Just for Fun, Learning, Personal Growth

Then One Foggy Christmas Eve…

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One of the last things on my “to-do” list was a visit to Nightengale’s Dairy so we’d have plenty of milk in case Santa hadn’t had enough when he stopped at our house. We had plenty of cookies. Since I was pretty sure the girls wouldn’t have Christmas off and buying milk is self-serve, I further justified the trip by deciding to see if the cattle were lowing.

(According to the Cambridge Dictionary, “lowing” means making the deep, long sound of a cow. And, in case you missed the reference to the lullaby/Christmas Carol Away in a Manger, the context is “The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes, But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes…”)

Okay, so maybe I was a bit focused on Christmas.

When I arrived, my first impression was, “Where are the girls!?” They are usually visible along the edge of their shelter, munching and chewing. They seem to recognize my truck, and some will come to the corner nearest it, seeking some pats and conversation. I walked closer and realized that I’d arrived at the milking hour. They were all lined up in the back, waiting their turns. They didn’t seem to be lowing. I understand that priority and didn’t feel rejected–maybe a little disappointed.

When I came out of the store area with my milk, the two calves that had been huddling in their huts came running to the fence. They were wearing nice warm coats and seemed pleased at the thought of some company. I was willing to wade through the snow to get close enough for some scratching and pats.

They did make some noise. I suppose, in a relative sense, it could qualify as “lowing,” although it seemed more like squeaking or humming–cow baby talk.

I’ve often thought that it would be interesting to spend Christmas Eve in a stable with assorted animals. The simplicity of it seems appropriate and inviting “on a cold winter’s night.”

We often use the word “magic” to describe Christmas. Kids seem better at experiencing the magic of Christmas, probably because they keep things simple. Magic shouldn’t be complicated. But It should be seen and experienced. And not just at Christmas.

Things that I grew up with stay with me. You start a certain way, and then you spend your whole life trying to find a certain simplicity that you had. It’s less about staying in childhood than keeping a certain spirit of seeing things in a different way.

Tim Burton

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, Personal Growth

Veterans Day 2024

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Assuming you’re not packing up and leaving the country (sorry, I couldn’t resist), perhaps you’ll join me in celebrating our Veterans on Monday. I have a couple of ideas for us.

We could visit a Veterans Memorial or Cemetery. Contrary to some social media posts, Veterans Day honors both fallen and living Veterans. (Memorial Day is meant to specifically honor those who paid the ultimate price.) If the flags haven’t been removed for the winter, we could straighten a few.

We could go to a Veterans Day event. It may take some searching, or you could create your own. Put up a flag! Some years ago, during a trip to Arlington National Cemetery, a group of us ended up in an ice cream shop. Some folks come in wearing uniforms. With little fanfare, my young nieces Lindsi and Abigail paid their bills. Does that give you an idea for creating an event?

We could create a moment of silence. That sounds simple, but you can only concentrate on what our veterans have made possible for us all. My moment will include the poem, “In Flanders Fields.”1 An important stanza from that poem is:

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
       The torch; be yours to hold it high.
       If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
                                In Flanders fields.

Sometimes I worry that we’ve caught the torch but dropped it instead of holding it high. That thought leaves me haunted by the millions of veterans who cannot sleep.

Moina Michael is credited with starting the tradition of wearing a red poppy and seeing it adopted as a symbol of remembrance for war veterans by the American Legion Auxiliary and by Earl Haig’s British Legion Appeal Fund (later The Royal British Legion). The orginal poppies were made by veterans from crepe paper and sold as a way of raising funds for veterans support. But more importantly, as a simple way to show support of those who have made the ultimate sacrifice in defending freedom across the globe. She also wrote a poem assuring those who sleep we have the torch and are keeping faith.

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the faith
With all who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.

And now the torch and poppy red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.2

The poppies are getting hard to find. But we can still wear one in our head and heart. And spend a moment or two thinking about holding tightly the torch.

  1. Read the entire story of the significance of the Veterans Day Poppy. ↩︎
  2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Shall_Keep_the_Faith ↩︎
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

Walter Boomsma (“Mr. Boomsma”) writes on a wide array of topics including personal development, teaching and learning. Course information is also available here!