Cut It Out!

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

5/4/2016

                                        Cut It Out!

“Most of us spend our day staring at the Mountain of Too Much”

David Kundtz

            Kundtz goes on to say that staring at the aforementioned mountain results in our becoming overwhelmed, and attention spans grow shorter because there’s limited time to accomplish anything.

            Anyone who works in agriculture, or has children, knows that the mountain grows exponentially this time of year, and if you’re not overwhelmed yet it’s because you’re just not paying attention. There’s branding, fencing, spring planting, and yard work, not to mention end of school activities, startup of 4-H and other summer programs, confirmations, weddings, graduations, or reunions--and daily routines don’t disappear to make room for it all.

            We can handle this. After all, we have had years of practice; why we can pretty much sail through it with our eyes shut. Oops, apparently we aren’t paying attention.

Stop. Just stop for a minute. Keep calm and breathe. Now that I have your attention, I’d like you to think about the ways our society encourages overwhelmedness.  (My computer says that’s not a word, but it expresses my intent!)

I don’t watch much TV, partly because the business of split screens annoys me. Why can’t I simply see the person speaking, rather than a rerun of the disturbance he’s reporting for the fiftieth time? How many ball games or golf players can you really keep track of at once? If they want to sell me something they should slow down the video of the car, and the gibberish of the person demonstrating that cooking pan or garden hose. Is there really a doctor somewhere who is willing to take MY advice about trying a new medication? If so, I probably don’t want him diagnosing my condition. 

Must we buy a special food program and gym equipment to be healthy and slim? It’d be simpler, and cheaper to cut down portions and carbs. Or just offer to dig all the postholes this spring.

We traded pickups recently. I’ll never use half the electronic gadgets displayed on the dash. I’ve no time to learn how, nor inclination to take my eyes off the road long enough to decipher the images. That’d be just about when a deer decided to cross the road in front of me. And it’s unnerving to have a sexy voice from nowhere giving orders when I already know it’s half a mile to the turnoff.

Cell phones. We all have them, and they are the cause of more frustration than anything since childproof caps. When business have to put up signs pleading for customers to put them away while conducting transactions you know we’re bouncing off the bottom in the courtesy department. None of us need to be that available, and the same goes for call waiting. I don’t need to listen in on the details of your operation while I’m in the grocery aisle either. Leave the darn device in the car! As for texting and driving—you know better. Save a life.

To experience sensory overload just go to any big box store. Nobody needs that much stuff. You’ll find better quality and service at the local boutique, hardware or drugstore, and save money on gas while encountering a neighbor who wants to chat.

“Cut it out!” my mom used to say when I was doing something unnecessary or foolish.

If you’re looking at the Mountain of Too Much today try making a list of things you can cut out.

Word to the unwise. You’ll be tempted to replace what you cut out with something else. Resist with all your might. Stay out of the stores, toss the catalog, decline the invitation, and go for a walk or read a book instead.

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Yes We Remember

By Joyceann Gray

Build It and They Will Come

4/27/2016

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Build It and They Will Come

            They got it backwards, but it worked. A group of former slaves and their descendants came to a desolate and lonely region in the Nebraska Sandhills, and built a community they called DeWitty, later renamed Audacious. Six hundred and forty acres seemed like a lot; surely enough to survive on, perhaps even prosper. Prosperity probably wasn’t a concept they dwelt on, so much as survival. That’s how it was in those days, and you didn’t have to be Black to know hard times in the hills. There were neighbors who understood that, and welcomed them. The little town of Brownlee, a dozen or so miles downriver, had amenities that served the newcomers until they established businesses of their own, and interactions continued in the form of competitions at rodeos, baseball games and Independence Day celebrations. Brownlee had a community hall, and DeWitty had music makers, so there were dances too.

DeWitty residents were strong for education, which eventually contributed to the demise of the community. Young people went away to college, became doctors, teachers, ministers, and writers, and the elders finally drifted away too, but memories of those years lingered around Brownlee and became legend as I was growing up nearby. My dad, and his peers, spoke names like Speese, Riley, Turner, Hayes, and Woodson, with admiration and respect.

Stew Magnuson, an author with Sandhills roots, has traveled Highway 83 many times, and chronicled the people and places along that route in a series of books. He became fascinated by stories about DeWitty, and recently spearheaded a project to raise funds for an historical marker about it.

On April 11, 2016, nearly two hundred people gathered at the marker for a dedication. Descendants of DeWitty came from both coasts and everywhere in between, and my family was privileged to host several of them. Sandhillers traveled more than a hundred miles to honor our common roots, and the ladies of Brownlee and surrounding communities put on a “y’all come” feed in that old community hall. The rancher who owns much of the ground where DeWitty stood organized a tour for those who cared to see where their ancestors had settled, and others uncovered buried grave markers in the Brownlee cemetery for family members to photograph.

As our guests departed for various destinations, they said the weekend had given them closure, and they felt like they had, in some sense, come home. I felt closer to my own family, and more proud than ever of my heritage and neighbors.

Many people snapped pictures during that celebration, but I carry mine in my head; of women carrying more chairs to the community hall to accommodate overflow crowds, of a man with a shovel uncovering grave stones and a rancher’s plane sitting in a meadow near the marker. Of people walking half a mile back to their cars after the ceremony because of limited parking at the highway site, and children from a nearby school eating sack lunches brought along on the field trip.

DeWitty is gone, and Brownlee nearly so, but the spirit of neighborliness is not. There are memories of moments less proud in the minds of descendants on both sides, but healing is possible, and the marker celebration is proof of that.

A group of locals leaned on parked vehicles outside the Brownlee community hall and visited while waiting for room to go in and eat. A thought came to me as we stood there, and as we drove away. It lingers now, as I look back on the event.

“If these walls could talk…”

What Does That Mean?

4/13/2016

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

What Does That Mean?

            I’m a busybody, but then most writers are. People ask where I get ideas for something to write about, and the true answer is eavesdropping. Bits of conversation over heard, a line from a song that gets me started down a rabbit trail of introspection, a news article that makes me shout at the writer, are all inspiration for columnists. I haven’t taken to reading people’s diaries yet, unless you count published journals of pioneer women and historical figures, but I’m addicted to writing by other columnists, and sometimes steal from them. 

Amy Blum is a South Dakota rancher, and self-described “word nerd,” whose columns appear in Cattle Business Weekly. I thank her for putting a name on the affliction that makes some of us reading addicts stop to ruminate on a word out of place, or poorly constructed sentence. I thought it was just a bad habit, a nit-picky quirk that borders on conceit, something I should try to overcome. That is until Amy wrote about our tendency to misuse the word “just.” 

She rightfully maintains that we often use “just” to minimize, escape responsibility, devalue our own accomplishments, or diminish other people’s worth. That one little word speaks volumes about how we see our role in the family, community, or world, and sometimes has devastating consequences. 

Just slowing down at the red light, instead of stopping, might cost a life. “Just this once,” is often used to persuade someone to participate in an action that both parties know is unwise.

Amy’s column focused on the responsibility of folks in agriculture to leave off saying we are

 just ranchers or farmers. Yes, we are outnumbered by urban residents, and their vote carries a lot of 

weight. Yes, many of the pretty people assume we are uneducated hicks that can easily be discounted. Yes, the TV weather folks always stand in front of our section of the country, and never mention us unless a disaster is about to happen. But No, we don’t have to fade quietly into the shadows and accept our assigned status. Changing false perceptions will require stepping forward to prove we matter by acknowledging to ourselves that we have something to offer, and by seizing every opportunity to make a difference.

Sometimes those opportunities are as simple as saying thanks to those who accept leadership roles as school board members, Sunday school teachers, or organizers of a fund raiser. Sometimes it means stepping out to begin a project that could benefit the community. Your neighbor who says she justgoes to the nursing home once a week to read to the residents needs to be told not to negate the fact that she’s helping folks feel worthwhile. A woman who lives in Wyoming mentioned to her priest that it might be appropriate to have a prayer vigil for the people who lost jobs in massive mine layoffs, and was given the charge of organizing it. Be brave about sharing constructive ideas, even if it means you will be put to work.  

Several small town schools in my area now have local beef in their school lunch programs. This is a

 win-win deal that seems to be catching on. The kids receive healthy meals and get to know the ranchers who donate a critter to the project, Ranchers have no better advocates for their product than the kids who come up and thank them, and go back for seconds, and no better incentive to implement best practices in their business. 

 In the process of settling new country, our ancestors decided churches and schools were needed, and assistance should be offered to those whose lives were touched by tragedy, so they got busy. Men hauled material, sawed and hammered; women sewed, cooked, nursed and organized benefits. Nobody sat around whining for someone to come to the rescue. 

This election year, while choosing candidates to support, why not look for someone who encourages participation, rather than promising to fix all the problems for us? Empty storefronts are numerous, jobs are disappearing under the noses of families already stressed and stretched thin, and our world become  s more dangerous and unsettled every day. 

True, you say, but I’m only one person. Listen to yourself. There’s another four letter word—only. If only one bad apple can spoil a barrel, surely only one well determined person can start a trend toward healing. Contrary to what some would have us believe, government can’t, and shouldn’t, solve what the people won’t. 

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Waste Not, Want Not

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27 Mar

4/6/2016

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Waste Not, Want Not

            Among my friend’s keepsakes is a letter that his grandmother, Maude, wrote to her mother shortly after moving to the Panhandle of Nebraska. I don’t know what year it was written, but it shows various ways that times have changed, not only in our area but society in general. There is mention of Indian camps in the meadow, scarcity of neighbors, and such, as well as evidence that the writer needed to conserve whatever she had.

            Like most letters of the time, the pages are covered on both sides, from top to bottom, with tiny script, so as to utilize all possible space, and then the messages continue in the margins. The last line on the page says, “Look in the envelope,” and sure enough, Maude had unfolded the envelope and covered the available space with more of her news. Paper was a precious commodity for the settlers; no telling where or when they could get a new supply, or even if they could afford to buy it. In contrast, I received an appointment reminder today that is three lines on a whole sheet of computer paper, and I also placed in the recycle box four catalogs and several pages of ads that came in the same mail. 

            Again, in contrast, every monthly bill and bank statement encourages me to go paperless, forego writing checks, and save the environment. Obviously someone doesn’t realize we can’t have it both ways, any more than America can make a dent in global air pollution by reducing dependence on fossil fuels while developing nations are allowed to ignore the problem.

            I once wrote a poem based on a story told to me about a pioneer family that had several girls who loved to dance. There was one pair of shoes among them, so accepting invitations to dance was based on whose turn it was to wear the shoes. When I tell the poem to school kids, I always ask  how many of them have more than one pair of shoes, and even in the poorer neighborhoods, all of them do. I also explain to them that there was a time when showing bare feet, or an ankle, was very improper for a girl or woman. They look at me like I had just arrived from Mars.

            My shelves are laden with books of all kinds, but for many of our ancestors, the only book in their homes was a Bible, and lucky if anyone could read it. Storytelling was the way information was passed down, for the most part, but we don’t do much of that now; electronics do it for us, but not as well. A therapist tells me that one of her clients, who runs a day care, mentioned a child whose behavior was problematic. She was able to get to the root cause when the youngster sobbed that no one at home plays with him. They are all busy with their electronic games.

            Our world is full of mixed messages. Buy this. Save that. Be ambitious. Don’t work too hard. Have fun. Be responsible. Be healthy. Eat at this place, the portions are generous. No wonder we are confused, and frequently get off track. We have too much, do too much, hear too much, want too much and waste too much, and know too little of real value. Maybe we need to be a little more like Maude, who knew what she had and what it was worth.