The Ugly Graze-ling

Most of us know the Hans Christian Anderson’s fable about the ugly duckling blossoming into a beautiful swan.  This story extends to an unsightly ten acres of my pasture system.  This rank, hideous wad of growth has prompted visitors to say, “When ya gonna mow that, it looks ugly?”  Like the duckling, I have been belittled for “wasting” grass in favor of my feathered friends but this fairy tale always has a happy ending.

I preface this story by telling my customers, conservation planners and the agricultural world this activity of fallowing land for grassland bird habitat was actually planned and implemented as part of a long term strategy to make or retain more economic, biological, environmental and social wealth.  Huh?  Yea, this is a conscience decision-making process with a triple bottom line focus to replenish the farm’s ecological bank account.

My nutrient management plan tells me which fields are destined for the birds.  Last year I placed a majority of my purchased hay along the fence-line next to this year’s nursery.  While I fully admit to the pain of unrolling frozen bales, I found some solace in having my cows place fertility where I really need it.  The idea of using bales as a manure spreader is well, just great, especially in building soil carbon and adding seed without expensive iron.  Purposeful out-wintering is a tool to build my nesting site.

I took the animals off this paddock in early April, fixed and cleaned adjacent bird boxes and then let it rest.  At this point, one should revel in the day to day magic that transforms litter into an incubator for all sorts of critters.  The mystery of why a bluebird pair picks an old barn-sided house, not built to government specifications, over a new one makes me laugh.  The swallows and sparrows spar over territory and the best spots to raise a family.  The turkeys and crows lust for the teeming soil life under the damp hay, aerating the sward and stimulating the new seeds to germinate from the warm sun.

The creation of wildlife habitat beyond the hand of man is poetry in motion and a site to behold.  As the short grass turns into an ever diverse prairie, the romper-room attracts a covey of grouse, bobolinks, red-winged blackbirds, yellow finches and the like, to form a family dynamic.  The synergy also attracts deer and fawns, foxes and pups, woodchucks, rodents and really happy hawks.  What makes this scene so possible is the beasts of burden who provide the hoof-work, mowing and manure to feed the community.  The best part is, I just sit back and watch it happen and enjoy the Kodak moments.

The cycle of fledging young insect eaters is coming to an end with the return of the herd.  I have argued at nauseam with highly educated grassland experts who advocate mowing over grazing this plethora of pasture biomass.  They are so afraid of what comes out the backend of the cow tail pipe they forget their paradigm of mowing with fossil fuels creates a negative energy balance.  And what’s worse, it produces no food for anyone.  It’s so one dimensional to not trust the management or experience of a highly skilled steward of the sward but I really enjoy the conflict.  Being regarded as a dandelion is high praise indeed!

Traveling through a tall grassland setting up portable fences can be an exhilarating and harrowing experience all in one.  Insects and critters fly and scurry with every step.  Upon studying the plant species, it is a very diverse, jungle-like phenomenon.  I have the good things like cool season grasses, legumes and important forbs but also have the dreaded weeds of society which exhibit their flowering prowess, thumbing their leaves at this paltry human.  What my nemesis doesn’t realize is I want him to think he has beaten me, for in the beauty of the blossoms is nectar for the bees and soon to be food for the soil life below.  The plants I truly want are full of golden seeds with deep root systems packed with minerals waving in the breeze awaiting the return of their regenerative propagators, the cows. 

The day the circle of life is completed for this year’s grassland bird habitat nursery has rewards for soil fertility far into the future .  Those darn cows bite off the seed heads full of the sun’s energy, rip the leaves off the understory, puncture the burdock’s fat ears and trample and trod what they don’t like into the soil substrate exciting a cupful of biological life that dwarfs the human population.  For me, the true test of the plan is to go out after a rain and see the litter being consumed by earthworms, the patties being bore into by dung beetles and the wisps of young plants feathered amongst the rotting organic matter.

The pace we keep and the pressure in agriculture to feed the world I fear doesn’t allow us to look that deep into our farms and discover how much true profit is in working intimately with our own natural resources.  If we concentrated more on wealth generating opportunities and expenses closer to the ground instead of trying to figure out a way to birth a baby tractor, we may be more satisfied in our operations.  However, we all know the struggle to be in animal agriculture and the fight to tell the stories of how animals can be good for the land.

I know I am heading in the right direction when I watch my animals graze dense, diverse, water-holding forage dropping biologically charged worm food behind them and enjoying the site of young fledglings and empty-nesters picking flies off the faces of some happy bovines.  I also realize less tugging on my purse strings by not buying expensive sprays or dewormers.  Now is this really that ugly? 

“Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”                            Published in Lancaster Farming 7/25/2010

The Mohawk Valley Toastmaster Club meeting is going out to the country on Wednesday, August 11^th 2010 at 6:30pm on the Wightman Family Farm, 6993 Norton Avenue in Clinton. N.Y. 13323 (up the road from the Skenandoa Golf Club—look for our signs at the pond)

Our theme for the meeting is “Bring a guest, eat some ice-cream and have fun”.  We are pleased to welcome special guest, Nicole Head, Madison Co. Dairy Princess to the lectern for this countryside viewscape where the cows and calves will moooove you to greatness.

At Mohawk Valley Toastmasters, our mission is to help ordinary folks become great speakers and leaders in their community.  Each meeting is an educational experience in teaching and practicing time-honored presentation skills to wow an audience or communicate your passions to others.  Our no- pressure atmosphere allows all participants to learn and participate while finding inspiration to achieve their personal goals.

To sign-up for the meeting and see what all the excitement is about, contact Mohawk Valley Toastmasters President, Troy Bishopp at (315) 841-3336 or farmboytb@aol.com

originally published in Lancaster Farming by Troy Bishopp

I admit it.  I do it.  I want to do less of it.  However, can you feel the subtle pressure to keep pastures manicured, as society and neighbors judge your management by the place you keep? Unfortunately, perception is reality in today’s world.

Mowing is an activity that almost everyone likes to do, because it gives you instant gratification over Mother Nature and her merry band of weeds.  When you get done, it just looks prettier, neater and well managed.  You didn’t even fathom, that you created an agri-tourism moment by keeping your grass mowed and your animals outside.  What person driving by wouldn’t think, hey, lets get a picture vs. some wild and wooly pasture vista.  And what about the economic boom for our friends at the implement dealership selling all those compact diesels and bush hogs.  I dare say that my local iron men sell more of these than anything else, so who am I to question a neat and clean paradigm that effects the purse strings of so many.

Well for starters, the price of fuel alone, to conquer the grass jungle is quite painful to the pocketbook.  The chasing of that clump of buttercup, knapweed or thistle tends to, at least for me, cost plenty in equipment repair, and we all know the price of parts these days.  Lastly it takes my time, which is the resource I have the least of.  It might be all right for a person stuck behind a desk all day to feel the wind in their hair and the smell of diesel, but not for me.  If this bantering about clipping has left you just a little guilt-ridden, I have some thoughts to help you shift to a more carbon-neutral system.

 I submit to you there may be a better way and it starts right at home.  This mindset starts with some holistic thinking and continues with pasture management, utilizing your own natural mowers, who by the way, were created to eat forage long before there was iron and fuel.  The big question is do your animals even know how to eat a pasture smorgasbord, which includes various undesirable (according to humans) plants?  Without formal training from Mom or Mom-like peers, how would they know or even try something new.  Countless farmers telling the story of turning out the cows, only to watch them stand in a sea of green wondering what to do substantiate this modern problem.  I say modern because today’s dairy animals just haven’t had the life experiences like other livestock sectors have.  This predicament of inexperience needs to be addressed by training your animals to the landscape along with transitional feeding and lots of patience before you can curb your mowing habit.  Check out www.livestockforlandscapes.com or Behave.Net for more on this important topic.

 So your animals are trained but are you?  If you want an efficient gang of mowers you must change your management.  And maybe even complimentary, different classes of animals, such as bred heifers, stockers, draft horses or cow/calf pairs mixed with sheep and goats to do this landscape design.  This diversity would be ideal but unlikely on many farms.  What a shame.  20 years of sculpting pastures has taught me that stock density, paddock sizing and timing are the keys to keep weeds and seeds at bay.  For me to be successful in a mowing venture, I must instill a herd mentality, and nothing does that better than frequent moves on smaller paddocks.  While it is true that I tend to have larger herds of up to 100 head on 2 acres/day, it could be mirrored by 10 animals on a 1/3acre/day.  The cool thing about this practice is how efficient the animals graze because they don’t want their buddies to move in on their sweet spot.  If you’ve ever been to a farm meeting when there was only one chocolate milk left, you know what I’m saying.  What is not eaten is usually trampled into oblivion or fouled on.  In the case of severe infestations of thistle, knapweed or multi-flora rose, try punishing them by seeding a salt block or minerals in the middle and look out! 

 It may be somewhat unsettling to be left with a battle zone of cowpies, stomped in herbage and teaming armies of manure movers but take heart, you have just mimicked Mother Nature’s design plan.  One only has to remember the vast herds that roamed the prairie as a testament to this perfect system.  If you placed a “pasture cam” on my roughed up pastures you will notice within one day there will be holes all through the ground and manure as nutrients begin moving below.  On day two, little yellow springs signal new plant growth using all that fertile water to their advantage.  And on day three as if by magic my flock of turkeys and crows busily go through each brown food plot to harvest emerging juicy and delicious bugs and play manure spreader. 

You can’t believe how fast this effect gets compounded day after day until the forage is ready to be munched again, minus the weed weaklings.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind having so-called weeds (forage), like dandelion, lambsquarter and knapweed around because they add diversity to the sward along with high nutrition and medicinal qualities as well as an indicator of fertility needs.  I’m just fine with what Mother Nature intended for me to have, given I work with her not against.   If you don’t have the animal power to control the weeds, I would suggest consciously letting your pastures get a little ugly and get the most bang for your mower buck by shredding the undesirable plants when they are the most vunerable, before they set seed.  It can be very tough to let yourself view uglyness till July, but it will curb next year’s crop considerably. 

I am still far from perfection when it comes to this mowing quandry, but I will let you in on a little secret.  I do maintain our closest 4 acre picture window view of grassland with some fossil fuel mostly for my cul-de-sac neighbors and invited guests to the farm.  When folks venture up the drive and see our painted barns, my wife’s beautiful garden and green landscape, perception really is reality, even though they have no clue on how hard and expensive it is to maintain the “look” of a farm they read about in their childhood.  I figure with all the soil savings, carbon sequestration and sun-inspired meat we grow that it would be ok to exercise our pre-1974 tractor’s and mower’s oil.  If nothing else, mowing scares up insects for my tree swallow friends, warms tractor gears for winter and provides time-lapsed therapy for my heavy metal disease.

Schoharie County Prairie Farmer

By Troy Bishopp

I’ve been looking out my kitchen window for over a month at the spring carpet of green turn into a five foot high mass of dense, diverse grasses, legumes and forbs.  It’s so thick I can barely walk through it, let alone try to roll out a run of portable fence.  So I decided to bush-hog a path for easier access and allow the cattle to see the poly-wire before they crashed into it.  I started the tractor across the field and in a New York minute, the whole rig stalled.  I raised the hog all the way up and downshifted into low-low moving at a snail’s pace in an attempt to chop up this cajoling biomass.  By the time the rain of seed heads and flying creatures cleared, I realized I have created a Northeast Prairie.

Walt Whitman wrote “While I know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara Falls, the upper Yellowstone and the like, afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so sure but the Prairies and Plains, while less stunning at first sight, last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and make North America’s characteristic landscape”.  The importance of this grassland ecosystem seems to have been forgotten-- given there is only 1% of it left.  This eerily low percentage also reflects the loss of our human national treasure, the farmer.

Three weeks ago I lost my good friend and custom grazing partner, David Huse, in a tractor/car accident while he was trying to tame Nature’s grasses for a neighbor.  Two weeks previous to this tragedy he hosted a pasture walk in an attempt to inspire us to think holistically about the grassland environment.  When asked about his goals, he piped up quickly, “I want to create a stress-free life where I am in sync with nature.”  This noble edict struck a chord with me amongst his varying opinions on “gummit” programs, the lack of meat processing and local energy production.

The group of graziers treaded far ahead of me as I hung back to study the results of the prairie dynamic where his large ungulates (cows) worked their magic upon the sod as the wolf (poly-fence) kept the herd moving.  This profound quiet was really controlled chaos under foot and took me back hundreds of years where a buffalo may have touched this very spot with hoof and mouth.  Ed, a reporter from the local paper, curiously stayed behind with me to seek the holy grail of grazing.

Some days Mother Nature must sit back with a cold one and smile watching her 2 pasture suitors on “moo-tube” admiring the landscape created by a thinking farmer.  There is a real connotation and bias in agriculture to look at this sward and preen it all down to a manicured state with depreciable iron.  Keeping your grass under control is the mark of a good steward right?  And any unruly, wiry, un-kept sward must represent laziness and deceit for the environment?  Within a holistic mindset, nothing could be further from the truth.

This Schoharie County Prairie Farmer’s vision, goal and hard work created a mosaic of textures, patterns and colors which stitched the ecosystem together into one large natural quilt.  Upon further investigation, the pockets of un-grazed grass contained nests of chirping Bobolinks hovering overhead.  The amber seed heads of the mature orchardgrass sloughed off by the passing hocks, showered the ground with a legacy seed-bank and provided energy food for small rodents which continue life for other pasture predators.  The shearing action on pasture plants from the cow’s teeth and wet tongues set off a chain reaction in the roots which awaken the micro flora into action.  The trampled plants and associated litter excite even more biological stimulation.

Parting the soiled mass, I found earthworm holes stacked high with beneficial casings.  The blade of my knife plunges easily into the soft earth, no doubt that organic matter and nutrient cycling are allowing for maximum water and carbon sequestration.  Ed said to me, “I had no idea there was so much going on out here.  This is awesome.”  At this point, he was ready for my favorite scene.  A picturesque vista?  A baby calf nursing its mother?  No Silly, a perfectly dimpled cow pie teaming with life.  Manure quality is a time honored indicator of animal and pasture performance.  The pile had an incredible amount of dung beetles sucking out the moisture with mystery divers and swimmers providing food for grassland birds and turkeys while energizing the plant roots.  Judging by the manure, I didn’t even have to look at the cattle to know they were well nourished and happy.

Little did I know this experience within a man’s passion to create a stress-free lifestyle, grass-finished beef and a healthy environment would be his last.  The vigor by which he defended his principles, positions and thinking on agricultural issues and grazing have at times, put him in an adversarial position.  I’m sure there are a few who would’ve been satisfied in bush-hogging his ideas and error on the side of conformity, not diversity.  You don’t feed a country for very long with this attitude.

A large, skylight provided a mottled scene over my friend’s casket, as I sat in the pew at St. Vincent de Paul’s Church in Cobleskill clutching a little farmscape card with the 23^rd psalm on it.  I heard and felt the words from the pastor and David’s brothers, all the while looking up at the view of the sky in an attempt to hold in all the emotion I was feeling.  It was during the singing of Amazing Grace that I noticed the portal filled with sun, shining through a crystal clear blue sky.  My eyes and heart couldn’t hold back the flood, but I just kept thinking, why and why now?  And that we don’t need any less independent farmers.

As I move the Huse’s family herd through my farm’s grassland savannah, dense with David’s spirit, trust and teachings, I am realizing the importance of relationships, observation, mentoring and sharing experiences among all people connected with food.  I think Dave would have wanted us to sustain this legacy.  “To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, one clover, and a bee, and revery. The revery alone will do, if bees are few.”—Emily Dickinson                 Published in Lancaster Farming  7/4/2010

Waterville Students Transform School Lunch

By Troy Bishopp

Eve Sawyer said, “Never underestimate the power of passion”.  Within the confines of the Waterville High School, a health class of 9 spirited students and their teacher took a passion for local food to a whole new level.  This burning desire to change the school lunch menu came from of all places, a survey from their classmates.  And so the first annual WCS healthy food day was born.

In the midst of final exams, senior-itis and dreaming of summer vacation these inspired young people took charge of their dream to leave a legacy for next year’s classes.  “We wanted to promote healthy local food choices that would benefit the school and the community”, said Chairman of the food procurement committee, Christian Stewart.  “They did their homework on this project, said Health Teacher, Tammy Alcott.  They researched nutritional profiles of food, obesity concerns, conventional vs. organic food systems, looked at the carbon foot print of food and the couch potato effect, were educated by dieticians and local farmers, and asked, What’s all that breading covering up?”

The driver to taking on the status quo school lunch came directly from classmates who where disappointed in the menu choices offered, taste and the eating quality of slightly warm food disguised by breading.  Armed with enough information and inspiration, these culinary aficionados took their enthusiasm to the Waterville School Foundation.  The board of directors overwhelmingly supported their desire to make this day happen and appreciated the benefits of educating the student body and faculty, keeping food dollars local, and the idea of showing the community what is possible.  Little did the students know how much they would learn about themselves, their organizational skills and the effect of “doing”.

In just two short weeks, the team consisting of James Barnes, Danielle King, John Brown, Katie Bishopp, Robert Hughes, Patrick Carroll, Allie Shore, Cody Thompson and Christian Stewart developed a budget, brainstormed on a local menu, planned the event, designed a logo, sourced and paid for the ingredients from local farms and businesses, prepared the food and served it up to classmates and faculty.  There was even a small farmer’s market in the parking lot selling in-season produce.

The smells and smiles of recreating a Grandma’s kitchen-like venue resonated well with the 120 kids and faculty.  Who couldn’t love local beef from Sunnybrook Farm, baked potatoes from Pryputniewicz Farm, salad greens from Common Thread Farm, tomatoes and honey from Longview Produce Farm, dairy products from Queensboro Farm Products, apples from Twin Orchards and strawberries from Mosher Family Farm. 

 The local menu choices drew accolades from School Superintendent, Gary Lonczak who said,  “This is the best hamburger and Sloppy Joe recipe I’ve ever tasted”.  Classmate quotes indicated an excitement that was contagious.  Comments like, “Popcorn chicken or this?  It’s no contest.  It’s a shame that it didn’t happen sooner in the year and we should eat local everyday” graced the conversations around the cafeteria.

“It was way harder to put this together then we thought, but boy is it satisfying to see the result”, said Cody Thompson.  The soft-spoken chairman, Christian Stewart, summed up the first ever project by saying, “The pressure deadline kept us focused and on track.  It was a great learning experience on organizing an event, working with members of the community, promoting a healthy food agenda and seeing hard work pay off for our fellow students.  And the freshness and taste of our region’s food from local farms  will definitely leave a strong legacy of leadership for other area school districts to follow”.

“This was just fun”, said Danielle King.

For more information on this project contact: Go to www. wcshealthyfoodday.com/index.php to learn about the student’s website or contact Tammy Alcott (talcott@watervilleschools.org) or The WCS Foundation (wcsfoundation@watervilleschools.org)  Published in The Country Folks and Waterville Times

By Troy Bishopp

Every time I hear Toby Keith’s song, American Soldier and hear the beginning lyrics:

“I'm just trying to be a father, raise a daughter and a son, be a lover to their mother, everything to everyone.  Up and at 'em bright and early, I'm all business in my suit.  I don't do it for the money, there's bills that I can't pay, I don't do it for the glory, I just do it anyway.  Providing for our futures, my responsibility, yeah I'm real good under pressure, being all that I can be.  And I can't call in sick on Mondays when the weekend's been too strong, I just work straight through the holidays, and sometimes all night long.  I will always do my duty, no matter what the price, I've counted up the cost, I know the sacrifice.”

 And then onto the ending stanza, “I’m an American Soldier, an American.”  At this point I usually belt out, “I’m an American Farmer, an American.”  It’s rather brazen to expound on these words, but I have the freedom, provided by our service men and women to express my vocal chords however painful that might be for bystanders.

This 2010 Memorial Day prose is in memory of a different kind of soldier---A Soil Soldier.

Look at a farmer’s hands or better yet look into the eyes and you will see the reality of agriculture.  My friend Brian Moyer’s hands trembled and his eyes reddened as he told me one of our own had taken his own life and that of his cows.  It didn’t matter who, why, or where, it was a tragedy of epic proportion.  A heavy feeling of remorse, confusion, understanding and then pure anger filled my heart. 

Wendell Berry’s quote, “If you’ve lost the capacity to be outraged by the outrageous, you’re dead,” played over and over in my head. 

How the heck could a dairy farmer, like Dean Pierson, in the land of plenty, think he had no other options?  What was the breaking point?  Was it financial, emotional or the consumption of guilt that his work ethic and service to feed this nation was not enough or appreciated?  "Dean grew up being taught if you got up at 5am, took good care of your cows and worked hard, you'd be successful.  I tried to tell Dean it was not his fault that he wasn't succeeding, it was just the economics of dairy farming," said Dr. George Beneke, a Copake veterinarian for 41 years, who has cared for two generations of Pierson's prized Holsteins.

 Don’t worry, everyone has an opinion about his mindset.  One only has to go to the Huffington Post and read the 1000 comments.  Some think he was evil for killing the cows and deserved to die for contributing to animal agriculture, some said he must have been a poor farmer, while others showed compassion to the plight of his family’s hard life and still others blamed the industrial/ corporate/ political complex of the cheap food policy.  My opinion is until you’ve walked in the daily toils of a farmer it would be difficult to speculate what actually precipitated the gunshots heard throughout America.

 I have lamented for months on what this tragic loss means to me, struggling in the past when the auctioneer’s gavel sold my sweat equity and dairy cows away to other farms.  As I walked through my empty barn, I felt like I let everyone down, from my family, to the community and my farming brethren.  I can hear my dad say, “It’s not your fault, it’s just the economics of dairy farming.”  I have asked myself countless times, why should I continue to feed and bleed for an economy that cares so little for its soil soldiers?

I found my answer and comfort, in of all places, the Antietam National Cemetery at sunrise, as the light framed the “Private Soldier” memorial.  There, I knelt down amongst the brave who sacrificed their lives for their beliefs and wept profusely as I read the inscription:  “"Not for themselves, but for their country."  No amount of words can describe the revelation and feeling I received from this silent monument.  It’s like I was called to duty by God to be vindicated from my pain.  And yet in that moment, I realized my strength within was because of my family, my friends and these courageous soldiers.  How blessed am I to have such support.

As I read the iron tablets inscribed with "Bivouacs of the Dead" poems, this one garnered my tears:  “Rest on embalmed and sainted dead; Dear as the blood ye gave; No impious footstep here shall tread; The herbage of your grave.”  I left the hallowed ground, humbled and with a clear head, vision and passion to never allow my farming blood to be shed in vain over a cheap food policy.

The courage to mourn for a farmer that shocked a country by his own bullets could be construed as disrespectful I suppose.  I believe Mr. Pierson was crying out for help but no one heard his voice as it was muffled by pride and work ethic.  I feel remorse because I didn’t work or fight hard enough on his behalf, and many other farmers, to rectify the injustices that plague our unforgiving food system which treats its soil soldiers with commodity-like respect.

When this country remembers its fallen heroes with flags, words and the sound of taps, please pray for the John Deere procession that carried Mother Nature’s soldier back to the earth he helped nurture.  “I will always do my duty, no matter what the price, I've counted up the cost, I know the sacrifice.”

by

Troy Bishopp

Memorial Day 2008 is an emotional time for many families with remembrance of loved ones.

My family is no exception.  We place flowers on graves and say prayers for our ancestors, hoping in some way we have done them proud through our daily lives.  Reflection upon the people, events and commonplace things in our small rural community are a powerful stimulus towards appreciating your sense of place in this world.  This year, I seem to be more teary eyed than usual about the day.  At times, this affliction seems to have little basis other than a subtle song on the radio, a newspaper clipping or an old photograph.  With all the good things and people in my life, my heart shouldn’t be so heavy, but it somehow is.

 I guess this feeling was set off by a simple but profound event that would probably go unnoticed by most folks.  For most of my life, I have lived on Route 12-B that travels North and South from our farm.  This one time dirt road, parallels the old canal and rail system that used to bring goods to and from our area.  My ancestors helped shape this road of dirt and made it a real place with their hands, products, knowledge and offspring.  On this road there were many small farms that were the heart of local communities back then, but alas there are only a few left, including ours.  This is a road that is packed full of memories for me personally.  This piece of ”now” asphalt is a footprint of our society, our being, our connection to the past. 

 Back in the day, my great grandfather Hubert Bishopp was a small farmer, and carpenter that was adept at building barns with nothing more than a saw and a great eye.  He was a true craftsman, something I would like to aspire to.  The other day I started to see some cones and equipment next to a set of red barns, which are now owned by the local quarry.  The foundations were near perfect but the roofs were in disrepair.  The weathered red barn siding was still beautiful but it hadn’t housed anything but pigeons in over 20 years.  I’m sure the officials at corporate headquarters were looking at them as a liability given their close proximity to the road.  Having heard Hubert had a hand in erecting these testaments of strength, I was particularly proud of passing them every day on my life’s journeys.  You can only imagine my sorrow when I drove by to see them both in a pile.  I couldn’t help myself, I cried.  It was like losing a family member.  Men were extracting beams and boards haphazardly with little caring or respect.  Tin was stripped, windows that let the morning sun warm the cows were smashed and in a few days the 30 foot structures were reduced to a small pile of rubble.  When I decorate my great grandfather’s grave this year it will contain a token from those ole barns.

 I have a vivid memory of Route 12-B claiming the life of our canine family member, Mickey, to which he is laid to rest in a grove of cherry trees on the farm.  Even though it was a few years ago, there is not a Memorial Day that goes by that we don’t think of him.  He was a great asset leading the cows through gates and retrieving people’s belongings, even if they didn’t want them moved.  He was great with the kids and surprisingly gentle with the chickens for a bird dog.  The circumstances surrounding his death by a hit and run driver and the pain of putting down an animal you truly love is something a farmer can never forget.  I seem to recall we were in mourning for several days.

 It has been our tradition for as long as I can remember that we watch as one of my daughters play in the marching band in the parade that makes its way down past our house to the cemetery on Memorial Day.  The kids, firemen, veterans and families all gather to hear the words about patriotism, freedom and the ultimate sacrifices made by our men and women in the armed forces.  This year will be different however.  As the national anthem is played and taps ushered in from the hillside overlooking the flag, Route 12-B will have once again, played a role in my bloodshot eyes.  You see the road that carried milk cans to the Deansboro Creamery also was the last journey for one of our local serviceman killed in battle in Iraq.  Watching the motorcade carry this brave and honorable young man to his final resting place truly humbles you to how important life is and how Memorial Day isn’t just about a one day remembrance, its all year long.  Our community’s sense of grieving mirrors that of other small towns still hurting, but together as a melting pot, we will continue to support each other’s families and their sons and daughters.  Freedom is definitely not “free”.

 This day of emotion has one more surprise for the grass weeper.  Just as one looks at remembering the past, one must also look to the future.  Our future and passion lies with the next generations to shape this road of life.  I’m hoping for tears of joy as I will be spending the day with all three of my daughters and family, celebrating the upcoming birth of our first grandchild and great grandchild.  Finally, a good cry and a chance to be more like Grandma Bishopp.  Published in Lancaster Farming

Memorial Day has once again passed on the calendar with the remembrance of our soldiers and loved ones.  We have honored those that gave us freedom with speeches and flowers laid at a monument.  Monuments are powerful reminders of the past, present and future.  Last year I wrote about the symbolism of our road, a local soldier, my great grandfather’s barn and our family dog.  It was well received.  This year my statues of strength are about the emotional ties of strong foundations in a sometimes hurried countryside.

As the sun rises over my barn this day, I can see the silhouette of a monument from my office window that exemplifies strength, honor and respect that once again honors nature.  This simple testament of rural perseverance is a massive, 100 year old, deceased elm tree. It’s nothing more than a 30 foot high trunk standing out in the middle of the pasture with one old, log of a branch, sticking out to the left as a perch for our birds of prey.  Our farm had many of these beauties, but alas, they perished from Dutch Elm disease, wind and the lightning strike. 

As I look at her foundation, worn away from cow hooves, bugs and weather, it is evident that there is something special about the majesty of strong roots.  Within the core remains a heartwood that is steadfast like many in the farming community.  It looks as though this giving tree will remain despite all the forces to knock her over.  This piece of mother-wood gives me inner strength because it forces me to remember the past and hold on to its calling from Mother Nature.

The tree rings of this beauty also seem to coincide with the age of the barn that was demolished last year.  It has been lying in a heap of remorse, over grown with brush, stripped of its many beams and boards, waiting to be buried I guess.  Under all the rubble, remained a stone foundation that was as straight and true as the day it was laid, by the men who knew about leaving their legacy, much like the elm tree’s heartwood. 

Last week a track hoe and dozer arrived from corporate headquarters to smash, crush and bury this monument to the farmers, especially, if you couldn’t tell, this one.  By the weekend it was reduced back to the dirt, or was it?  As the last rite was given, the ghost of farmers past left the sacred stones visible from the surface.  My black Dodge turned into a rescue vehicle as I scoured over the area picking up one and two foot pieces of flat limestone lightly dusted with whitewash.  My excitement over saving the stones become almost an obsession as I hauled 3 handpicked truckloads back to the farm while most were planting gardens or watching NASCAR.  These blue and gray rocks of history will live once again as a pathway and stonewall I am building.  This hardscape may not be a monument but it will have a soul that won’t be forgotten.

It is with a heavy heart that one of our most important farm matriarchs passed away last week leaving behind a legacy of gentleness, passion, strength and love.  At 9 years old, Clover, our Alpine Goat, lived a full life and left behind 18 offspring including 3 babies a month old.  She started out as kid we bought from Linda Smith at Sherman Hill Farm as a 4-H project.  Little did we know she would be this reproductive powerhouse and milkmaker.   Sister Cricket and Clover transformed our farm into a playhouse of kids, Kodak memories and Blue ribbons.  Clover was a maternity manager, mentor and friend to the flock of the once 40 head.  Her demeanor was that of a grandmother; honest, hardworking, sweet and kind.  She absolutely loved being a Mom and taking care of little ones, including my daughters.  She would also sit with you and listen, contently chewing her cud and nuzzling, while you talked to her about life.  She taught us so much and expected so little.  The flock was sold last year to a family in PA, but there was no way Clover was going anywhere.  Thinking she would go into retirement because of her age in goat years, she surprised everyone by giving us another set of triplets this spring.  The urge for motherhood was too strong to keep this lady down.

I was so sad when I found her lying down in the green pasture, her spirit now with the Lord.  All I could think of was Psalm 23:2 as a special tribute to our family friend and how one day I hope to lie down in green pastures and be near the still waters.

Monuments here on the farm have special meaning like many in society that remind us of a person, place or event.  Taking time to acknowledge these are an important part of our human fabric.  For me, a red-eyed, bubbling pile of emotion, writing these thoughts on paper for the public is also considered a monument or marker in time.  The grass farmer in me cannot in good conscience forget other critical monuments; Grassland ecosystems, our nation’s topsoil and aquifers and the loss of our farming communities.  “Lest we forget”.  Published in Lancaster Farming 5/30/09

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5/31/10  It's Memorial Day.  Honor thy soldiers with your blessing.

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5/25/10  Received this nice note from Olin Sim's family about the tree planting and establishing Olin's Grove:

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5/24/10  Our first 2 calves of the season have arrived.  Man, I love calving in the late spring.  Green grass, healthy mothers, sunshine, just the way Mother Nature intended.  Far cry from when I was doing things the book way(accepted) inspired by the input kings.

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5/23/10  Moved finishers to new paddock.  Mother Nature has blessed us with an abundance of grass.  Is this tall grazing?  Kind of, but each seedhead packs an energy boost.  This was one of our out-wintering fields and was stockpiled last year.  I like the thought of strong roots and diverse mixtures going on today.  Mimicing the prarie setting is one of our goals.  Go ahead rain 2 inches, we'll soak it up./ Talked with Nathan Stoltzfus from Deansboro and he said their cheese curds are now available with bottled milk on the way soon.  Their creamery is at 6300 Skinner Rd. Vernon Center, (315) 829-4089

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5/22/10  Working on one of our long range holistic farm goals.  Learn to relax and spend time together.  Went to Paddlefest in Old Forge and tested out Kayaks to see which ones fit and invested in 2 stress relievers plus gear.  Even got the dog involved.

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5/16/10  My wife and I tending to the graves of our loved ones on my side of the family the way Jim and Pauline Steele would have wanted us to. 

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5/14/10  Receiving more new cattle in.  Lots of sunshine to harvest.

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5/12/10  It's Daughter Lindsay's Birthday

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5/11/10  Took these pictures after a big storm in early May that toppled one of our old trees.  Got a picture of some wood hungry insects. I haven't been able to come up with a name for these, but they are not the invasives like the green menace or the asian long-horned beetle.

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5/9/10  Prom night at WCS turned into a winter wonderland by Mother's Day.  I had a feeling we would pay for the early spring somehow.  Made for some interesting pictures.

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5/8/10  Got this link from my grazing mentor, Kathy Soder on our friend Dan Barber, the best regenerative-minded chef in America.  http://video.usanetwork.com/features/character_approved/webisodes_3/dan-barber-webisode/v1204548

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5/8/10  I have a bookmark made by my friend Jonas with this prose on it.  Are we really free to chose?

Unchain My Farmer

by Jonas Stoltzfus

Unchain my farmer
and set him free
Needs no permission
to sell raw milk to me.

To buy my food
just go to his farm
I can be very sure
he will do me no harm.

The dairy stuff he makes
kefir, butter, and cheese
all so very tasty
and it’s sure to please.

He makes it for his children
they’re healthy as can be
If it’s good enough for them
then it’s good enough for me.

So unchain my farmer
and set him free
no permits needed
to sell raw milk to me.

From  http://www.farmtoconsumerfoundation.org

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5/7/10  Imagine 57 people viewed my grazing management seminar on the web from when I was in Berkley Co. WV. 2 months ago.  Thanks Craig Yohn and Steve Ritz   http://www.viddler.com/explore/craigyohn/videos/255/

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5/6/10  Awoke to a grazier's dream of a gentle rain.  The grass was whispering, "man that feels good" and the worms were doing the pasture mumbo.  I checked the paddocks and the amount of green solar collection and water filtration going on is sick, almost gross, with how thick the grass is and how much plant diversity there is.  Newman Turner would be proud.

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5/2/10  Checked out http://farminmike.wordpress.com/2010/04/ this morning and saw a bunch of pictures of the grass whisperer working with Morrisville College Students on a community service project around a cemetery.  Thanks Mike Gurecki for the help and the pixels. 

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Got our first 2 loads of grass-finished cattle from our custom grazing partners on Friday.  There is alot of sunshine and grass to be harvested. (I even saw my first seed head today).  And our 3 chick-migos are feathered out and eating insects and scratching up some cow pies, mmm.  These 3 were orphans from a school project where Lindsay gave technical assistance on raising chicks.  This spring is way early and I fear there may be a cost later in the year.  Mother Nature bat lasts.  My advice this year is watch the rain gauge carefully and protect your soil by leaving some residual cover, whether it be farming or lawn mowing.

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4/29/10 Maple Hill Farm & Orchard, located north of Earlville, in the Chenango
Valley, has 20 acres of managed pasture for rent.  Four strands of
electric fence surrounds the pasture.  An abundance of fresh water is
available and the location is ideal for heifers.  The duration of rental
can be May 1 thru October 1 and perhaps longer.  Please call Gary Will,
315-691-3168 or gwill@twcny.rr.com to negotiate price.

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4/28/10  These pictures are the same orchardgrass plant taken 10 days apart.  You'll notice the 1 inch of regrowth on the smaller plant after 2 days.  If you bite the plant at this point you will weaken it or committ the atrocity of the "second bite syndrome".  Let it regrow, I beg you.  Take no grass before its time.  This is the simplest way to add profit to your operation.

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4/24/10  Tree planting today took on an especially poignant tribute in memory of Olin Sims, A Wyoming rancher and an awesome conservation steward and leader who died in a farm accident on December 7th, 2007.  His career was cut short, but he left me with the passion to carry on in his honor.  Lindsay interned at the National Association of Conservation Districts in D.C. where Olin was president and her boss.  He and I became friends almost over night and he totally inspired me with his grit, presence, humor and candor.  Man do I miss him!  He was one of a kind.  I have named this place where the cedars will grow to provide a windbreak and habitat, Olin's Grove.  Your spirit lives on my friend.

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4/21/10  The Orchard grass or "cocksfoot" (called in way earlier time) is reaching for the stars.  Time to graze this off and promote the plant to tiller(thicken up).  One or two bites will do in a day but don't let'em regraze until its up again.  Lets go make some moola with this greenery.

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4/15/10  TAX Day   Won for best evaluator last night at Mohawk Valley Toastmasters.  Got a visit from my Oneida County Grazing specialist, Bill Paddock yesterday who dropped off some planning maps and took a look at our grass.  This is what he saw.  And our pup Riley(AKA the Life of Riley) was really enjoying rolling around on the green stuff or was he rolling around on a dead mouse?

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4/13/10  Last Sunday was winged home repair and clean out day for the Bluebirds.  It's amazing to see the intrique weavings of nest material used by my fellow fly catchers.  Improving bird habitat for the cattle saves me money and creates a symbiotic savannah with the cattle.  Life is good when you have birds inhabiting the homemade dwelling 5 minutes after you put it up.

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4/10/10  Big week for the Bargabos Family.  Madison County SWCD 2010 Conservation Farm of Year and announcing to be a candidate for NYS Assemblyman from the 111th district.  You go Grass Farmer!!

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4/9/10  Grazing Already in upstate NY!  Good things happen when you have a fully rested sward with high fertility.  This was the scene on April 6th.  A full 18 days ahead of last year.  Global warming perhaps or just strong roots?  Grazing planning to create the landscape you want comes to mind.

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What does the perfect cow pie look like?  Well it's supposed to resemble a pumpkin pie!  Soft but firm on the edges with a dimple in the middle.  This represents well-balanced cow nutrition.  Too stiff and it indicates a lack of protein or runny enough to put through a screen door means a waste of protein.  I'm not sure what the earthworms prefer but they really ate up the pumpkin pie example.  If we looked closer at our poop in the pastures, maybe we wouldn't need so many nutritionists.  At least that's what my grandfather taught me.

A Truck Transition

By Troy Bishopp

A tear fell from my eye onto the window sill below as I watched my youngest daughter travel down the driveway on her first solo run.  As she drove away in my old battered, slightly rusted, bumper stickered Dakota pickup, I realized my friend that transported me to check the cattle, give my grand dad a Sunday drive away from the nursing home and carried a farmer’s passion to D.C. was going through a transition --- A truck transition.

It wasn’t too long ago that Katie used to travel with me in a booster seat or “rooster” seat as she called it and play with little dinosaurs and Rugrat dolls.  It was imperative to keep the radio locked onto KISS FM or play The Land before Time’s soundtrack over and over again.  I have been down this road before with daughters Lindsay and Sarah listening to The New Kids on the Block, Nirvana and a worn-out cassette of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen songs.  There were always plenty of adventures when Barbie, Ken, Jem and Della the cow inhabited the cab.  You should’ve seen the peculiar looks from the cattle when a sun-dress wearing little girl wielding a poly-post, and belting out “Smells like Teen Spirit” burst into the paddock.

Ah, the memories of truck time.  It’s important to recognize the bond between a man (or woman) and his or her pickup as very special.  Heck, how many songs or movies have used this agrarian mode of transportation as the theme?  My connection to this hunk of steel, rubber and vinyl is a long one.  Reciting from my past, my list of motorized compadres include:  A 1948 Ford, 1967 3 speed on the column Chevy, 1990 Isuzu space cab, 2001 Dodge Dakota and current 2004 F-150 king cab, 4-wheel drive.  If you notice, I usually keep my buds around for awhile.  They become like family.

There’s no big secret that in our household, Mom is the better driver education trainer with a size appropriate car, devoid of any bumper-stickers saying “Save the Crabs, Then Eat’em”.  I mean really, who could argue the point since I have been known to take a few short cuts, back-up on the thruway cause I missed an exit and do my own modified parallel parking and 3 point turns.  I like to call it--being seasoned.  These behaviors are scorned when taking the road test but it was funny to relive the dad moments and have some laughs while my Katie was anxiously awaiting the “brownie” to give her the test towards parental freedom.

The tester looked military-like, sporting a jacket with coast guard insignias and a flat-top haircut.  I said good morning and referenced something about riding with a farm girl while I exited the vehicle, as if it would help her get extra points before the test began.  Standing on the curb, I watched as the blinker came on to turn right and she yielded to a pedestrian.  Mom taught her well.  In ten minutes she  transformed from a “Little Tikes” foot powered crasher into a real, insurance paying legal driver.  Do you remember how good it felt to drive your parent home for the first time?  No amount of words could describe the smitten, wry smile all the way home, indicating this virgin ride was well, priceless.

It was time to dust off the pickup which was parked in the field, patiently awaiting the new driver.  “We need to get it up to Sangerfield Tire to check it over, replace two tires and get a NYS inspection”, I said.  Retiring a truck for six months cost dad 500 bucks as the rusty brake and power steering lines both sprung leaks.  When I drove it home from the shop, I became acutely aware of how much stuff can collect in an extended cab over time and that Katie will have to clean it and customize her new ride.

The “hoe out” event yielded two milk crates full of essential truck paraphernalia including 15 cassette tapes, countless fencing and corral plan books, change, batteries, pictures, business cards, mystery plastic pieces, crimps, hay, Mapquest directions, rags, forgotten tools, old Christmas cookie air fresheners and the signature John Elway figurine hanging from the rearview mirror. 

By the time I saw my manly workhorse again it was equipped with a new CD player, a pink steering wheel cover, fuzzy dice and the old seat covers were gone revealing a nice, gray-colored palate.  The Graze-A-Palooza and Save Gas-Let’em Eat Grass window stickers were all gone but two slogans remained: Farm Girls Rock and Cowgirls Up.  These sayings speak well about a country girl and her transitional truck.

I must confess a certain amount of pride when I look at my last daughter getting into my old wheel-horse with the weathered Bishopp Family Farm logo on the door.  I think we’ve done alright in preparing her for the future journeys of life.  She may never know how the memories of her napping with a herd of toys or belting out lyrics together in the cab on a road trip shaped our relationship together forever.  And will she appreciate being relentlessly waved to in our community from folks who know that signature, black Dakota pickup.  What I know for sure is; a daughter and her truck is a beautiful thing.  Published by Lancaster Farming 5/22/10