Come Boss! Come Boss!  Come Boss!

Calling the cows is a tradition that’s as old as milking cows.  If you have a good voice and the wind is right, you can call the cows home from almost a mile away.

At our farm, we used to call our cows with an old Dodge.  We started out by driving out in the pasture with the old car.  We’d circle around behind and honk the horn to get them headed home at milking time.

Before long, we could just drive by on the road near the pasture and honk to get them headed home.  Later, we just honked the horn in the yard.  Once the cows began associating the horn with milking time (and feeding time), they never had to be retrained.  The new cows picked up the idea from the old cows and the entire herd would come when we honked.

It was a lot easier on our lungs and the cows didn’t seem to mind at all.

The only time we had trouble was when we junked the Dodge and dad bought a new car.  For a few weeks the cows seemed confused by the new horn, but they soon caught on.

Now Japanese researchers have improved on that tradition.  At an agriculture research farm, they’ve given each cow a beeper like those worn by doctors and busy business people.  With a little training, the cows figured out that when the beepers go off it’s time to come home.  Imagine that.  You don’t have to wait for cows to come home anymore, you can have them paged.

In related cow news, big city crime is spreading to the farm.  A dairy herd in Pennsylvania was the victim of a drive-by shooting last month.  Several cows were killed and several others were wounded when gunmen opened fire as the herd was grazing in a pasture.

What has the world come to, when people start to taking pot-shots at innocent cows?

Just as people barricade themselves inside their homes to avoid crime, soon our cows will be hunkered down in their barns to avoid barrages of bullets.  Maybe researchers will need to design bullet-proof vests for the dairy industry’s top producers.

I can just see herds of Holsteins capering off to the pasture outfitted in flak jackets and little bovine beepers.

I guess it’s true what they say.  Agriculture is becoming more and more complex every day.

I can remember one cold winter day, I was out burning papers.  It was cold.  To get to the burning barrel we had to walk past the area where we worked on equipment.  On an old barrel was a jug of oil.  As I was walking back up to the house, I walked over and tried to pick up the jug of oil.  The cold brittle plastic broke in my hands and oil ran everywhere.

I was scared.

When I went back into the house, I told Dad that I found the oil jug broken.  He asked me if I had touched the jug.

I said no.

He got angry.  He knew that an oil jug wouldn’t break by itself.  He also knew by my face, by my body actions, that I was lying.

The oil was not the issue.  Lying was.

I had a choice.  Tell the truth or lie.  I chose poorly.

When the good Lord made man, he gave them the gift of free will.  What has to be so frustrating to the Lord is the number of times that we chose poorly.

In the gospel, Matthew tells us that the Lord compares heaven to a great wedding feast where the people that are invited chose not to show up - or worse, beat and kill his servants.  They are given and choice, and they chose poorly.

As a result, others, perhaps the less of society, get to enjoy the banquet in their place.

Free will.

How many times do we face decisions in this life and choose poorly.  In small things.  In big things.

How many times do we reject the Lord in our lives.  In our thoughts, in our words, in our deeds.  We fail to follow his path, his way.  We chose not to come to the wedding feast.

My father had a very gentle answer to his young son who was obviously very upset - about the spilled oil and about being caught in a lie.

“I’m not upset about the oil.” He said, “I’m disappointed that you chose to lie instead of telling your father the truth.”

I learned my lesson that day about lying…but I pray that I’ve also learned my lesson on making the right choice in His plans.

Ryan also dated a very good friend of mine which meant that as I spent time with her, I had to spend time with Ryan as well.

Ryan was a worker.

In addition to his course load and many organizations at school, Ryan was active in state level politics.  Student government.  Student representative on the state board of higher education, internships with the governor’s office - Ryan could do no wrong.

It was fun, exciting, and a bit humbling to see Ryan in action.

Then, one day back on his folk’s farm, Ryan was burning down an old building.  An accidental back draft from the blaze left him with burns over much of his body.  I was working in Minneapolis at the time, and went to see him.  It was tough to see him laying there in the hospital.

But the same Ryan was there.  Yup, he was burned and scarred and hurting, but the same guy was there underneath.  He laughed at my jokes, kidded with his girlfriend, grinned through the pain.

Ryan had a long recovery.  The scars took some time to heal.  But it didn’t stop him.

It didn’t hardly even slow him down.

Law school, clerking for state and federal judges, chief legal council for the Governor at twenty-eight - not bad for a farm kid from north central North Dakota.

Trips to China, Cuba, Latin America - advising the governor, working with that state Senate and House of Representatives - working to make the state and the nation a better place to be.

Friday night was the big alumni dinner where I saw my friend, Ryan Bernstein honored as the “Horizon Award” winner for someone out of school ten years or less and making a significant impact in their profession and the world.

Ryan fit the bill - and it should be fun to see what the next ten years bring.

I was a wimp in grade school.  Games of “Dodge ball” and “Red Rover” left me terrified.  Things were even worse in high school.  I was a certified nerd. (I have a membership card, taped glasses and a pocket protector to prove it.)  And even worse, competitive sports became required as part of my education.

Football, basketball, wrestling, volleyball and badminton were part of the daily routine in my physical education classes.  I tried to become a conscientious objector, but my burly phys-ed teacher would hear nothing of it.  “You’re going to play and you’re going to like it.,” he would say.

He was half right.

Finally in college, I escaped the social demand to compete in contents of physical fitness. I completed my collegiate physical education requirements (one credit each for bowling, ballroom dance and swimming) without much trouble and left the world of competitive physical fitness behind.

Most of my friends, realizing that careers in professional football, baseball and wrestling were unattainable, finished their educations, found jobs and settled down to live life in suburbia like me.

I’ve made some adjustments myself.  I enthusiastically cheered for the Twins in the World Series this week (I even had one of those “Homer Hankies”) and i’ve been to a Cyclone basketball game or two.  I bowl competitively occasionally.

Still, I’m pretty wimpy where competitive sports are concerned.  But at last, my wimpiness no longer makes me a social outcast.

Then came the American Gladiators.

Each week Thunder, Nitro, Gemini, Ice, Laser, Gold, Zap, Blaze, Diamond and Malibu face off against normal (but well-muscled) people from next door.  They pummel each other with pugil sticks, shoot each other with tennis ball cannons and try to knock each other off of a 30-foot wall.  Just for fun.

More than 250 Iowans showed up at the try-out in Des Moines recently.  Four men and four women won the chance to go up against the Gladiators on national television next month.  The “games” will be televised from Des Moines.  I’ll bet Veteran’s memorial Auditorium will be sold out for the event and thousands more will watch on television.

No matter what you do, you can’t get away from the American Gladiators.  You’re forced to endure the television show, the toy “action figures” at your local toy store.  Your neighbors long for the chance to compete with them in “Breakthrough and Conquer.”  There’s no escape from the American Gladiators.  It’s like being sentenced to phys-ed all over again.

I’ve watched the American Gladiators a time or two.  It was goofy, silly and fun.  It wasn’t nearly as far out and ridiculous as professional wrestling or as boring as golf.  But the fanatics have taken it much too seriously and sucked all the fun right out of it.

Will I watch when eight Iowans compete next month?  Will I cheer for the home-state gladiators as they try to gain fame and notoriety to their Iowa by attempting to defeat the Gladiators?

Nah.  I’ll be watching bowling.

Health experts disagree on the benefits of the tailgaters breakfast.

“Yes, we absolutely agree that oatmeal has substantial heart benefits.  Yes, we absolutely agree that berries are a great way to get a daily serving of vegetables for your balances diet.  Yes we absolutely agree that dairy products provide good protein and calcium necessary for strong bones and healthy teeth.  Yes, we ultimately agree that a cup of coffee is a relatively safe way to get a dose of caffeine to start the day,” stated one dietary expert.

However, with all great master plans, there is a flaw and health officials are condemning the local man’s perfect tailgating breakfast.

“The combination of oatmeal stout beer and berryweise beer is not an effective way to get the necessary ingredients of a healthy breakfast,” stated one health official.  “Nor is it a good idea to wash down the oatmeal stout and the berryweise beers with coffee and Bailey’s Irish Cream.”

“These people just can’t stand to have it both ways,” stated the tailgater with an obvious glazed look in his eyes.  “Why can’t a healthy breakfast be combined with massive doses of alcohol on game day?”

The St. Louis Park man, whose name we could not quite make out because of his slurred speech, was about to make another startling announcement about the addition of a serving of vegetables to his nutritious breakfast menu by way of a Bloody Mary, but unfortunately hauled away for an emergency stomach pumping.

We do not have leaders for times like these.

We need leaders willing to stand up and say, “The way we have lived our lives for the last twenty years is gone.  We must each make a personal choice up and down the ladder of society that more toys, more cars, bigger houses, and fatter check books do not a richer life make.  Our lives must be lived for each other.  Not in some government dictated socialistic network, but in our families, in our schools, and in our communities.  If history has taught us nothing else it is that our lives are not our own - our lives should be lived for our families, for our friends, for our children, and our children’s children.  The way is hard, the choice is easy.”

We do not have leaders for times like these.

We need leaders willing to stand up and say, “The world is changing.  We must change with it.  Global warming may be real, it may not be real.  We may be running out of petroleum, we may not be running out of petroleum.  Our natural resources may be running thin; our natural resources may be more bountiful then ever.  In the end, with creativity, with ingenuity, with the will of a people that have not yet given up, we must press forward.  We must press forward in making sure that the world we have handed off to the next in better shape then it was handed to us.  With cleaner air, cleaner water, and a dedication to improving our lives, while improving the world that we live in.

We do not have leaders for times like these.

We need leaders willing to stand up and say, “Now is not the time to shrink from the world stage.  People may love us or hate us.  People may help us or hurt us.  Other countries may be aiming to knock us down or lift us up.  In the end, we must keep our doors open.  In the end, we must go forward with trust, with understanding, with a knowledge that respect, candor, and a policy of listening, negotiation, and firmness when we need to be firm will gain us more then retreat, distain, and trying to force our ideas on others in the international arena.  Might does not make right, but a living up to our ideals while respecting the rights and sovereignty of our friends and enemies a alike will go far in building the brotherhood of man.

We do not have leaders for times like these.

We need leaders willing to stand up and say, “I was wrong or I don’t know the answer or that is something we must learn together or I don’t know what the future holds.  We cannot be held back by holding on to policies of the past.  We cannot be held back by continuing to hold to our positions without learning, with out growing, without opening our hearts our minds while still sticking to the underlying morals and innate sense of right and wrong.

We do not have leaders for times like these.

We need leaders willing to say, “You want your child to have a good education?  Get involved on your local school board.  Vote to raise your taxes for your school district.  Take a hammer to your television set.  Spend time with the youth of today.  Set an example in your personal lives, in your homes, in your churches, in your community.  Don’t worry about buying them the latest fashions or toy, worry about making sure that they get an education.  Make sure that they know how important community and family are.  Make sure that they get that education - in the classroom, in the home, and in their hearts.

We do not have leaders for times like these.

We have never had leaders for times like these, or for any other times - in the end, we must each stand up, we must each strive to be the leader in our homes, in our communities, in our places of work, in our schools and churches.  We must strive to live the life worth living.  We must strive to do the deeds, to devote our time, our treasure, our talents, our hearts to building a better world.  We must dedicate ourselves to the strenuous task in front of us.

We must each strive to be the leader that is needed for times like these.

Smut peddling is becoming a lucrative business according to new reports.  Apparently people across the country are rediscovering smut and are finding that they like it.

Perhaps a healthy smut market is just what Iowa farmers need to diversify their operations.  They could probably produce smut better than anybody,

Hold your imagination in check.  Before you start imaging Iowa’s farmers wearing nothing but lecherous grins and seed corn caps taking racy photos and making naughty home videos, let me explain.

The smut I’m talking about is a fungus that grows on corn.  It completely ruined my sweet corn last year.  Just about every ear was covered with it.  I had a bumper crop of smut in my garden.

But last year it wasn’t in demand by gourmet restaurants; it was just disgusting.  I dug a hole and buried it.

This year’s smut is still disgusting.  It’s gray and goopy looking and reminds you of something from an old science fiction movie.  The Associated Press reports that diners at New York’s Plaza Hotel and San Antonio’s Hyatt Hotel are eating it up.

As far as I know, smut is not on the menu yet at the Tic Toc or the Black Knight here in Boone.  Where it is on the menu, gourmet chefs use the fungus as a base for other dishes or they use it as a flavoring in meats, soups, and sauces.  The Associated Press reports that you can even order smut-flavored ice-cream.

More food was in the news recently.

People don’t know what’s in their food.  Most of here in Iowa have some distant link to agriculture and know that milk initially comes from a cow and the sweetener in you Pepsi comes from corn.

But apparently quite a few people don’t have a clue what’s in their food.  And I’m not just talking about additives and preservatives here.  Heck, even I don’t know what monosodium glutamate is.

Here’s how misguided these people are.  In recent study commissioned by the Wheat Foods Council, 49 percent of the people polled didn’t know what white bread was made from wheat.  A whopping 48 percent thought that wheat was the main ingredient in oatmeal.

I’ll bet they lie awake at night wondering why they don’t call it WHEAT-meal.  They probably can’t imagine what their cornflakes are made of.  Rice-a-Roni probably has them stumped too.

It’s amazing.  But then again, these are probably the people who go out on the town to dine on smut-flavored ice-cream.

Boy, did I feel foolish.  I had faced a choice.  At eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, after congratulating myself for saying good morning to the usher, holding the door open for a group of people behind me, and letting several cars pull out in front of me in the parking lot, I turned into a nasty monster once I left the sanctity of that church parking lot.

I had gone to battle with my emotions and lost.

Every day, we go to battle.

In our thoughts and in our deeds, in what we say, in what we do not say, we make choices on a daily basis that impact ourselves, impact our fellow man, and impact our world.

We often don’t think about these battles.  In they end, they seem kind of short and have more too do with the people around us then they do to us.

“I wouldn’t have tailgated that guy if he wouldn’t have cut me off.”

“I wouldn’t have yelled at that customer but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I wouldn’t have made fun of that guy if he would have undersood.”

These are all examples of little things that we react too on a daily basis.  All things that we have a choice in - all times when we confront challenges in our world, in our lives, and in our hearts, and we make the choice on how we respond.  Do we meet fire with fire?  Do we defend our turf against interlopers?  Do we sin in response to ignorance?  Do we sin in response to an intended slight?  What choice do we make as our heart and head answer the questions that face us on a daily basis.

In our daily lives, we face the choice of sin or not to sin, to understand or to stick to our ignorant ways.  To love, or to hate.  Every day, we face sin.  Sin in our world.  Sin in our country.  Sin in our heart.  How we respond, how we live our lives is the measure of who we are.  We are not perfect.  We will fall into the snares of the evil one, but as we seek to live the life closer to our Lord, may we remember the words of St. Paul:

“Have no anxiety at all, but in everything,
by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving,
make your requests known to God.
Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding
will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters,
whatever is true, whatever is honorable,
whatever is just, whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious,
if there is any excellence
and if there is anything worthy of praise,
think about these things.”

As a graduate of the College of Agriculture at North Dakota State University, I guess I’d have to side with the land grant university every time.

I’m not much of a football fan, but I was even caught up in the excitement of Bison Football at NDSU.  The thundering herd brought home a national championship trophy three years out of the four that I attended.  Not bad, even by Iowa standards.

Not too long ago, Denny Waller, our distinguished general manager, was poking fun at the Bison’s nick name- The Thundering Herd, He wanted to know the origin of the name.

The bleachers at Dacotah Field have a board bolted vertically under the seats.  When 14,000 fans stand up for a kick-off and bang the heels of their cowboy boots against that board…

A loyal bison fan gets a little down here with all these Cyclones and Hawkeyes.  It is a rare and momentous occasion when one NDSU alumnus meets another.  Last week while doing an interview with local pharmacist Pete Bilden, he mentioned he was from eastern North Dakota.  I responded that I was a graduate of NDSU.

“Hail the Bison!  So am I,” he replied.  NDSU has a large and notable pharmacy program and Pete and another local pharmacist, Don Tuckers are graduates of the program.

Pete has a notable record as a Bison fan. In his five years at NDSU during the late ‘60’s, he never saw the thundering herd lose.  Those boys up on the prairie knew football even then.

Much like iowa and Iowa State, NDSU had an intense rivalry with the other university in the state, the University of North Dakota Fighting Sioux.  Unlike the Iowa rivalry, the land grand college has traditionally been the victor in North Dakota football face-off.  Hence the little ditty:

Hail the Bison!

Hail the Bison,

Wth their tails up in the air.

University!  University, you can kiss us under there.

Any Bison alumni out there?  Drop me a line.

UND grads are welcome too.

It’s actually pretty strange that I never played football, even in high school.  My hometown, Mahnomen, Minn., was a “football town.”  Everybody walked, talked, slept, and ate football.  If you didn’t well, …everybody just did.

 The Mahnomen Indians have one state title under their belt, captured in 1981.  Most years they are like the Vikings.  They make the playoffs.  They even make the championship game, but they just can’t win the big one.

The Bison and the Indians rely on the same game plan.  Big strong guys who can muscle their way to the end zone.  It is a slow, agonizing way to win a football game, but the strategy has been pretty successful for both teams.

My brother, john, played high school football but a foot injury kept him off the field quite a bit.  Over the past few years the Mahnomen High School football program has turned into somewhat of a farm team for the Bison.  Now John is at NDSU.  He’s not playing football, he’s hitting the books and pounding his heels.

Hail the Bison!