June 10, 2008

Fargo, ND - With relatively short notice, a single man from Minnesota has announced his plans to spend a “singificant amount of his week long vacation” in the state of North Dakota.  State tourism officials were shocked, but excited by the news.

“Well, ya, sure we think it is a a pretty good thing ya know.  We only wish the bugger would have given us a little more notice.  Not that we are complaining or anything.  He will still get a darn good hotdish, but maybe not the lutefisk.  Just not in season.  But the guys only giving us a week ya know.” stated state tourism spokes Scandinavian, Ole “Ole” Olson.

The anoymous visitor is planning on visiting college friends throughout the state and take in some of the historic sites and culture.

“Most people don’t realize the fantastic cultural and historic sites that the state has to offer.  Fort Abercrombie, Fort Abraham Lincoln, The Enchanted Highway, The many oversized animals - from New Salem Sue to the Jamestown Bison.  The many Lewis and Clark sites, the beautiful Missouri River, the wide open spaces, Teddy Roosevelt National Park - it is a great state.  And not too crowded.” Stated the expected tourist.

“Yeah, that sums it up.” Stated one tourism official.

The state is rolling out the red carpet, literally, on Interstate I-94.  “Oh sure, we are a little concerned that this massive influx of tourist could do some damage to our state highway system, especially since we are the only state that is losing paved roads every year, but we firmly believe that the excess one vehicle will not do excess damage to our roads and bridges.  Or the the literal red carpet that we roll out when our spotters notice his car coming from the Minnesota border.” Stated a state transporation official

There is just nothing like a good thunderstorm.

Growing up on the edge of the great plains, you could see for miles on end.  You could see the storms building in the west.  The big thunderheads rising through the summer sky.  The lightening flashing off miles away.

As the squall line moved closer, you could start to hear the distant thunder, the lightening got to be a little brighter, and in graduated from being mere flashes of light in the sky to bolt lightening flying from cloud to cloud.

Then there was a slight breeze.  There was always a slight breeze before the storm hit.  The thunder wafted over the breeze and the sound seemed to drift over the rustling corn and wheat fields.  It melded together to form a perfect summertime sonata.  Natures own little melody.

Then the storm moved closer.  You could see the chain lightening now.  The cloud to ground lightening strikes.  The ever growing boom of the thunder.

It grew closer.

The light breeze was now a steady wind.  The rustle of the corn and wheat seemed now to have the crops in a near panic - they seemed to want to run from the advancing storm, but their roots held them sternly in place.  They must face natures wrath.

Then the thunder no longer boomed.  Now it cracked.  You could see the lightening striking close by.  The house shook as the thundar seemed to split the very heavens.  Natures symphony now cresendowed into a might roar.

Then the rain came.  Pitter-pattering between the booms and cracks.  Slowly as first.  Then in a quick double time.  And sooner then expected in near torrents.  Sometimes the torrents were interupted by the bouncing of hail.

The noise was deafening.  The thunder, the pounding of the rain, the driving wind all forming a mighty clamor throughout the heavens that shattered any peace down below.

Then the thunder started to ease.  The lightening moved a little farther east.  The wind lost some of its breath.  The rain lightened.

Soon it the thunder was far off in the distant, announcing the arrival of the storm at some other farm.  The lightening flashed off in the east.  The wind was still.  The last pitter patter of rain fell to earth.

The earth, the sky, and man was at peace again…until the next storm moved in from the west.

June 9, 2008

Minneapolis, MN - The United States economic woes continue and all indications point that the current situation could worsen as the summer wears on.  In conjunction with the economic woes are record high commodity prices for everything from agriculural prices to energy prices.

In the midst of this massive instability, a local commodity trader stated, “screw it, I’m outta here for a week.”

Experts are calling the odds of this vacation happening near 75%.  This will be the fourth attempt over the last six months that the commodity trader has scheduled a vacation and all of those were cancelled with pressing business concerns.

“Sure the odds are good, but in this envirnment, anything can happen.” stated Vegas odds maker Vince Brown pointing out that race horse “Big Browns” odds for the Belmont stakes were about the same, only to come in ninth.

Jirik seems resolute this time. 

“My phone won’t stop ringing, I’m shoulder deep in problems, gas prices are $4 per gallon - now seems to be an abso-froggin-lutely best time to take a 1000 mile car ride to find some where in this recessioned racked country to find someplace that doesn’t get cell phone coverage.” Stated the commodity trader with a slight nervous tick.

Planned day for starting the vacation are this Friday, June 13th.

Experts are quick to point out that the following day, June 14th is Flag Day.  The relevance of which, like most economic indicators, is completely meaningless.

 (Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today on February 17, 1988)

“Your name’s Jirik?  I bet you take a lot of kidding about that,” the man said.  He broke into a toothless grin.  “It’s ‘sorta’ like Jerk.”

“It’s not at all like jerk, idiot,” I snapped.” And I take almost no kidding about it.”

He glanced nervously down the rain-slicked alley and fingered the big automatic in his hand.  He quit grinning, I’d heard that line before and I had the comeback down pat.  I don’t take much kidding from anybody and I wasn’t about to start taking from this overweight tough-guy.

“I came here to get a story.  I don’t think I’m going to get it from you so why don’t take me to your boss.”

“Da ‘boss don’t see nobody.”

“He’ll see me.”

“Suit yourself, buddy,” toothless said.  He motioned and I followed him into the darkened interior of a broken down building.

The boss saw me. I got my story.  He didn’t make fun of my name.

I’ve been a reporter for a long time now- almost a year and a half.  I’ve had the name Jirik all along.   It’s the same name I used in college and high school. Folks made fun of it then too.

I even survived elementary school with my moniker.  You know how vicious those kids can get.  I went through school as a puny little kid with thick glasses and a name that sounded suspiciously like “jerk.”

Noooobody ever made fun of me before.

Which is why I didn’t get too upset when I received a letter in the mail this week.  It read, “Mr. Jirik-I don’t know how to pronounce your name but around here our house we call it Jerk.”

Pretty intimidating stuff.

The name is pronounced Jeerick, which isn’t much better.

Anyway, to make matters even more laughable, the letter was unsigned. 

As long as I had my glasses on as a kid I could see who was making fun of me, but it takes a lot of courage to poke fun in an unsigned letter.
As long as we are discussing my name I’ll tell you that it is Bohemian and not Polish as you might think.  If you look up Bohemian in the dictionary, Webster will tell you that a Bohemian is a gypsy or artist that lives in an unconventional way or it is the name of the fine people who brought you the polka.

Either way it doesn’t help me a great deal in warding off those folks who like to make fun of my name.

Those of you who know more than Webster will tell you that Bohemia is a region that is now encompassed by Czechoslovakia.  Hence, the folks who live there are Bohemians.

Still not much help.

If you pronounce Jirik in Czech, it is Yeezzchick.  Sounds like a messy sneeze, doesn’t it?

So like generations of Bohemian Jiriks before me I live with my name. 

As a matter of fact I like it.

It could have been worse.

My parents could have named me Erik Derek Jirik.

We would be excited when it would rain.  A good summer thunderstorm would cause puddles to form in our drive way on the farm.  As soon as the rain had stopped and the lightening moved on to the east, we boys would run outside, grab sticks, shovels, or the hoe from the garden and rush to the puddles.  We would block up flows, creating dams in the tractor tire tracks along side the barn.  We would back up lakes on the drive way.  We would do feats of engineering marvels.

Dad didn’t always appreciate our efforts.  “Look at you kids playing around in the mud!” He’d say.

“Boys were meant to be dirty.”  Our mother would state and the dam building would continue.

Growing up with four boys in the house (and one younger sister), Mom’s statement seemed to be true.  If there was a puddle we would find it.  If there was someway to get dirty, we could get it on us.

Sometimes, we want to stay too clean.

Sometimes, we want it that way in our spiritual life too.

The Pharisee’s questioned why Jesus would spend time with tax collectors and known sinners, to which Jesus responded, “I do not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

Sometimes, we want to keep our spiritual life away from the dirt and grim of the world.  Keep it in church, keep it in our hearts.

But our faith, like boys, was meant to get dirty.

We must actively live our faith.  We must go out in the world, amid the dirt and grim of sin and dispare and live our faith.  The poor, materially and spiritually need to nourished.  The hungry, in body and spirit, need to be feed.  The homeless, in physical or mental state, must be sheltered.

The sinners need the light of Christ.  We must be the physician for the hurting.  We must be the one willing to wad into the filth of every day life and bring the healing power of the Lord to the sinners.

But here is the secret - we are all sinners.

We must be Christ for one another.  We must love Christ above all else.  We must be like Abraham and hope in Him and Love him - and we must, realize that through His grace, we are all one with Him.  So by loving Him, we love our neighbors.  By loving Him, we are driven to help the poor, the hungry, the homeless.

Or put another way, by helping our neighbors, by helping our fellow sinners, by genuine and sincere love for our fellow man, we show our love for Christ.

We live sinful lives in a sinful world, but we must, for the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, wad into the grim, wad into the mud of our world to be Christ for one another…in the enduring hope that we will be washed clean in the blood of the Lamb.

 (Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  Following appeared in the Boone Today paper, October 14, 1987)

“Your John Deere Dealer can provide you with top quality replacement parts that are identical to the originals, and don’t forget to bring in those broken parts to defeat Hitler and Hirohito.” From a 1940’s John Deere promotional film.

I went to the Farm Progress Show on the last day of the event.  It was windy.  I was tired.  I got dust in my eyes and in my Pepsi (sweetened with corn sweeteners to help Iowa’s farmers.)  It was a generally depressing trip for me all the way around.  I was quite impressed with the caliber of the show, but my attitude was all wrong.

Just as I was about to leave I wandered into the John Deere tent.  I went in mainly to get out of the wind, but the tent turned into the highlight of the show for me.

Back in the corner was a big-screen television playing old John Deere movies.  I can remember skipping school to go with my dad to “John Deere Day.”  The local dealer would set up exhibits of new equipment and “John Deere Movies” would be shown at the local theater or in the school auditorium.

The movies were absolutely fascinating.  They always featured old footage of two cylinder Gs and A’s and Bs putting across fields with all sorts of antique machinery dragging behind.

A strong, masculine but friendly voice would proclaim the proud history of John Deere’s “Long Green Line.”

Then the focus of the movies would shift.  The music would switch to some funky industrial sounding stuff and the voice would sound a little more excited as the newest addition to the Deere line were unveiled. 

It was pretty heady stuff for a grade-school tot.

Of course, there were obligatory scenes of the service and parts departments.  The farmers in the movies traditionally wore straw hats, flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up and bib overalls.

The service technicians always wore nifty, modern-looking coveralls with tiny little deer embroidered all over the.  They always were performing some complex task for the audience to marvel over.  “Here.” the voice would say, “a John Deere technician tests a rebuilt magneto on a magneto test stand.”

“Oooo,” we tiny tots would reply.

Now, in most towns John Deere Day is a thing of the past.  Sure, they still hold them in some places, but the real thrill-a-minute John Deere Days are gone.

The movies have been replaced with videos, and that smooth, comforting voice has been replaced by a high-pressure sales pitch.  That’s progress for you.

Modern farm equipment dealerships have giant, pristine showrooms filled with massive gleaming equipment.  Parts books have been replaced by computers or microfiche machines.  John Deere Days have been replaced by farm Progress Shows and state fairs.

Despite this modernization, farm equipment dealers are still farm equipment dealers.  Farmers still shake hands with salesmen on a deal. 

Customers still talk about the crops and politics.  And farm equipment, no matter how high tech, is still farm equipment.

Somewhere, while you read this, some tiny tot is probably staring up at some giant tractor with a smile on his face and awe in his heart because he want one “just like daddy’s.”

Maybe things haven’t changed so much after all.

June.  There is a reason that June is dairy month.  Growing up on the farm.  Now was the time that the last of the crops were going in the ground.  The wheat, oats and barley had usually been planted weeks ago and were now starting to reach towards the sun.  The last of the corn was in the ground - or close to it.  The first couple of days of June meant that the first cutting of alfalfa was probably getting ready as well - but not quite ready enough - so there was a little break in the field work.

The cows by now had all come in fresh (calved).  We were letting them out to pasture all the time except for milking morning and night.  The feed yard had all but dried out.  It seemed even the livestock were happy that spring was here.

But the work was never done.

This was typically the time to make sure that the fences were fixed right around the big pasture by Uncle Hank’s woods.  We were usually eyeing the grass around the big slough by the house and starting to work on that fence as well.

One of the smelliest jobs also started around this time - hauling away some of the left over manure from winter.

Usually during the coldest, harshest times of winter - the manure spreader would break in the bitter cold or the snow just got too deep to haul it out in the fields.  When that happened, all you could do was run the manure out of the barn and pile it up out of the way.  In addition, there were calf pens to clean and feed yards to scoop out.

All this was summer work.

We had a good system.  In my younger days when there were more then one of us at home, we had two of us working on it with three tractors, two manure spreaders and a loader.  Jaime would take the loader with the “manure” bucket and load one of the spreaders.  Either the good new John Deere or the ricketty old New Holland.

The John Deere was much newer and much more solid.  You could pile it on there pretty high, then I’d drive it out to the field, kick it in gear and drive through the summer fallow field and watch as the chains on the floor slowly turned and moved the mass of manure to the back where a big drum with spiked arms (called a beater) slung the manure out onto the ground - most of it even landed behind the spreader…

The New Holland spreader worked under the same concept, though was older and more fun to watch.  As the chain and beater went to work, you could see the entire body of the spread twist in time like some serpent dancing in the field.

As I was spreading, Jaime was refilling the other rig at home with the smelly load.  As soon as I’d finish, I’d rush home, jump into the other tractor and haul it out into the field as Jaime scowled at me - obviously high gear was not fast enough for him.

There was also that one load that I’d rush home and find Jaime off the tractor kicking at the manure pile.  He would wave me over and we would stand there in awe.  There under that smelley dung pile was a huge patch of ice delicated preserved.  The temperatures in the open air was now usually well into the 70’s and sometimes even the 80’s - how this last ice of winter was a wonder to us farm boys.

We’d look for a while.  Kick at it a little to make sure it was real.  Then we would smile a little thinking about the wonder of mother nature and thinking about the fun of last winter….

Then, we would remember the task at hand.  Winter memories would have to wait…While we spread around the smelley memories of the last one.

I recently had the chance to travel to London for a meeting.

Well, saying the meeting was in London is a bit of a stretch.  From downtown London, it required two hours and three different trains, in addition to a short taxi ride.

The meeting was actually in the metropolis of Bagshot.  Bagshot?  Yup, Bagshot.

A week in London, a week amidst the history of the mighty British Empire.  A week amidst the pageanty that is England.  Having the opportunity to walk the same cobble stones and the same paths as King Henry the VIII, Thomas Moore, Winston Churchill was all thrilling, but surprisingly, not the highlight.

What was the highlight?

The People.

The last few days for my meeting, I stayed at one of the top resorts in all England.  Five Stars.  The room was two stories, 500 years old, but with all of the modern conviences added.

While waiting for the rest of my group to show up, I was visiting with the concierge.  In a fine British accent, he was asking me all of the polite questions - where are you from, what was my business, how did I enjoy the stay.  When I asked him the first question, he seemed a little startled.  When I started asking him where he was from, how he enjoyed working there, what he hoped to do with his life - the real person emerged.  He was from Ireland, the job was fine, but he wanted to be a lawyer, but couldn’t afford school…by the time he was done, he was speaking in a good Irish brogue…which switched back to the fine Queens English as soon as the rest of my group arrived.

Then there was Doris - the African lady carving meat at the buffet.  Everyday, I asked how she was, said my please and thank you, and wished her a great day - the last day, she presented me with a big bowl of home made ice cream - why I asked?  You said please and thank you - your mamma raised you right!

Then there was the bartenders, Carl and Oliver were from completely different cultures.  Oliver was from France and dreamed of finding a nice French girl, managing a fine hotel, and raise a family.  Then there was Carl - a actor born and raised in one of the surrounding villages.  Trained in London - and traveled around Europe.  He wanted to make it to the United States, date famous actresses and jet around the world.  But they helped each other out - coaching each other and trying to make each others lives a little easier.

Then there were the people, the customers, that expected their five star service.  That failed to see the people that were serving them.  The people that failed to say please, or thank you and treated the people serving their food, drink, or calling their cabs with a cool disregard - or worse, outright contempt!

Each of the people I visited with were very similar to the faces that we meet everyday - outside of the five star hotels.  The bag boy at the grocery store, the server at the resturant.  It made me think - how do I treat those people?

In the end, most of us are about the same - we have our own dreams, our own aspirations.  And in the end, most of us at heart, regardless where you are, are pretty darn good people.

(Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today on August 26, 1987)

Not too long ago I had a chance to review some issues of the Wallace’s Farmer and Homestead Magazine from the late 1930’s and through the 1940’s.  It was a fascinating trip through time that kept me awake several nights until early morning.

Economists will tell you 1910-1914 were the golden years of agriculture in the United States.  In fact, parity prices are based on the ratio of commodity prices to farm supply costs during that period.

While farm income may have reached a peak during those years, the late 30s and 40s would have been an exciting time to have been involved in agriculture.  Farms were making the change from horse power and manual labor to mechanical and electrical power.

After the great Depression and especially following World War II, the outlook for farmers was bright.  Farming lost some of its drudgery and became a career characterized by opportunity and technology.  Those old magazines were filled with tips on how to modernize your farm and improve your income.  Topics ranged from cooking for the farm family to electrifying the homestead.  (Using barbed wire to carry current into your barn was not recommended.)

The articles touched on politics too.  It was eerie to read a 40-year-old magazine that touched on many of the top political topics of today.  The arms race, the cold war and farm programs and their impact were dealt with in every issue. One editorial outlined questions you should ask presidential candidates as they made their campaign swing through Iowa.

As fascinating as the time period is to us now, most people who lived through it probably didn’t realize what an age of agricultural change they were experiencing.  Such may be the case right now.

Modern communications and technology has eliminated some of the world-wide isolation that farmers experienced 40 year ago.

Being a part of that economy means that farmers in Argentina, France and India have access to the same agricultural progress flowing from Iowa State University as farmers in Boone, Ogden, or Cedar Rapids. 

Survival in such an economy demands that Iowa farmers adapt new methods and technology into their farming operations as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Theologists and philosophers mourn the disappearance of the family farm. Meanwhile, successful family farms are becoming family agricultural factories.  The successful operations rely on computers, up-to-date marketing strategies.  They diversify to spread their risk and they adopt new strategies to take advantage of new opportunities.

Recently, one of those opportunities has been the U.S. farm program. 

Successful managers have adapted to make the most of the lucrative benefits of the plan.

In a time of global economics complex farm programs and rapidly changing technology, it is important that Iowa farmers are aware that today is another age of change in agriculture. They can then use that knowledge to adapt to the future and keep farming into the 21st century.

I will admit, I pray.

I pray for my family.  I pray for my friends.  I pray for wisdom. I pray for guidance.

But part of prayer is listening as well.  Opening your heart and mind to the will, to the voice of the Lord.

He can be sneaky.  And often times, the answers are not always what we want to hear and not often that recognizable at first glance.

I remember sitting at Mass on morning.  There were a thousand things going on in my life and in my mind.  I was struggling.  I prayed, Lord, just give me peace.

What Bible versus do you think was recited after communion?  “My peace I give you, but peace as I know it, not as you know it.”

Who says the Lord doesn’t answer prayer.

In this day and age, we want answers now.

Moses set before his people the blessing and the curse - follow the will of God and live, or disobey them and die.  Jesus says it in an even more recognizable way - through one of his many parables.  The wise man built his house upon the rock.  The foolish man in the sand.  When the storms hit, whose house was left standing?  “Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts will be the wise man.” says the Lord.

It seems we might be in trouble - how can we be saved?

It is hard sometimes to hear the message, to hear the call of the Lord.  It is hard in these modern times to live a life of purpose.  Part of it is because our society is putting less and less emphasis on prayer and contemplation.  Part of it is because we are putting less and less upon listening.  Part of it too is that we need to be patient - which in this age of instant gratification is a tough concept to understand.

But there is hope.

If you listen to the words of the Psalm today, the Lord is giving us part of the answer:

Be my rock of refuge,
  a stronghold to give me safety
You are my rock and my fortress;
  for your name’s sake you will lead and guide me.

Let your face shine upon your servant;
  save me in your kindness.
Take courage and be stouthearted,
  all you who hope in the Lord.

As we go forward, may we continue to have that hope in the Lord.