Farmer? Not Anymore.

When Rena and I met in 1973, Dad still farmed in central Kentucky. He had a beef cow and calf operation with which she became acquainted on visits before we went to Bolivia in 1976. The beef herd consisted primarily of a hundred Angus cows.

Thursday, April 9th, was sunny and dry. Even though the air was cool, I knew it was a good time to get the lawn tractor out and cut some grass. Seeing the neighbor's cattle in the field across the road and my mowing in the yard, Rena was reminded of my farming roots and snapped this picture.

In my farming days, the tractors I drove were bigger, the fields were a lot larger, and I was a lot younger. The closest I come to agricultural activity at this stage of my life is cutting grass and helping Rena tend flowers. (Since our cat died a couple years ago, we have no livestock.)

Our reliable indicator of spring's arrival.