It’s easy to get into the daily grind of things in the frenzy of getting things accomplished. Our list of things to do is usually chuck full of items that can’t be put off.

1. Grind feed

2. Fix fence

3. Do laundry

4. Buy groceries

5. Sell bulls

6. Buy Christmas presents

7. Pay the bills

8. Worry about HSUS

9. Write a letter to Congress about EPA’s Proposed Cow Tax

10. Get the AI tank filled

11. Clean the barn

It seems this list is never ending and always loaded to the max with the many responsibilities and duties that rule our life. In this holiday season, the most important thing to add to your to-do list is to make time for family and friends, enjoy life’s simple pleasures and give thanks for your many blessings. It’s really simple; come on, I will show you how it’s done.

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Today’s headline is about EPA’s desire to tax ranchers for livestock emissions. This proposed “cow tax” will have a colossal impact on the agricultural industry. I urge you to read more on this issue, and read the following press release sent out by NCBA’s Policy Affiliate Relations Manager, Elizabeth Bostdorff.

CALL TO ACTION: URGE EPA to NOT REGULATE GREENHOUSE GASES

Currently, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) is collecting comments on an Advanced Notice of Proposed Rulemaking regarding regulating Greenhouse Gases (GHGs) under the Clean Air Act.

WE NEED YOUR HELP to tell the EPA NOT to regulate Greenhouse Gases under the Clean Air Act since such regulation would be economically devastating to the entire U.S. economy, including the cattle industry.

There are two forms of the comments that you can submit to the EPA against this rule. See the Call to Action site at NCBA to access these forms. You can also submit your comments via email. Just send them to: a-and-rDocket@epa.gov and be sure to reference Docket ID# EPA-HQ-OAR-2008-0318 in the subject line.

PLEASE help us fight against regulation of greenhouse gases under the Clean Air Act by sending a letter TODAY!

Deadline for letters is Friday, November 28th.

The year was 1997. Christmas was right around the corner, and I was ten years old. I was in the house with my mom and two sisters. As tradition, we would spend a whole weekend decorating the house for the holiday season. We decked out the tree, wrapped garland around the railings, hung lights on the porch, and wrapped gifts for family and friends. Mom gave all of us girls jobs to keep us busy decorating while she made holiday treats. Later, we would all gather in the kitchen to decorate sugar cookies.

There was only one damper on this holiday spirit—Dad always knocked on the door needing chore help, and I was usually the prime target. That meant putting the last of the decorations on hold, donning double socks, snow pants, coat, warm boots, mittens, and a hat and heading outside to help my dad. Together, we would feed hay, grind feed, check water tanks, and take care of the calves before the next big snow hit.

In 1997, a big snow certainly did hit the state of South Dakota. This winter is so infamous in our state’s history that people still wear baseball caps with the slogan, “I survived the Blizzard of ‘97”. For my family, we were snowed in our house for seven days. As a result, my sisters and I had to skip a full week of school. Most kids would have rejoiced at the thought of missing out on so much school to play in the snow, but my reality was much different than snow angels and snowball fights.

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The lights shone on the modest cowboy. His fitted black Wrangler jeans revealed legs, lean and agile. His aqua blue pearl button shirt coupled with a tightly tied orange scarf contrasted against the dark of the room. He wore a black cowboy hat atop his head that shaded his eyes and a handlebar mustache veiled his fast talking mouth. In his hand, he gripped a daunting black microphone. The microphone had a job to do: keep up with the talking cowboy and survive the action. The cowboy was a poet, one of the best of his kind. You could tell he had more than a few tricks up his sleeve—he jumped, he rolled, he quipped, he flipped. As he acted out his poems to the crowd, all eyes were fastened on him and laughter erupted from the souls of every cattlemen in the room. You see, the cowboy was Baxter Black, and he was telling our story, the agriculture story.

It was a year from December where I first had the opportunity to listen to Black, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled than to sit in my chair and roll with laughter as Baxter portrayed his adventures as a large animal veterinarian. As an aspiring speaker and writer myself, I knew I had to get an interview with the greatest cowboy poet in the world. Wrangling a cowboy poet isn’t as easy as it seems. This particular cowboy carries no cell phone and he doesn’t use a computer.

How was I possibly going to wrangle this cowboy for an interview with me? After all, I’m just a simple South Dakota farm kid. My love of agriculture started as a young girl where I grew up on a cow-calf operation, raising Limousin seedstock with my family. After a few chance opportunities changed my life, I was hoping to join the ranks of all the great individuals that served the industry as agriculture advocates. I wanted his secrets; I wanted to know all the answers to my many questions. First, I was going to get my interview.

After some persistent chasing, I scheduled an interview with Baxter through his secretary; we agreed to meet for breakfast in our downtown Denver hotel the next morning. As the new day awakened, I nervously waited for the cowboy poet. I was a mere five interviews into budding journalism career, and I was as green as a freshly weaned calf. He greeted me with the tip of his cowboy hat and a respectful bow. In true Southern gentlemen fashion, he pulled out my seat and sat across from me. I felt his eyes pore into me, sizing me up. He was probably wondering what in the world some college kid from South Dakota wanted with him.

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Every morning, I open my laptop and I start sorting through the day’s top news. Not only do I read what’s happening in the beef industry, but I also get the dish from consumers’ view, paying special attention to articles that pertain to food. On a single day, I can see all kinds of headlines relating to beef. It seems the agriculture industry is blamed for everything from epidemic obesity to greenhouse gasses. In an effort to “go green,” many consumers see eating meat as an outdated trend, something not eco-friendly enough to grace their dinner tables.

In fact, yesterday I even received this comment on my blog post about Proposition 2, “Factory farms who raise animals for food claim they are the good guys feeding the hungry people. But the fact is that animal agribusiness is devastating to our environment, public health, and animal welfare. If is also a fact that if we replaced animals raised for food with crops, we could feed every starving person on earth. Congrats to HSUS!”

To tell you the truth, sometimes I just get plum burnt out from these statements and my efforts to respond with commentary and letters to the editors. Sometimes I just want to turn my head and pretend I never saw anything worth correcting. Then, I feel guilty, and I respond, guiding the Internet readers to beef-friendly websites where they can learn more about the foods they eat. It only takes a few minutes to educate a consumer, and it’s a practice everyone in the beef industry should pick up. We should never tire of correcting misguided media outlets and consumers, don’t you agree?

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It’s crunch time at South Dakota State University, as students are in a frenzy with last minute projects, tests and activity events before finals week and the end of the semester. For me, that means I’m running from one thing to the next, busy as ever and waiting for things to slow down. As soon as homework slows down, it’s another writing assignment to do, a load of work to do on the farm, or a list of presents to buy before Christmas. Things are moving fast in the beef industry these days, too. Cattlemen are worried about earning high prices for their sale cattle, keeping the feeder calves healthy, wondering about the first snowstorm and trying to prepare the ranch for winter.

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You all know the saying, “Two heads are better than one.” I think this saying applies to the beef cattle industry perfectly. The proof is in the families that farm together, pooling their assets to get the job done. The sharing of equipment and labor increases productivity with less input costs, creating a successful partnership.

I was thinking about this topic a few weeks ago, during the peak of election season. It was about that time that I realized how lucky my family is to have such great neighbors to help with our cattle operation, and visa versa. My parents’ lifelong friends, Jeff and Molly, live within ten miles of our ranch, and they are always willing to take a break from their own cattle chores to help us out. At weaning time, Jeff brings his working chute and dehorns the calves for us. Each year, Jeff and Molly and a few of their friends drive over to help work cattle at preg checking. Jeff brings his skills to greatly reduce our vet bill, and in return, we donate time and labor to help them work calves at their ranch. Because Jeff and Molly have no children, us girls were always invited to come along to help out, too! That’s exactly what we did two weeks ago when they preg checked the cow herd.

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My dad always teases me that I write about the beef business from my cozy desk at school, away from the realities of the farm. And, when I went home this weekend to work and celebrate my birthday with the family, I heard all about it.

“Mandy, you write with rose-colored glasses about agriculture,” said my dad, with a big grin. “Now’s the perfect time for a taste of reality. Let’s go do chores.”

It was a cold, rainy day in South Dakota, and I knew we had a lot of work to do. I put on coveralls, a stocking cap, knee-high boots and a pair of gloves, and I headed outside with my dad. I figured I would get some quality father-daughter time in: we would talk cattle, pick out the 2009 show calves and do a little work on the side. No big deal.

Well, I thought wrong. Going to class definitely doesn’t get me in working farm shape. I wasn’t working with those rose-colored glasses anymore. As I trudged through the muddy feed yard, backing up the grinder-mixer to unload it into the bin, I checked out the calves in the yard and the cowherd out grazing corn stalks.

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21 years ago today, my parents, Dave and Peggy, were on their way to the hospital in Sioux Falls, SD. The date was November 13, 1987, and their first daughter, Amanda, was entering the world. As the story has been told to me, my dad was racing down the interstate, a nervous soon-to-be daddy trying to get his wife to the hospital to ensure a safe delivery and a healthy baby.

Then it hit him. It was the morning of Friday the 13th. Certainly, this wasn’t a good sign to have your baby born on a day filled with bad luck.

“Peg, do you know it’s Friday the 13th?” my dad asked, with worry in his eyes.

“Well, I’m not waiting until tomorrow!” my mom hollered back. Needless to say, I think I have an average load of bad luck, no worse than the next guy. No worries.

Yes, it’s my birthday. So why do you care? Well, being 21 years old today reminds me that my youth is quickly passing me by. Soon I will graduate from college, get a job, buy a house, maybe get married and start a family. Then I start to wonder, will cattle be in my adult story? Will I be able to continue my family’s cattle operation or start my own? Will I have to find new ways to market my cattle in order to make it? How will I get the money to pay for new equipment, purchase cattle and pay the bills?

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Have you ever thought about the definitive moment in your life that solidified your passion for something? I was asked that question recently about the time in my life when I first found my passion for agriculture. As I think back to my childhood, there is one story that stirred my passions to continue my path in agriculture. Let’s head back to 1994, and I’ll share my tale.

In 1994, my grandpa had a bottle calf. He told me that if I fed that bottle calf every single day and raised it until he was big and strong, he would give me his best replacement heifer in return. I had always wanted my very own heifer, so I took the deal. Everyday after that, I went outside with my bottle of milk and fed my baby calf. Once he was grown and weaned with the rest of the calves, Grandpa gave me my first Limousin heifer, 510C. I named her Breanna.

Breanna later had her first calf, a black bull. His name was Jack, and I was absolutely smitten with him. I was so excited when my dad chose Jack to sell at the Black Hills Stock Show. Everyday after school, I would help my dad work on Jack and another bull, Jake. As an independent little girl, I insisted that I do everything with Jack. I fed him, brushed him, and led him around every night in the barn.

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