I love this thing!!!

I have to admit that I have never been on the cutting edge of technology. But when I entered the digital age I found it to be fun but at times frustrating. Especially when your hard drive crashes and months and months of documents are lost. That's when a paper trail would be nice.

But I have discovered something even better than word processing and digital photos and that's TiVo. For those of you who used to be like me, I'll explain. TiVo or a DVR recorder allows you to digitally record television programs without the fuss of a video tape and all the hassles of programming. And the best part? The speed at which you can zoom through commercials. I watched a 90 minute program last night in only 25 minutes. Gone were the annoying commercials and inane segues in the program I was watching.

I can't tell you how delighted I was to speed through commercials (this thing has fast forward speeds of up to 300x - so if you don't pull your thumb off of the button you can be through the show "60 Minutes" in less than 6 seconds). But it also got me to thinking about how much time we have wasted in our lives watching mindless commercials for stuff we really don't need or want. No wonder watching TV has been such a low priority in my life for so many years.

I don't expect the advent of TiVo in our home to change my viewing habits any time soon. But it makes me fantasize about the quality or different outcomes of our lives if we could 'rewind' or 'fast-forward' things as easily. That trip to the dentist? No problem, the memory of that root canal is just a blur with LifeVo. And what about the stupid thing you blurted out during a staff meeting? Again, just press rewind on your LifeVo remote and voila! The foot comes out as easy as pie and intelligent words pour out instead. And as a mom, sometimes I would love to 'rewind' my kids back to toddlers and enjoy the fun of much simpler times. And those turbulent teens years? Why, they were only glowering at the dinner table and muttering insults only a minute ago. And now look, honey, they're all grown up and respectable. Thanks, LiveVo!

The Retail Game

My husband will be the first to tell you that if you can't find it at Fleet Farm, then you don't need it. To him, it is the true farmer's mecca. Year round he can find his staples: duct tape, fencing supplies, belts for the tractors and his pants, plain old blue jeans and microwave popcorn. He's a creature of routine and Fleet Farm caters to him. And for the most part he's pretty happy.

Me, on the other hand, has to forage around town to find the rest of our family's needs. (Unfortunately Fleet Farm doesn't carry groceries). And in my quest to feed and clothe my family I have endured endless frustration by the retail game played by stores. You know the routine - Christmas items out on shelves in September and Valentine's Day cards for sale the day after Christmas.

Just yesterday I needed to find my son a winter coat. Even though spring is only a few weeks away, with 12 inches of snow on the ground I couldn't send him to school in his spring jacket and hope he stayed on the playground while his friends cavorted among the snowbanks. Surely in February there would still be hats, mittens and warm clothing to be found. My first stop, mega-box store Wal-Mart. There wasn't one winter coat to be found, but I could have my pick of bikinis and sandals!

Needless-to-say I took my business elsewhere and was lucky enough to find a coat on clearance. Now if he can get another winter out of it I will be happy. But please, Mr. Retailer, we consumers are sick of the stocking games. I am not interested in buying picnic supplies in January nor do I want a winter coat in summer when I am searching for an elusive swim suit for a long-awaited vacation in late July. Is it so crazy to think consumers would be interested in buying items for the current season?

The Joys of Lambing

It happens every year, but it still feels new to me. Each year the birthing of the new lambs has the magic to transform even the most winter worn farmer. For months they've been trudging around the farm sporting unshaven faces and long-underwear that's been worn like a second skin since December.

Will winter ever end, they wonder to themselves as they fight with a frozen manure spreader and dodge the hooves of a cantankerous cow with chapped teats. Then one night it all begins. Slowly at first and then with a rush as the ewes begin dropping their lambs by twos and sometimes threes.

My good-natured father-in-law slips into his mid-wife role as his precious ladies begin their labors. With over 200 pregnant ewes in the barn, most of them delivering twins, this poor man runs day and night, making sure that all is well. On any given day, he will arrive in the barn to find three new sets of twins. By the time he leaves for lunch, two more have been added to the tally. And if it's a year of triplets, he can easily add 26 new lambs to the count by the time his head touches his pillow.

No one is immune from the miracle of life. Just holding an hours-old lamb in your arms makes believers of us all. My 10-month-old grandson, however, is not too sure about these little black creatures that constantly bleat for their woolly mothers to rescue them.

Even the most jaded observer cannot help but smile at the antics of the older lambs springing and leaping around the large pen in a frenzy while the old ewes grab a quick bite at the manger. The young kids stand at the edges of the high-spirited melee, wondering if among the frisky lambs is another grand champion at this year's fair. Who knows? But in spring, anything is possible.

Not Your Average Cow Hearse

Before I get started on the telling of one of my most embarrassing moments as a farm wife, I'll completely understand your horror or disbelief at such a dumb stunt. Please believe me, it was totally unintentional. Just like the report that came over the police scanner just minutes ago about a rendering truck driving down the highway, carrying what the dispatcher called "intestines" that were leaking out the back. Eeewwee. I'm sure the driver didn't mean to cause such a grisly spectacle.

Back when I was a stay-at-home mom and a more full-time farm wife, I often used the farm's pick-up trucks to run errands. Like most farm trucks, these were far from being the sleek-looking machines that you see ranchers running around in on Ford commercials. These were genuine farm trucks with the rusty fenders, holes in the floor boards and air-conditioning provided by a simple rolling down of the window - provided the knob was still there.

Feeling a bit stir crazy with three young kids in the house one January afternoon, I hopped in the back of the old red Chevy pick-up truck - the one with no rear-view mirror and the seat stuck in the recline position. Wrestling with the stubborn manual transmission and lack of power steering, I navigated my way to Fleet Farm. Delighted with my luck, I pulled into a parking space near the front of the store and ran inside.

As I was standing in the check-out line nearest the exit, I kept noticing the customers walking into the store, looking back over their shoulders towards the parking lot and pointing. Probably a fender-bender or something, I thought to myself as I paid for my purchase and headed out the door. There, to my horror, was the object of their attention, laying stiff in the bed of the old pick-up truck was the body of a dead heifer that had been brought up from the pasture. In his haste, my husband drove the truck home for lunch with the intention that he would bury the animal right afterward. Unfortunately he forgot to mention this small detail to me. In all honesty, he probably figured anyone with eyes could have seen the 250-pound animal in the back of the truck.

Anyone but me who had crawled into the low-slung front seat of a truck without mirrors. Quickly I jumped into the truck, ground the gears into reverse and prayed all the way home that that darn truck wouldn't stall in a busy intersection. To make matters worse, at that time The Reporter had a feature in the paper called Sound Off, where folks could call in leave comments anonymously (this proved to be amusing at times). You guessed it, a couple of days later there was a comment about the a dumb broad who drove to Fleet Farm toting around a dead animal. And that she even had the audacity to park right up in front in broad daylight!

I still cringe when I think about that. And to this day, whenever I drive a pick-up truck into town I always check to see if the cargo is still kicking.

McTheft-proofing Your Ride

I remember when I bought my first Toyota Camry, thinking, at last I finally had a reliable car based on consumer and automotive industry reports. And for the most part, these cars have exceeded our expectations and (provided I don't schmuck another deer) should give us at least a quarter million miles of service.

However, my friends were quick to point out that like the Honda, another rice-burner (thanks, Bobby) the Camry was on the list of cars that thieves like to steal and part them out in chop shops. I should point out that upscale models like the Lexus and Acura also make the list but thieves seem to prefer ours.

But have no fear. There's a simple deterrent that repels most car thieves and that's the McTheft-proofed cars. You've seen them parked next to your car in the clinic and grocery store parking lots: back seats littered with half-eaten french fries and gazillions of Happy Meal toys. Joining the disarray are mismatched mittens, story books, baseball cards and straws and candy wrappers. These cars belong to folks who avoid full-service car wash places like Jet Stream, preferring the do-it-yourself places where for 50 cents you can shop vac the backseat to your heart's content and no one will think you're a car slob.

Thieves probably aren't too interested in seats or carpets stained with Ronald McDonald's orange drink or ketchup blobs glued to the CD console. If it belongs to a parent, there's probably wet naps in the glove compartment instead of a stash of emergency cash, they reason, moving on to an impeccably clean model with Enya and Coldplay CDs on the seat instead of Kidz Bop.

Now that I only have one child in tow, the backseat of my ride has improved significantly except for the stops at the drive thru. But as messy as my car may get some days, I am miles ahead of my husband who practically lives in his car seven days a week. As a professional cattle breeder, thieves would do well to avoid this vehicle if at all possible!

A Farmer in Love: A reality check.

I wonder how many men will be popping the question on Valentine’s Day this week. Just this week Farmer’s Almanac published a list of romantic ways men could ask for their lady’s hand in marriage. However, I don’t think they had the typical farmer in mind. Compare their smarmy suggestions to the stark reality of being hooked-up with a romantically and creatively-challenged farmer (in bold type).

• Go skip stones at a nearby lake. When you get to the last one, let her know that you have one rock left. Then, pull out the ring. Accidentally toss the ring in the lake and ask her to go fetch it.

• Etch your love in chalk on the sidewalk that’s in front of her house. Include a line that says, “Check your mailbox.” Put the ring (or note) in there. Cannot find any chalk except for the bright orange tail-chalk marker left in his pocket.

• Send her by mail or e-mail an invitation to an engagement party. The invitation should invite her (and only her) to spend the rest of her life with you. He doesn’t even know your address let alone wants to go to any party.

• Record a video of yourself proposing to her. Convert the video to a DVD (there are many services that can do this for you) and tell her you rented a movie for the night. Then, put the DVD in the DVD player and see her reaction. The only person highlighted in his video is Bret Favre and the Packers – featured on the entire last football season.

• Put the ring someplace common in her house- this might be in the silverware drawer, in the butter dish, or even tied to the pantry knob with a note attached that says, "Will you marry me?" He would definitely pick the junk drawer (the black hold of every kitchen) where things as big as a hammer have vanished.

• Bring in the local paper and nonchalantly ask, "Do you think we should announce our engagement in the paper?" When your soon-to-be fiance realizes what you've said, take the ring out of your pocket. He never even knew there were other sections in the paper beyond the Sports and market reports, let alone a social events section.

• Make a paper or online album of your relationship, with pictures of the two of you during important moments, and on the second to last page write "what will the future bring?" and on the last page write "how about marriage?" You’ve got to be kidding. If this even existed, it would include romantic images of the two of you pulling a calf out of the manure pit, handing him tools while he’s under a tractor fixing a broken part or castrating lambs together.

• Give her a book of love poetry. Glue most of the pages so they are stuck together. Then, leave a slot cut out and place the engagement ring inside. While I am sure gluing the pages together would work, the poetry on the other hand might be interesting. A farmer might issue this poetic declaration of love: Roses are red, manure is brown. You’re the hardest-working girl I’ve seen around.

I Feel Better Already

If you cannot read the print, here goes:





A house in the country: $1 million.
Three luxury cars: $160,000.
Leaving home during a cold Minnesota winter without turrning off the waterpipes in the garage: priceless.

With the forecast of recent bitter cold temperatures, my husband and I decided we were going to have one winter without frozen water pipes. Since we moved into our old farmhouse constructed in the 1870s I don't think there has been one winter where we haven't had to thaw out frozen pipes in the basement. Part of the problem is the design of the house. Back when fuel was cheap, you could afford to crank the thermostat up to 70 degrees plus to heat the old brick barn. But when we married back in 1980 (remember the energy crisis??) we paid over $2,100 just to heat the downstairs one winter. Needless-to-say, we use a lot of blankets and the thermostat rarely goes over 64 degrees (unless it's being tampered with by a child).

We have two entrances to our basement: the traditional steps from inside and a walk-in from the outside located on the north side of the house. If it wasn't bad enough to have a door on the north side of the house, the pipes running into the basement from the well are located near the bottom of those stairs. So if an absent-minded child or idiot dog leaves the door gaping open with a brisk north wind blowing....it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the results.

One winter before we insulated the outside walls (no kidding, it was just plaster and wood lathes) we had sub-zero temperatures for three weekends in a row. With the furnace running three days non-stop, we holed up in the southeast side of the house to keep warm. Even with the furnace blasting away, we couldn't get the temps up over 50 degrees in the house. And water? Not a drop. The next weekend my husband went down to live at the farm while I took our firstborn to my parent's house to wait for warmer weather.

Living without running water for four days is not any fun. But it does give you a sense of appreciation for it when the pipes cough out the first drops. After the sediment clears, we're back in business.

Because he doesn't trust heating tape, my husband leaves a trickle of water running in the upstairs bathroom. This grates on me because I cannot stand to waste water (someday I'll blog about the drought and the dry well). But having no water or burst pipes is not an attractive alternative either.

So after making it through the last bitter spell without an incident, my husband let the kerosene heater in our unheated back room run out of fuel. After all, the temps were above zero. WRONG!!! Fortunately with the help of a trusty space heater I was able to catch the freeze early. Unlike folks who use torches (a burning house would thaw out those pipes in a hurry) we are careful to monitor any heat-producing appliance. Now if we can make it to spring.....

Look what one buck could buy you!!!






I’m sure you all know someone who spends $1 now and then on the Lottery when the pot gets pretty substantial. Knowing that you have a better chance of getting struck by lightning standing naked on a street corner in Waupun in the middle of January – it just makes sense not to go crazy and lay down a week’s pay.

But what if you could get a sure thing for just one buck – like a room with the best view in Wisconsin? Well, actually the price starts at one buck, and if you’re the lucky bidder, you could actually win the Kennedy Lookout tower that park rangers in Park Falls, Wis., have used for years to spot forest fires.

The DNR is planning to sell the 75-year-old tower that was once among 200 manned fire towers in the north. Following a devastating fire in 1910 that consumed over three million acres of prime virgin timber in the Northwest and killed 85 people – the government organized a fire lookout network and by the late 1930s constructed over 5,000 lookout towers – with over 600 of them being built by President Roosevelt's "green army". But because of high-tech surveillance methods, the towers have gone the way of drive-in movies theatres.

The Park Falls tower has to be removed within 90 days (bids will be opened on Feb. 23), said forest specialist Gary Vander Wyst of the DNR, who said taking the tower apart is as easy to disassembling Tinkertoys. While he thinks the tower will be sold as scrap metal, Vander Wyst said he has fielded ideas for the tower to be used as a mega deer stand or a place to put someone’s mother-in-law.

Before the advent of cell phones, this tower could provide farmwives and easy way to spot hubby somewhere out in back 40 or signal him that supper was ready. Not only a means of primitive communication, just getting up and down the tower would be better than any Weight Watchers program. And it would be a great place to hide from the kids when the going gets rough at home.

While I have hauled crazier things home, I wonder what my husband would think if I bought that old tower? Hmmmmmm, I do have a few extra bucks laying around since I haven’t bought any lottery tickets lately.

Calling all Cops!

Sitting here in my office in Waupun I get to listen in to the pulse of the community via the police scanner. While us reporters get to hear a wide variety of what's going on outside the newsroom walls, it's really the dispatchers that are on the front lines...answering the calls from citizens that range from dogs left out in the cold, cows on the loose, medical emergencies, vehicle accidents and more.

What I'm sure we don't hear or read about in the dispatch logs are all the calls that would make great material for David Letterman and Jay Leno's nightly monologues. Just the other day a reader sent me some transcripts (which he claimed were legit) of 911 calls to law enforcement agencies.

So, while the temps hover in the -20 below range, pull up a seat and decide for yourself if the following calls are actually real. Or instead, just enjoy the craziness. And remember, dialing 911 is reserved for real (not imagined) emergencies.


Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is your emergency?
Caller: I heard what sounded like gunshots coming from the brown house on the corner.
Dispatcher: Do you have an address?
Caller: No, I have on a blouse and slacks, why?

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is your emergency?
Caller: Someone broke into my house and took a bite out of my ham and cheese sandwich.
Dispatcher: Excuse me?
Caller: I made a ham and cheese sandwich and left it on the kitchen table and when I came back from the
bathroom, someone had taken a bite out of it.
Dispatcher: Was anything else taken?
Caller: No, but this has happened to me before and I'm sick and tired of it!

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is the nature of your emergency?
Caller: I'm trying to reach nine eleven but my phone doesn't have an eleven on it.
Dispatcher: This is nine eleven.
Caller: I thought you just said it was nine-one-one
Dispatcher: Yes, ma'am nine-one-one and nine-eleven are the same thing.
Caller: Honey, I may be old, but I'm not stupid.

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What's the nature of your emergency?
Caller: My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart
Dispatcher: Is this her first child?
Caller: No, you idiot! This is her husband!

Dispatcher: 9-1-1
Caller: Yeah, I'm having trouble breathing. I'm all out of breath. Darn....I think I'm going to pass out.
Dispatcher: Sir, where are you calling from?
Caller: I'm at a pay phone. North and Foster.
Dispatcher: Sir, an ambulance is on the way. Are you an asthmatic?
Caller: No
Dispatcher: What were you doing before you started having trouble breathing?
Caller: Running from the Police.