Tag Archives: achievement

Just for Fun, Personal Growth

Letters and More Letters

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by Walter Boomsma, H.B., G.P.A.

The beginning of the day is always interesting. One of my tasks today involved an article submitted by a writer who added an acronym after her name. I had no idea what it stood for. As the saying goes, “Curiosity killed the cat.” So, I googled the acronym LCN.

According to the results, she might be a member of the Lamborghini Club Nederland, although I doubt it. La Cosa Nostra was reasonably close to the top of the list. I had 29 choices. I think I figured it out. I decided to write about the experience, so I wouldn’t feel like I had wasted time. Let’s think about acronyms.

As I roam around academic circles, signature lines are often replete with acronyms. Of course, everyone knows what B.S. is, but not all realize that P.H.D. could stand for the fact that the B.S. is “Piled Higher and Deeper.”

Many know that I spent many years working with Arthur Gary in real estate education. Arthur always had a long list of accreditations after his name on the materials he produced. (They didn’t fit on a business card.) A student once jokingly asked him if he knew what they all stood for. Given Arthur’s incredible memory, I was not surprised when he rattled them off alphabetically. I just kept it simple. What mattered to me was that Arthur was a P.A.G. (Pretty Amazing Guy).

I recently received an email from an academic that was genuinely mind-boggling. Her email signature included a lengthy paragraph of acronyms. That paragraph was longer than the email. I can’t say that I was particularly impressed by either. However, I did wonder if she was a P.S. (Professional Student).

Of course, I’m having fun with this and probably should apologize to those who are rightfully proud of their accomplishments. But our accomplishments may not be who we are. I enjoy the thought that we are human beings, not human doers. There should be a correlation between who we are and what we do, but the cart (what we do) shouldn’t get ahead of the horse (who we are).

It was nearly fifty years ago that I heard a speaker challenge his audience to be “growing, playful adults in search of unicorns.” It stuck. It combines the being and the doing. Sometimes, simplicity works. And fifty years ago, unicorns were simple, mythological creatures. Think of the song explaining that while other animals were boarding the ark, the unicorns were playing silly games. “That’s why you’ll never see a unicorn to this very day.” They are lovely animals but can be silly. Silly people can be fun.

What qualifies me to write this? I’ve added some designations to my name in the attribution:

  • H.B. First and foremost, I am a human being. It could stand for over a hundred different things, but we’re keeping things simple.
  • G.P.A. I am a growing, playful adult–not to be confused with Grade Point Average.

Today might be a good day to give yourself some letters after your name. Who do you want to be, and what do you want to do?

Causes and Friends, Maine Life, Personal Growth, School Programs

Don’t Count on It! (Round 2)

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I just noticed this is National School Bus Safety Week. Since I haven’t noticed any change in practice, I’m running this post again!

Here’s a short message for kids and parents everywhere. Things don’t always happen the way they’re supposed to. Let me explain.

cute diverse children near school bus
Photo by Mary Taylor on Pexels.com

I recently stopped for a school bus. That’s not big news. It is an example of things happening the way they should. I was facing the bus and could see past it, noticing that the cars behind it had also stopped exactly as they should.

The lights flashed, the stop sign on the bus opened, and the safety arm across the front of the bus swung wide.

Four or five kids got off the bus. They ranged in size from tiny ones with outsized backpacks to some older ones. They came around the front of the bus. So far, so good.

Some ran, some walked in front of the bus and across the highway.

When they started across my lane, I started yelling at them even though there was no way they could hear me. They didn’t stop or even pause to look up and down the road. Fortunately, everything was working the way it should. Well, almost everything. I think the kids were supposed to look both ways.

Safety shouldn’t be delegrated;
it should be shared.

“Mr. Boomsma”

Sometimes, things don’t work the way they should. I can think of several ways that might have been the case. Several days later, there was a headline from a distant state where someone didn’t stop for a school bus, and a child was injured.

If we want kids to feel and be safe, we need to involve them. It wouldn’t be so bad for them to learn they have some responsibility for staying safe. A few seconds-long pause to look up and down the road is just plain smart.

Perhaps parents should meet the bus at the start of the school year and ensure the kids do. I’d be happy if the bus driver kept the window open and told the kids to stop and look—at least until they got into the habit. It’s been a few years since I’ve attended a school bus safety program, but I’d be thrilled if crossing in front of the bus was part of that curriculum. Safety shouldn’t be delegated; it should be shared.

Just for Fun, Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024

Am I a Drover?

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I’m not sure about that, but I am honored to be included in a photo on the front page of the Midwest Ox Drovers Association!

The photo was taken during my workshop at Tillers International in Michigan. I seem to recall now that included an “honorary” subscription to the MODA Newsletter. I remember this photo well. From left to right are fellow student Julia, her Mom in the back, Instructor Tom, and yours truly–checking my phone for a photo I took of the situation. If you look closely, you will see that Julia and Tom are sitting on one of his oxen. Tom had explained that oxen can serve many purposes. He had the large Brown Swiss (breed, not where they came from) lay down to accommodate them.

A drover is “someone who moves groups of animals, especially cattle or sheep, from one place to another.” So I think it’s fair to say I have been a drover. That was the whole point of attending the workshop. Or so I thought. However, I recently questioned whether it was about driving oxen or communicating with them. But can I consider myself a drover?

I’ve also done my share of herding escaped cows, but if we’re going to be precise, some would suggest that cows are not cattle. There’s no complete agreement, and there are regional differences in terms of use. At least one common distinction is that cows are “girls” and cattle are “boys.” But wait. It’s not that simple.

A female bovine (safe terminology) might be a heifer, not a cow. She’s not a cow until she’s reproduced.

I am suddenly reminded of being with my oldest daughter at a fair when she was still a toddler. As we traipsed through one of the barns, she proclaimed loudly and repeatedly, “Daddy! I know how to tell the boy cows from the girl cows!” I congratulated her but didn’t encourage further discussion. I wasn’t sure I wanted everyone to hear the answer. As only a three-year-old can, she persisted, becoming increasingly loud and demanding. “Do you wanna know how?”

I finally conceded, and she said emphatically, “The boys have rings in their noses.” Her powers of observation were intact, although I’ve never figured out how she drew that conclusion from what she’d seen.

Not all boy cows cattle have rings in their noses, not all boy cattle become steers, and not all steers become oxen. You probably don’t feel a need to know the distinctions. Neither did Bethanie.

At a more recent fair, I saw a young boy running towards some goats, yelling, “Oh look! Sheep!” I can forgive some imprecision in farm vocabulary by non-farmers—I’m sometimes guilty myself—but I was also relieved to hear a parent correct him.

While we’re at it, let’s ensure people know that chocolate milk doesn’t just come from brown cows—well, it might—but from all different colors of cows, including brown. I may not be considered a drover, but I do know a few things about bovines.

Which reminds me. During the workshop, one of the best and most accurate definitions of “oxen” we were given was, “Oxen are bovines with an education.” Sometimes, it’s important to be precise. Sometimes, it’s more important to be simple than to be precise. Both precision and simplicity can be accurate. Choose wisely.

Walter, Occasional Drover

Communication, Just for Fun, Learning, Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024, Teaching

Are We Driving or Communicating?

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So, at least in theory, I recently learned how to work with an oxen team. I’d been saying that I was going to learn to drive oxen. Among my many discoveries was that working with oxen is more about communicating with them than driving them.

“Whooooa, Boys!” Notice I am moving the goad in front of them.

I heard one of my instructors say more than once. “You’re confusing them. They don’t know what you want them to do!” Staying focused on communicating was a bigger challenge than it might seem. And at times, it was funny. Mostly though, it was frustrating!

In brief, trained oxen receive information from the teamster in three ways. The first is (or at least should be) spatial—the body position of the teamster. Second is the “goad” or stick and where and how they are touched. The third is verbal. There is some indication that they hear vowels best. So “whoooooa” works better than “whoa.” The best example of confusing them was when I’d say, “Whoa!” but keep walking. (In my mind, it made sense because I wanted to get in front of them. In their bovine minds, I was sending mixed signals.)

Instructor Rob is a school teacher. We had lots of fun making comparisons. One was the comment, “What you’re doing shouts louder than what you’re saying.” You don’t have to work with kids for long before you realize “Do as I say and not as I do” doesn’t work well.

While a 2,000+ pound ox doesn’t engage in what we call “higher levels of reasoning,” the basics are the same. That said, two of the teams I worked with were extremely well-trained. One team of Devons would stand and let me walk some distance away. I could then raise my goad and call, “Right here, boys,” and they would walk to me and stop with their heads on either side of me.

We students had to learn a bit about herd instinct and survival from predators. Rob occasionally reminded us that building trust with the beasts was important. “You may have to convince them you’re not trying to kill them.” Herd instinct requires they accept you as the top ox.

Here’s an interesting comparison. My Ram pickup truck weighs about the same as a large pair of oxen. During Road Trip 2024, I drove that truck over 3,600 miles, mostly by pushing pedals, turning the wheel, and flipping switches. (I’m purposely omitting occasional arguments with the voice feature of the GPS.) The truck doesn’t have a mind of its own or any instincts. It just does what you tell it to do.

Oxen require a bit more understanding and communication than my truck or your car. You can’t just drive them. One of the things I found challenging is the amount of attention required with oxen, particularly when pulling something. There is no cruise control!

Of course, all analogies break down if you press them, but in addition to the joy of working with these large animals, it was great to be reminded of some of the basic truths about effective communication. I’m still processing, but a few important lessons can be learned.

Don’t send mixed messages! If you say “whoa,” stop moving. Remember: “What you are doing is shouting so loud I can’t hear what you’re saying.” Let’s get everything aligned.

Use multiple communication strategies! Oxen expect to be told and shown by position and the goad. With humans, say it, write it, demonstrate it. I’m not suggesting you email someone and ask if they got your text. Texting serves a different purpose than emailing or calling. Chose wisely.

Speak the language of the listener! With oxen, “Come here!” is not the same as “Right here!” Be conscious of buzzwords and implied meanings. Do you want me to do something, or do you need me to do something? Also, oxen can’t talk back. Humans can. Take advantage of that by asking humans what they heard or read.

Use the listener’s name freely! To make a team of oxen turn sharp left, one has to slow down and perhaps stop completely—it’s like driving a bulldozer. You’ll need to tell one ox (by name), “Haw!” and the other (by name), “Whoa!” (The goad and your body position are important. Use multiple communication strategies!)

When we want a team of oxen to do something, good communication is effective. “Driving” is not. Picture grabbing a 2,000-pound animal by the horns and making him stop. It’s not likely to happen. Picture yourself being dragged in the direction the team chooses. It might make for a funny video to post on social media, but it’s not likely to achieve the desired result.

When done correctly, communication is powerful. It beats driving any day once you get the hang of it.

Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024

Headed for the Hitching Post

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There are oxen in my truck. I found a matching pair In Pennsylvania and couldn’t resist.

For the uninitiated, “hitching post” is a bit of a misnomer on several counts. It typically resembles a section of fence and involves two posts. It also isn’t used for hitching. With oxen, it serves as a place to “yoke up.” The yoked oxen are then led to the implement (which may be some distance from the hitching post) and connected or hitched to it.

One characteristic of oxen is a tendency to consider the hitching post “home base” and, being creatures of habit, head there automatically and enthusiastically. It can be challenging to keep them on task if you pass near the hitching post.

Today, we head for our human hitching post—home. I’m not sure if we do so enthusiastically, but we look forward to unyoking, which indicates that the work is finished. While not the focus, this trip has involved some work, although not in the usual sense of the word. It doesn’t slide off the tongue as easily, but Road Trip 2024 involved some “purposeful effort.”

The hitching post is still pretty far away–we have about 300 miles to achieve today. I’m not sure what equates to removing the yoke, but it might be unloading and unpacking. It will qualify as a purposeful effort.

And it will be a bittersweet. Road Trip 2024 qualifies as an amazing experience on so many levels. I suspect we’ll be processing it for a while. I have some books to ship, some follow-up with new friends… and lots of “thinking” to do. Stay tuned!

My oxen are from Pennsylvania. They haven’t been named yet, so suggestions are welcomed. Short names are considered best, and they should sound different. Oxen do learn their names and respond to them.