of Mother Nature’s food chain. As someone who appreciates the companionship of our Redtail hawk, and who has marveled at the magnificence of a eagle in flight, I am happy that farmers, hunters and other environmentalists allowed these birds to survive.  They keep the rodent numbers in check, along with other prey that sustains their fledgling families each spring.

As I was clipping an old pasture field, I watched as my Redtail companion flew away with a long snake dangling from his clutch.  It would be lunchtime for a nest of downy-feathered future hunters.  These hawks and their offspring may keep my daughter’s children company as they plow and plant and harvest the same fields where my father and I have watched our Redtail friends and have been watched by them in return.  It’s been a wonderful partnership as we chase small animals their way, and they chases away the monotony of farm work and give us a reason to look heavenward more often.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized. 

“There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die.  A time to plant and a time to harvest…” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2.  The other week my mother shared a clipping from the obituary section of her local newspaper.  It was the final story of a former colleague’s life and I was saddened to read it.  But, I smiled as I finished the article and reflected on the words that described this man whose life was dedicated to farming and conserving the soil.  He had worked for the United States Department of Agriculture’s Soil Conservation Service for more than 30 years.  He retired and went back to farming, working the land that he loved for nearly two more decades.  Because of his life, thousands of acres of soil were conserved in five different Pennsylvania counties.

My former colleague’s conservation work has survived beyond his lifetime.  It portrays his life’s story in indelible patterns across the farm fields where he walked and worked.  His children can point proudly to this memorial that says far more than any grave stone message.  His life has ended, but his legacy lives on with every plant that grows in the soil he devoted his life to saving.

Across the Commonwealth’s countryside, soil conservation practices have been designed and implemented on thousands of farms since the days of the Midwest Dust Bowl in the 1930s.  That decade long erosion event taught farmers a valuable lesson about life and land.  Unless we value it, just like the top soil that was blown away by the wind, it vanishes all too quickly.

Thanks to the hard work of hundreds of soil conservationists since 1935 when USDA's Soil Conservation Service was created, our farms are a mosaic of soil saving practices.  When viewed from an airplane, our fields fold into abstract patterns of green, brown and gold.  Contour strips designed and staked out by men whose life’s work may have already ended, continue to conserve our crop fields’ most precious resource --- its fertile top soil.  The beauty in these patterns is breathtaking to see from high in the sky.  But they are even more beautiful to behold when tilling the land.

I suppose my age makes me more philosophical about the mark soil conservationists have made on the land since the mid-1900s.  I never gave it much thought thirty years ago, when I became the first woman hired by the USDA Soil Conservation Service.  I didn’t have time to ponder the fact that I was “writing” on the land.  Every time I walked across farm fields with brightly colored flags, marking contour lines for farmers to follow with tractor and plow, I was adding to my life’s story as a soil conservationist.

Today, while Soil Conservation Service's name has been changed to Natural Resources and Conservation Service, the mission remains the same.  Many new faces have added to the work done on fields across the country since my days with SCS.  Nevertheless, I am pleased whenever I drive by the fields where conservation practices I helped to design and create have survived three decades of modern agriculture.  They still serve their original purpose of preventing soil from washing away.  It surprises me at times that my work has outlasted the landowners I had helped with conservation plans.  Now a new generation is following the same furrows the farmers did back then.  They may be using larger and more powerful equipment, and may have retired the moldboard plow and replaced it with a no-till planter.  But the alternating strips of hay and grain, diversion terraces and waterways remain as testimonials to each farmer’s commitment to conserve soil and protect the land.

I am saddened, however, when I drive past farms where my “writing” has been erased.  Soil conservation practices have been covered with roof tops and pavement.  The only thing remaining to remind me that this was once a productive farm is the name of the housing development.  Words that only apply to the land’s past:  Meadow View, Orchard Hill, Pleasant Acres.  Today’s townhouses, ranch homes, and duplexes blot out any trace of what used to be meadows, orchards and pleasant acres.  The end has come for too many farms.

Are you writing an epitaph for your farm?  Will you sell out to land developers who, with no remorse, will bulldoze centuries of stewardship and erase fertile fields from the landscape in just a few days?  Or will you preserve the farm and its conservation practices for future generations of stewards who will respect the land and understand we are just borrowing it from our grandchildren’s children.  Will you treasure it as a work of fine art that long hours, sweat, and caring have created?  Will your farm be a perpetual, living testament for everyone who has tilled the land before you and a masterpiece to be enjoyed for those farmers yet to come?

What kind of mark will you be leaving on the landscape when your life's work and F-A-R-Ming ends? 

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.  

When people ask me how my life is going since retiring from the legislature, I don’t have to take much time to issue a response.  Perpetual motion is the best description I can think of to describe my days since leaving the House and heading back to the farm.  Not that I was ever away from the farm, since my husband, Mike, and I never stopped farming even after I was elected in 1992.  But, I was back as a fulltime helping hand, or so I thought.

Not even 24 hours went by in my “retired” status when my telephone rang, with someone asking me to launch a statewide non-profit for preserving historic barns in Pennsylvania.  That has been an on-going evolution since December as I pull together experts and enthusiasts who care about saving these architectural treasures.

This past week, I organized a tour of two great Berks County barns for Congressman Tim Holden, vice chairman of the U.S. House Agriculture Committee in Washington.  It was a valuable civics lesson for the directors of the Historic Barn and Farm Foundation of PA as they had the exclusive ear of this policymaker for two full hours.  Holden had a reciprocally beneficial lesson on how farmers in the late 1700s and mid-1800s used Pennsylvania’s tall timbers to construct log and later frame barns to store their crops and livestock.

The Historic Barn and Farm Foundation is working with the National Barn Alliance on the 2007 Farm Bill, HR 2419, Section 6017, to make sure Congress includes the language needed to provide for a grant program for historic barn preservation and registration.  This same language had been included in the 2002 Farm Bill, but no funding followed its passage.  Holden assured us he would work with U.S. Senators Arlen Specter and Bob Casey Jr., along with Congressman John Peterson, to try to secure much-needed funds for this program in the 2008-09 budget.

We appreciate Congressman Holden’s interest in historic barns, and all the issues facing agriculture in Pennsylvania, including farmland preservation and conservation, crop insurance and subsidies, and the multitude of federal programs designed to help farmers balance on the tightrope each crop season puts in front of them.

Adopt An Acre Inc. is another non-profit that has kept me busy this year.  This organization has been created to supplement the very successful federal, state, and local farmland preservation efforts through education, outreach, and placement of conservation easements on small parcels of land through donation or purchase.

It’s been fun helping to raise funds through the sale of recycled canning jar lids that I turn into Christmas ornaments.  The first one in what will be a series of ornaments featuring preserved farms has been well received.  I appreciate the help of the volunteers and staff at the Berks County Extension Office and the members of the Berks Farm Women Societies in saving these lids.  I welcome any contributions of canning jar lids, used or unused, for this effort to raise funds for farmland preservation in Pennsylvania.

The Bull Bash held last month in Berks County helped raise additional dollars for Adopt An Acre Inc. This event, aimed at educating non-farmers about agriculture and bringing everyone together for a day of fun and farm-related activities, is sponsored by the Berks County Farm City Council.  A raffle that features a John Deer Model LA 100 18.5 HP tractor from Pikeville Equipment, along with a quilt, chain saw, hand-made stepback cupboard, and numerous cash prizes, will be drawn on October 19^th when the 50,000^th acre of farmland in Berks County is celebrated.  Anyone interested in more information on the raffle or Adopt An Acre Inc. can go to www.preservefarms.com. 

Today we take the farmland preservation message to Anniversary Day at Bethany Children’s Home where hundreds of people from across the state travel for an annual reunion, craft show, and concert.  Established around the time of the Civil War, this church-affiliated home has been caring for orphans and other children in an atmosphere of warmth and caring, surrounded by its farmland and forests.  A working dairy farm is still very much an integral part of Bethany’s operation, and I am happy to serve on this institution’s Board of Managers as a volunteer.

Raising large sums of money seems to be a theme in my life that I wish could translate to my farms, as well.  With cutbacks in federal, state and local support, our county 4-H program is facing financial challenges.  The farm and business communities have been asked to step up to the plate to help investigate the opportunity of raising at least six figures, and hopefully seven, to perpetually support a 4-H staff position in Berks County.  Helping kids is what 4-H is all about.  Who can say no when asked to serve on a committee to benefit young people’s heads, hearts, hands, and health through 4-H activities? 

Perpetual motion?  My list of volunteer jobs seems to be getting longer as the misperception that I have lots of time on my hands continues.  Just before I got busy chairing the art and photography department at last week's Reading Fair, a friend of mine gave me a pack of post-it notes with three letters on it:  “SUV.”  No, it wasn’t supposed to be the abbreviation for sport utility vehicle.  In smaller letters, the message “Stop Unnecessary Volunteering” was written.  Good thing I couldn’t read the small print without my glasses!  It wouldn’t have made any difference, however, if I had read it the first time with “four” eyes.  My answer, when asked to help agriculture, is always in the affirmative.  It's an automatic "O.K"   When it comes to F-A-R-Ming, it’s always necessary.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.

As I write this week’s F-A-R-M blog, there is a gentle rain falling on our farms’ fields.  No thunder or lightning accompany this much-welcomed, much-needed shower.  The parched ground soaks this steady rainfall quickly into its surface to spread to waiting roots that have gone far too long between drinks.  It has been an odd summer; with rain a hit-or-miss phenomenon for farmers in Pennsylvania and throughout the nation.  Some farmers in regions of our country have had far too much rain, with floods drowning crops and destroying property.  Others have had no rain at all for weeks on end.  Crops died of thirst, killing many farmers' dreams and careers. 

Rain!  I’ve watched and waited like many in the farm community for clouds to roll across the sky, and have been frustrated when they mysteriously evaporate just before reaching my land.  I listen to neighbors recounting how much rain filled their gauges the night before, and find myself feeling happy for them and jealous of their good fortune at the same time.  While my fields of corn are curling to conserve what little moisture is left in the plants, not far away from us the corn grows taller and greener thanks to more frequent rains. 

I watch the weather channel on television and see how other farmers across the country are struggling even more with fields that are cracked and baked, and plants that are beyond hope with stunted stalks shriveling in the hot sun.  I feel blessed that our situation isn’t as dismal as some farmers in the Southeast and elsewhere.  We have not been forced to sell our beef herd like cattlemen in Georgia.  Ironically, many of those pasture-starved cows and calves have headed to Texas where record rains have turned normally arid regions of the Lone Star State into green acres. 

On our farms, the pastures are short and have changed color like a chameleon --- from green to brown to green to brown to green --- since May.  Each time we are forced to feed one of our winter hay bales, I worry that hungry cows will be waiting at empty feeders when it’s cold and snowy, and the barn floors will be bare.  I pray that another cutting or two from our hot and tired hay fields will help tide us over until the promise of next spring’s lush pastures begin to grow. 

All of these challenges from Mother Nature define those of us who depend on her for rain, sun, and fertile soils.  We always want to have the best outcome, but sometimes face the worst.  That’s why the synonym for “farmer” has to be “optimist.”  Webster’s dictionary defines an optimist as someone who takes the most hopeful view of matters and who believes that good ultimately prevails.

As a farmer, I consider myself to be an optimist --- someone who tries to always look on the bright side.  When I was a kid learning to ride my Quarter horse, “Charlie,” my parents would always tell me to get up, dust myself off, and get back on whenever I would fall.  I suppose farming is like falling off a horse.  You have to be ready to dust off the dirt when you fail and try again, and again, and again.

Mother Nature is an unpredictable partner in farming.  Her droughts and floods can knock the wind out of the strongest farmers when they fall victim to droughts and floods.  But, you have to pick yourself back up and keep on farming.  As my Dad said to a news reporter who asked him what he was going to do  when drought claimed his corn crop a few years ago,  his answer was “plant again next year.”

At times it is tough to be an optimist.  My husband Mike says he is a realist.  Despite his contention that he views things as they are and that is a better outlook to have, I much prefer to be an optimist, and hope that things will work out in the end with hard work, a little luck, and lots of prayers.

It’s funny how we pray for rain to keep the corn growing and the hay and pasture fields lush for mowing and grazing.  Then we ask for a few days without rain so that we have perfect weather for cutting, raking, and baling our winter hay.  Sometimes it seems like we are never satisfied and complain when the weather doesn’t cooperate as we think it should.  While it is wonderful to get the entire hay crop in the barn without a drop of rain, we need to remember that prayers for no rain could be answered at just the wrong time in another crop’s life.

As farmers, we need to look for the rainbow, even when storms drench our windrowed hay before its baled.  Our thirsty corn fields are drinking in those same raindrops.  With a little luck and a lot of prayers, they will yield a bumper crop of golden grain later this fall, filling our elusive “pot of gold” with just enough so we can keep on F-A-R-Ming.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.  

The quiet that embraces a farm during the moonlit hours of summer is not the result of the absence of noise.  Instead, the continuous croaking of frogs in the pond echo off the amphitheatre of hillside trees in a chorus of tones ranging from bass to tenor.  Bull frogs compete with “peepers” for a few seconds in the soloist spotlight.  The night sounds that sooth the resting soul also include the lonely “hooting” of owls as they peer through the darkness for prey and a midnight snack.  Outside the farmhouse, the contented sounds of cows chewing their cud can be heard, along with their deep breaths of relief for the coolness of the night that refreshes them for tomorrow’s long hours of grazing in the heat of an unsympathetic sun.

Occasionally, the quiet solitude is broken by my Border Collies’ barks of warning as they stand guard over their domain.  The normal intruders are four-legged varmints that are part of the deer, raccoon, and skunk families that co-exist on our farm.  After sounding their alarm, and receiving a few shouts of “quiet” from the farmhouse windows, the dogs relax their watch and the night time sounds subside back to the normal background of “hoo-hooos” and “rrrrrribits.” 

On Tuesday of this week, I awoke in the early morning hours and listened.  I closed my eyes and relished the quiet knowing that in less than 24 hours, there would be a new chorus chiming into the night songs.  Thanks to sporadic rainfall and short pastures, we decided to wean our spring 2007 calves earlier than normal.  We calve out most of our Hereford cows in January and February, with a few born in early March.  In normal years, our weaning falls in September when the days and nights are cooler.  I usually try to time this stressful period in our calves’ lives when temperatures are lower and when tree leaves help absorb some of their serenading.  It’s also at a time when our neighbors within earshot can close their windows to shut out the extra nighttime voices. 

As we wrapped up the cattle work Wednesday evening, having weighed, vaccinated, and de-wormed the calves, I knew it would be a matter of minutes until the chorus began.  A crescendo of “mooing” rose up when the gate closed behind the last cow.  She and her herd mates realized something was up as their calves peered out toward the pasture from inside the fenced corral.  The octaves climbed as the cows called more frequently and loudly to their calves.  Just like upset mothers whose children refuse to come when called, our cows shifted into a higher, louder pitch, hoping to be heard and obeyed.  This time, only the calves’ higher pitched moos came back to the cows in response to their repeated calling. 

We have found that across-the-fence weaning is less stressful on cows and calves, but the doubled decibel level of bawling is tough on people when both cows and calves remain on the same farm.  The only thing to look forward to, as pillows are piled on sleepy heads to muffle the singing bovines’ concert, is that the duration of this chorale will be just another 24 hours.  After that time, the lead singers are generally too hoarse to be heard, and their croaking blends in with the usual chorus of nearby night owls and bull frog backup singers. 

After one sleep deprived night, I welcome the quiet once again when the nighttime is pierced with less frequent appeals from our Hereford “mama-babies” to be reunited with the cows.  Their dams now realize that their calves are not coming back to nurse and are settling into a new routine as they prepare for next year’s future calf crop.  It’s a cycle most of the cows have been through before.  It’s a yearly routine that Mike and I have experienced for more than a quarter century as beef farmers.  Separating cows and calves is always traumatic and I empathize each time this season comes around. 

When our daughter, Emilie, left home and headed for Kansas State University, it was the same time of year for weaning calves.  Mike and I felt the immediate void in our lives when we drove back to Pennsylvania from Manhattan, Kansas.  It was driven home even more when we started working cattle without our third pair of helping hands.  We had to adapt our handling methods dramatically to compensate for Emilie’s absence.  During her 18 years with us, she had grown into an integral helper on the farm. 

As we began the 2003 weaning process, we found ourselves almost calling out to Emilie to hang onto a gate, grab a halter, or get another job done while we caught, corralled, vaccinated, and fought with uncooperative cattle as a pair instead of a trio.  The reality of her absence kept us quiet, and adapting to the change.

During Emilie’s three and a half years away at college, Mike and I made much-needed changes to our chute and gate system so that we could accomplish what took three before with just two people.  Now that she has graduated and returned back to the farm and her herd of Herefords, Emilie appreciates the improvements made in the barns and so do Mike and I.  We are calmer, and so are the cows, as we move through the stressful season of weaning and working calves. 

We love our life on the farm.  It's a pleasure to once again have Emilie's company and conversations as she continues her career in the beef business back home in Pennsylvania.  We even appreciate the contribution our harmonious bovines make to the pastoral sounds of several summer nights as they signal the start of another beef year, saying goodbye to one calf and hello to the next one waiting to be born.  They make us appreciate the "quiet" of F-A-R-Ming.    

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.

It was with mixed emotions that I traveled the rutted farm lane up to the old barn with a band of likeminded souls this week, bent on finding a way to save it.  I was optimistic about our mission to preserve the historic structure, but saddened that this requires its relocation from the place it was raised.  If we fail to find it a new home, and quickly, this more-than-a-hundred year-old relic’s future may be only a few short months in duration.

Like many of its comrades across the Commonwealth where development pressures are reaching the boiling point, this old barn’s presence threatens “progress” as defined by people who have never tilled the land and most likely have never set foot inside a barn except to plan its demise.  Speculators who look not at the richness of the soil for growing crops, but who carve it, crush it, and bury it under concrete and macadam, have stolen this farm’s future.

I’m shocked at the unkempt look that surrounds this previously picturesque farmstead as we get close to our destination.  An agricultural “ghost-town” feeling creeps into my thoughts and I despise the capitalistic culprits who have reaped this farm’s final crop. No longer do cattle contentedly chew their cuds lying between the orderly but empty skeleton stanchions that line the bottom of the barn.

Now, only barn swallows that are normally considered good luck find homes on the weary timbers that once loftily protected its four-legged occupants and feathered friends from wind and rain, snow and scorching sun.  No longer do the fermented smells of silage, the warm fragrance of horses and cattle drift up through the overhead boards to the threshing floors, granary, and hay mows.  All is quiet except for the twittering swallows who chatter at the strangers who clamber across broken glass, through head-high weeds, and around abandoned remnants of a brighter day when farm life was flowing through every crevice and corner of this barn.

Signs of a larger winged inhabitant, a barn owl, lay scattered on the wide floor boards beneath the sturdy rafters upstairs.  No wise eyes stare down at our group as we study the wooden shingles that remain beneath the steel roof that has protected them from nature’s assaults for decades on end.  The owl, too, has abandoned this regal work of art, perhaps already realizing that something is amiss when crops no longer grace its second floor, and cows no longer await the farmer’s attention at dawn and dusk.  Not even a mouse skitters away at our approaching feet.  No familiar felines wait quietly to snare resident rodents in their claws.  The barn is far too silent.

Staring back at me from its perch on top of a wooden hay manger, a baby barn swallow is unaware that its safe haven will soon be gone.  No longer will its parents dart after dinner bugs flying over the barnyard or under the eaves.  Their aerial acrobatics will be transferred to another barn in the coming weeks.  When these swallows migrate back next spring in search of their mud nests piled snuggly atop forever-darkened light fixtures and rusty nails in this old barn, the only thing that will remain here of this old barn will be memories.  The rough-hewn logs spanning its length and breadth will be gone, replaced by steel and concrete.  Instead of a stately Pennsylvania barn, the landscape will offer passersby the sterile architecture of box warehouses as still another working farm bites the dust.  No longer needed, this old barn is getting in the way of economic development.

As part of the band of visitors, I am hoping the fate of this barn will be better than its partner standing on the adjacent farm that will also be converted to non-agrarian uses.  That barn will feel the wrecking ball shatter its sides and rock its foundation unless a salvager intervenes.  Then its lumber will be torn apart and scattered in hundreds of pieces as it is retrofitted to other uses.  But in the case of the neighboring historic barn, there is still hope that its timbers may stay intact as it draws advocates together in a united purpose. 

We hope the “barn swallow” good luck has not run out for this barn whose stories of generations of farm families filter through the dust as we walk over piles of corn fodder still covering its planks.  Built soon after the Civil War, this special five-bay barn has a possible afterlife if our efforts succeed.  While it will no longer grace the Berks County fields where it has stood sentry for more than a century, it may become a home for agricultural history and education as it is transformed into a farm museum.

Its walls will continue to tell the story of farmers and farm life from the past and present to strangers who walk through its wide and welcoming doors.  Instead of neighing and mooing, the sounds of children’s voices will filter through the walls and this old barn will find a purpose worthy of its past.  It’s a dream worth pursuing.

My passion for agriculture and old barns has spilled into creating a statewide organization for barn preservation called the Historic Barn and Farm Foundation of Pennsylvania.  We have been in the process of getting organized since March and have made great strides.  I am encouraged by the number of contacts I have received already from interested folks who care about barns.  I will be sharing news about the Foundation in future blogs.  In the meantime, why not share some of your barn stories with those of us who F-A-R-M.

Even though we can’t save all of our historic barns from uncaring scavengers and wrecking balls, we can perhaps keep a few more standing.  Working together, we can give it our best barn-saving try before these old treasures are merely fading photographs in a pile of archived memories.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.  

One of the things I looked forward to when I retired from the legislature was having the opportunity to read a book for pleasure.  During the fourteen years I served in the House of Representatives, I spent all my time reading constituent mail and legal documents.  I missed the luxury of time spent losing myself in someone else’s written thoughts.  In March, my friends Paul and Bette Slayton of Bedford County gave me a book written by author Jon Katz entitled “A Dog Year.” With great enthusiasm, they assured me I would love this book, since its main subject was a Border Collie.

Several months went by before I picked up the book that had been staring at me every time I walked past the table where I had left it (it’s cover features the photo of its protagonist, Devon,  a Border Collie ‘gone wrong’).  There were always more important, more urgent things that I needed to be doing.  I was far too busy to take the time to pamper myself with this intriguing tale about four tail-waggers.  Those piercing eyes kept following me right off the cover of the book until I was cornered on a rainy, ‘can’t do anything outside anyway’ day.  It had been seven months since I closed the legislative chapter in my life.

I began to read, and immediately became immersed in Katz’ recounting of “Twelve Months. Four Dogs, and Me” --- when a rescued Border Collie invaded his life.  I found myself laughing and crying as I poured through the chapters, sometimes having to put the book down --- unable to bear reading what I knew would inevitably be coming in the next paragraph.  I hated to turn the final page and have this 209-page literary treat come to an end.  I realized how much I had missed the opportunity to take some time away from work and all of life’s demands by opening the cover of a good book.

Katz has accurately captured the intricate personality of Border Collies on the pages of his book.  He has shared the frustrations and challenges he faced when trying to out-smart and out-maneuver these intelligent canines.  I empathized with the author at every stage of his experience, having spent the past twelve years of my life being trained by Border Collies.  I won’t give away the treasure I found in Katz’s tale, but encourage you to find it at your local library or neighborhood bookstore.  I have already shared my copy with someone who loves Border Collies as much as I do.

Even though Katz’s book was about dogs, his story was about life and how his four-legged companions helped him cope, mature, and move forward during his mid-life to new and ever changing challenges.  Border Collies helped take him out of his comfort zone and helped him transition from a “Labrador” lifestyle of contentment into a life focused on possibilities and the drive to accomplish each task with gusto.  He also learned how to accept his dogs for what they were, and learned to work with their personalities, quirks, and shortcomings.  They helped each other reach goals and find new meaning in life, relying on each other for strength and understanding.

I can’t remember what life was like before Border Collies came to our farm, except that we did a lot more yelling and running when moving cows from pasture to pasture.  Our first pup, Bonnie, is closing in on twelve years but acts like a three-year old.  She taught us how to herd beef cows with her help.  Over the years, we have recognized and appreciated the natural talent and instincts these dogs display when allowed to work.  It is something they live for.  They’ll invent tasks for themselves if they aren’t kept busy.  New holes in our yard are signals that our five Border Collies are bored and need some action in the pastures.

My four-legged farm hands are not perfect angels, or faultless herding dogs.  Like me, they have their bad days.  But they help me to keep my perspective on life well grounded, just as Devon and Homer did for Katz.  They make me laugh when they slide into a play bow and voice their throaty “rrroooo”s to coax me into throwing rope toys or balls for hours on end.  They make me marvel at their keenly intense eye and natural ability to make a ton-and-a-half bull do their bidding.  I never tire of seeing my sixty-pound canine cowpokes work --- crouching low to the ground and then stalking closer until their bovine quarry turn and move away in the direction my dogs intend for them to go.  Well, at least that happens most of the times!!!

And, after doing their job, my Border Collies are content to receive a pat on the head, a cool water tub, a crunchy biscuit treat, and a comfy spot to rest their weary bones at the end of a long day.  When it’s all said and done, that’ll do! 

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.

I opened the message from Eric Rickenbach last week, and was shocked and saddened by the news that another tragedy involving a manure storage pit and methane gas had happened in Virginia.  Eric, who is involved with farm rescue education in conjunction with Penn State and the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture, lives in Berks County.  We have worked together over the years when I served in the legislature to develop and fund training programs for volunteer emergency responders when dealing with farm accidents.  My heart ached for the Showalter family as I wondered what I would have done if the same circumstances had unfolded at our farm.  When confronted with a choice of trying to save my family members, would I have realized the dangers of rushing in to help?  Thankfully, there was someone at the scene on the Showalter farm who kept two of the children from following their parents and siblings into the pit after sensing something was wrong when no one who went down came back out.

As I read Eric’s message, my thoughts drifted back three decades to a similar sad news story that happened in Berks County when deadly methane gas claimed the lives of several family members who climbed down into a manure storage pit under a chicken house.  That was the first incidence of this type of accident that I had heard about and it shocked the farm community in the mid-1970s.  It was hard to understand how this relatively new innovation for handling manure which was designed to make farmers’ lives easier could also claim the lives of farmers.  Even after thirty years of farm safety education about the dangers of methane gas, it is easy to forget about this deadly killer in the rush to get things done on the farm. 

Farming is a dangerous occupation.  We have to make instant decisions at times, working with livestock, intricate machinery, pesticides, storage structures, and rolling terrain.  Farm rescue experts emphasize the need to be cautious that more harm is not inflicted during an emergency.  But staying calm and waiting for help are difficult rules to follow when a loved one is involved.

When I attended one of the training sessions for volunteer fire fighters in our area, I learned that modern farm machinery poses new challenges for emergency responders since they are built differently and run differently than older models.  On any given farm in Pennsylvania, rescuers can find equipment that is brand new or a half century old.  Knowing what to do requires continuous training for farm equipment operators as well as emergency volunteers.  And that takes time.

 Farmers always seem to be in a hurry.  On our farms, there never seems to be enough hours in the day to get everything done.  Whenever we are “schuslich” (my Pennsylvania Dutch grandparents’ way of saying “doing something in a hurry without thinking”), we can get ourselves into serious trouble.  Or we become lackadaisical about potential hazards.  Accidents happen.  We learn from tragedy but, unfortunately, quickly forget or figure it happens only to other folks.  A front-page story in Lancaster Farming reminds us how quickly good news headlines can turn to sad news in the wake of a farm accident.  Painful to read about, more painful to experience first hand.

As we mourn the loss of one of our farming families, we must remember that safety training on farms is as important as knowing how to grow crops, raise livestock, and use the latest machinery or technologies.  No matter what age or experience level you are at in life, there are lessons to be learned to ensure your future continues in F-A-R-Ming.  For more information, check out these two farm rescue websites: www.agrescue.com or www.rescuetechs.com.

Lancaster Farming's guidelines for posting comments on the website ask that you follow the Golden Rule, respecting other opinions and being truthful and civil.  Do not post any statements that are illegal, defamatory, obscene, threatening, or plagiarized.