By Kelley Sheiss

Strange as it may seem, this is a thought I have pondered quite often lately.  As I alluded to in my previous column, much of my time and thought process has been “lightly consumed” with the everyday tasks of preparing livestock to show.    Could there be a correlation to training camp?  Possibly.   Why Peyton Manning?   In our household, there are two things we really love; raising & showing livestock and football.     My husband was a Colts fan when they were still in Baltimore, so it is only natural we cheer on our hometown team in Indiana.    Plus, I believe Manning is an excellent role-model athlete.  If you’d like, you can substitute Drew Brees in here as well.  

However, we’re not Saints or Purdue fans, so I’m sticking with good old number 18.     The thought first occurred to me in the shower one morning…what if Peyton Manning showed livestock?   Why?   From what I have read and seen from interviews with the quarterback, he is 100% dedicated to the game and strives to do his personal best for himself and his team.    He diligently studies game tapes, commits to regular practices and develops strategies for success.   All the while doing this without pomp and circumstance.    I’m sure one of the end goals is winning, of course.  Who doesn’t like to win?  Coach Bill Parcells is quoted as saying “Winning is a very precious thing, and to be called the champion, it’s why we do these things.”  However, if Manning loses he goes right back to reviewing the game and preparing for the next one down the road.    There are obvious times when his temper may get the best of him (my son has become an expert at reading lips during the NFL games), but all in all, he is a role model I am proud Dillon has in a time when they are few and far between.
When Peyton has a successful play, breaks a record, or the Colts win, I have to wonder what the opposing players are saying.    There are referees in place to ensure the game is played right.  Yet in their frustration, do opposing team members call Manning a cheater just because he worked hard and out-played them?   We don’t have referees at livestock shows, but maybe we should.   The judge is it.   He makes the final decision and on any given day it can go your way or somebody else’s.   While you may not always agree with it, as a showman you respect it and plan for the next show.   Can you imagine a person out in the ring wearing black and white stripes with the judge requesting a review of the previous class because a parent was adamant their child should have placed higher?  I’ll be the first to admit we are a family that dissects every part of a show until the next one.   That is part of what gives us the determination to do better the next time.   However, the times when personal attacks are lodged against other families or our kids might be alleviated if we had an NFL ref on hand.   Because someone works hard does that make them a cheater?  Absolutely not.   Can you imagine?  Sorry  Mr. Smith, you have incurred a penalty for unfairly targeting another family for their hard work.  Please have your son move down to 4th place. That might quell the negative comments back in the barn.
Peyton’s dad is a regular at many of his son’s games.   I have to wonder at any time during his boy’s career, did he sit behind an opposing team member’s parent who audibly announced “I hope that Manning boy loses.”   Probably not, since in football the opposing team sits on the other side of the field.   At livestock shows, the teams are the parents, family members, breeders and kids.    We are all intermingled around a ring of nervousness, anticipation, excitement and hours of hard work.    Again I ponder…if Peyton was out there on the end of a steer, would another parent spout off his hopes of a last place in class for the all-star quarterback?   Maybe each family needs their own sky box in the show arena to keep their comments contained.
If Peyton Manning showed livestock, I’m guessing he would not do it half-heartedly.   He would have someone videotape his show ring moments to determine if his calf was too stretched out, he didn’t brace his lamb correctly or his pig stayed on the fence too long.   He would self-criticize himself for such actions and practice so it didn’t happen again.    Instead of long hours on the football field, he would be in the barn from sun up to sun down.      He would watch others who have been successful and always be willing to learn and try new techniques (within ethical standards) that will help him remain competitive.    I’m guessing his parents would be a big part of the equation, too.   While Peyton and Eli were growing up, I wonder how many things his parents gave up so they could provide the most for their sons as they pursued their passion.    Did Mrs. Manning opt out of a full-time job so she could drive the boys to practice?   Did Mr. Manning give-up a weekend speaking engagement or golf outing so he could be at the boy’s games?
If Peyton Manning showed livestock, I bet his parents would be right there every step of the way.  They would sacrifice and teach, they would be his best coaches and biggest cheerleaders and they would also discipline appropriately.
There are few things in life that come without some extent of work.   If you’re lucky enough to win the Powerball jackpot, that might be the exception.   Rarely do you read of a successful athlete who took weekends off, opted for a swim party over a practice or decided to work on their playbook a mere 30 days before the big game.    I would love to watch Peyton Manning show livestock.   I bet he’d be in the stands watching other classes, he’d be back in the barns asking questions and he’d be working his tail off to succeed.
Recently, Dillon and I had the chance to travel to a day-long show cattle workshop featuring Bob May.    It was going to be one of the nicer days we had in quite some time and it meant getting up early.   I think both of us were a little hesitant, but Bob May is an industry icon.   To give you an idea of his importance in my husband’s book, when we sat eating pizza that night after returning home, Donnie looked at Dillon and said “you know, when I was about your age if I had the chance to meet Bob May it would have been like you meeting Lebron James today.”   I smiled and Dillon looked at his dad like he was crazy.  But it was true and at that moment it sank in for Dillon.   During the workshop, Dillon had the chance to sit across from Bob May at lunch and “talk shop.”    I took eight pages of notes during the session and asked questions incessantly.   There were a lot of things we learned at the workshop, but there are two that really stuck with me.   First, time and time again, Bob May emphasized that success cannot be reached without hard work.   He said don’t ever assume just because you have all the equipment, facilities, “right” animals, etc. that you’ll win.   It all comes down to hard work.   Second, he finished with a truly heartfelt thank-you to the kids for taking time out of their Saturday for attending and to the adults who brought them. 
You see, as adults, we are the coaches and our kids have the potential to be the next Peyton Manning.   Since the NFL season is still in jeopardy this fall and training camp might be delayed, I’d like to take this opportunity to invite Peyton Manning to the Whitley County 4H Fair.  You missed the 4-H enrollment deadline, but we do have an Old-Timers Showmanship during the cattle show and I think you would do a great job!

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, live on the family farm in Etna Troy Township. They have a son, Dillon. She is also the program director for Leadership Whitley County, makes amazing jewelry and can put together some outstanding, fashionable looks on a dime! 

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By Kelley Sheiss

I apologize to my high school English teacher if the title of this column is a grammatical error; however it is the easiest phrase to describe the inspiration for my latest musings.   It is said the first step to addressing a problem is admittance.  So I admit I have a problem.   Well, I like to call it an attraction.  And, it’s become a bit of a distraction.  While I’d like to say the distraction is daydreams of strolling along the beach in Key

West or imagining the grand opening of my honky tonk bar “The Frisky Cowgirl”  (both aspirations of mine), this growing obsession is much more blasé.   Simply put, it’s goin’ showin’ syndrome.  For those of you that need a seven step program with me, you know exactly what I am experiencing.   For those of you that do not, I’ll do my best to explain.
My initial taste of the show ring came late in life.  I was in college and my first species of choice was horses.  Next were pigs, followed by dairy cows, sheep, goats and cattle.  In those days it didn’t necessarily matter what species I learned to show.  Quite honestly, it may have come down to what boy I was interested in and what he was showing!   While I don’t really care to ever show dairy cows or sheep again, these days I simply can’t get enough of pigs and cattle.  It started innocently with pigs when Dillon was still a toddler.  Now we’ve added beef calves to the mix, with poultry soon to follow.  I am hooked.   As Dillon prepares to embark upon his 4-H career, some might say I am living vicariously through my son since I didn’t get to experience the program as a youth.   Truthfully, I can’t argue with that point, but it’s so much more.    
First, there is the opportunity to work side-by-side with my son.   Everything is not always roses, since we are two quick-tempered individuals, but we are learning together.   It is even better when all three of us – mom, dad and son – can be out in the barn working together.   Second, there is the pure joy I experience working with animals on a daily basis.   Lately, I’ve been a bit sidetracked with “real” work (i.e. the kind that provides a paycheck, not spends it, like this showing obsession does rather quickly).   Quite frankly, it’s made me a bit grumpy.   While I try to squeeze in as much time as possible with the calves, I try to ward off an anxiety attack when I realize half a dozen show pigs and roughly two dozen assorted poultry varieties have not been thrown into the mix, along with “hill projects.”   Recently, we had a respected show calf breeder stop by our place.    I am always full of questions, and I mistakenly inquired how much time we should be spending working with the animals.   His response – “you can easily spend 4-5 hours a day with them.”    Whoa, buddy.   Obviously you have no kids, someone else is washing your underwear, shopping for your groceries, mowing your lawn and cleaning your toilets.   I thought we were doing well with that amount of time on the weekends!  I realize that this may be a bit extreme, but I took it to heart and would really like to see a 36 hour day, please.     My housekeeping has taken a back seat, laundry gets done (but not always put away in a timely manner) and the pantry has dwindled to single numbers more than once, but the calves are washed and the pigs will be walked.
For my friends and colleagues who wonder where I’ve gone or why I can’t meet for coffee or lunch, I have to be brutally honest.    I much prefer spending my time with animals.    Studies have shown a woman’s physical and mental health may be improved by spending social time with other females, whether it is shopping, lunch, coffee or cocktails.    I do that, only the females I spend time with these days have four legs, udders or underlines.   In just a few weeks I’ll be enjoying a cup of coffee while I walk the gilts in the early morning and enjoying a glass of wine at sunset while watching the heifers in the pasture.    Often, the only time I’m not thinking about our show animals is when I’m actually with them.   It’s the times when clipping a pig or washing a steer that I mentally compose my to-do list, plan out a meeting agenda or line-up my schedule for the coming week.
While often this distraction has positive mental health benefits, there are certain drawbacks.  If the pigs eat well and the calves set-up just right, the day can’t get much better.   Right now, Dillon has Blackjack, a well mannered heifer who is treated like a queen, and Alex, one of the friendliest, entertaining steers I have ever known.    They can put a smile on your face and make your day brighter.    Then there’s Marty.    I brought Marty into the equation a couple of months ago, and I truly believe he may be the end of me.   There are days when Marty’s attitude puts a woman with severe PMS to shame.   Just recently, he pulled an antic that sent me into a fit of rage.  I sent Dillon out of the barn and started yelling at Marty with such conviction that a sailor would have blushed had he heard me.    Alex and Blackjack watched intently, while Marty looked at me like I was a loon.   When I was done, I calmly called Dillon back into the barn.  He opened the door smiling and said “you know, mom, I heard everything you said.”    I couldn’t do anything but put my head down and say “I know, I’m sorry, your mom’s crazy.”  He understood because it was Marty.   He is truly a unique animal and we are at a battle of wills.  He is stronger, but I like to think I’m smarter.  I do know that I will never be known as the calf or pig whisperer.   Last year, I broke my big toe with one of Dillon’s show pigs.  I won’t elaborate, but I will say the pig was fine (if pigs could laugh, I think he was really having a good chuckle) as I hobbled out of the barn and had to tape my toes for four weeks.
The crock-pot is a staple in the kitchen.  Knowing dinner is slow-cooking gives me at least an extra 30 minutes with the calves.  Dillon has been asked to play on an AAU basketball team. That’s fine, provided tournaments don’t interfere with show weekends.   My perfumes from Victoria’s Secret and Kohl’s sit almost unused.    Now I’m smitten with the scent of Revive, Swine Shine and Show Sheen.    Dillon even sprays his hair with a fine mist of Show Bloom before heading in the show ring.  It really does give him that extra shine, and he thinks it brings him good luck.    If you see me in the hair or skin care aisle of a local retailer, chances are the multiple boxes of dark black hair dye, hot oil treatments and bottles of deep conditioner are not for me.    I call my hairdresser now for more advice on calf hair than I do my own.    I become entranced when blowing out a calf and watching their hair pop and gleam.   It’s like a high-priced fashion shoot in the cooler room when everyone is lined up, I’m going over them with a comb and the fans blowing are blowing on us full force.   The only difference is the models are hairier and are over the weight limit by about 1000 pounds.   Over the last several months, I have spent more money on feed supplements than groceries.   I have racked up bills on grooming enhancements that if tallied into a total could probably buy me a pretty nice enhancement at a plastic surgery center.     I now realize what my husband has been telling me for the past few years is very true.    With the start of 4-H, we will not be taking a vacation for at least the next ten years.   The closest thing will be the Whitley County 4-H Fair.
While I relish the prep time at home, the one thing I dread the most about this process is the end result:  show day.    Of course, this is Donnie and Dillon’s favorite part, but it fills me with unending anxiety.   Preparations, paperwork, packing – not to mention my nerves are in a shambles.    The other day, Dillon suggested I start taking melatonin to calm my nerves.    The kid knows I need something.  So when you see me at the fair this year, please don’t offer me caffeine or try to have a reasonable conversation.    Chances are I’ll be heading to the bathroom or trying to find a quiet place to meditate!
So, as show season approaches, if I don’t answer the phone it may be because I’m out checking on pigs or chicks.   If dinner isn’t ready or I’m late for an evening appointment, it’s probably because I spent too much time in the barn with the calves.   If I can’t meet for coffee, please don’t take it personally; I have pigs to help walk and calves to rinse.   And, if I seem a bit distracted at the next meeting (or have a slight livestock odor), you can probably guess why.   It’s a passion that is slowly consuming me, with the distraction taking residence in my mind at the oddest times.  Just recently, a thought popped in my head as I took a shower:   what if Peyton Manning showed livestock?  I’ve given this some serious conceptualization, but I’ll save it for the next Musings.

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, live on the family farm in Etna Troy Township. They have a son, Dillon. She is also the program director for Leadership Whitley County. 

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By Kelley Sheiss

A long overdue greeting to all Musings readers.  
As we head into 2011, I extend my apologies for the absence of columns the past several months and wish you all a happy new year!   An early and busy harvest, combined with youth sports, a new leadership class and other “distractions”(I’ll explain this in my next column) resulted in mud room stories taking a short hiatus.   The writer’s block is starting to clear and I’m hoping this year brings a more orderly life, but I sense that is easier said than done!  I’ve had the topic for this column in my mind – and a bit on paper – since last September, so it’s about time I finish it.

Terms of endearment are shared in a variety of ways in relationships.  There’s the standard “I love you,” or the more creative “you complete me.”  In lieu of or in addition to words, some couples prefer public displays of affection at varying levels.     I don’t often see farm couples holding hands across the table eating out or smooching in the aisles of Wal-Mart (who knew a major retailer could generate such passion, but I’ve seen it).    For me, knowing I’m valued or loved in this farm marriage comes down to a few simple phrases:  “What are you doing tomorrow?” “Do you have plans after lunch?,” and the ultimate phrase that warms my heart, “I’ll need ‘ya in about ten minutes.”   Now if there’s any psychologists or counselors reading this and starting to analyze, please save your diagnosis.   From time to time, I will glance over the columns in agricultural publications focusing on farm family relationships.  Often, I review them with humor because while the counseling advice offered to “trouble with tractors in the sand hills of Nebraska” might apply to some farm families/marriages, around here it goes right out the window!   With that said, I have found my own unique way of handling and finding the best in many circumstances.   After 14 years, this is one farm marriage that is still a work in progress and like a fine wine seems to get better with age.   Being married to a workaholic agrarian definitely requires a certain amount of flexibility, patience and absolutely some creativity!
Any one of the phrases referred to above means – to me – that I get a chance to spend time, although not necessarily quality time, with my spouse.  It may mean we have time to chat and catch up on life’s details, joke around and discuss the future.  It may also mean a time to test our attitudes with one another as we exchange colorful and quite honest thoughts about our work or personality styles!  
You see, I am a planner by nature.  In my head, i.e. my own little world, I have the next day planned out exactly as it should happen.   I also like to think I am fairly flexible if something unexpected arises.  However, my preference is to have as much lead time or structure as possible.  This goes against my personality style somewhat, thus resulting in the multiple voices in my head struggling with each other on occasion.   My husband is also a planner, knowing in his mind at the end of the day what needs to be done around the farm the next day.   The challenge is we don’t always share each other’s thought process.    Typically, on a Sunday evening we will discuss our schedules for the coming week.     I have come to realize this little event is not always a practice in active listening.   For instance, I realize if I tell him I have an evening meeting and need to leave by 5:30 p.m. he will show up to get Dillon somewhere between 5:30 and 5:37.   So, I’ve gotten in the practice of moving up my departure time at least 15 minutes just to be sure he arrives in time to pick up our son.   He’s starting to figure this one out, so here’s where the creativity comes in to play.  There are other times when I am working at home and Donnie will casually say at lunch “what are you doing this afternoon?”  In the past, I would blissfully run down my personal to-do agenda, unaware of the impending request.   Now I know better. That innocent question I once thought was merely posed for concern about my well-being really means I’m probably gonna get dirty sometime that day.    As a conditioned fight or flight response I now say “why, what do you need?”   At times, this greatly irritates my spouse as he may have simply been inquiring about my day.   But just when I let my guard down, I am asked to run to the mill, help move pigs or some other farm duty.    Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely love helping on the farm and the fact that I am “needed” is a huge validation point for me (this is starting to sound like a therapy session!).  
The one term of endearment I still struggle with is “I’ll need ‘ya in about ten minutes.”  I’m not very spontaneous by nature.   I’m a woman, and I need mental prep time.   The thought of dropping what I’m doing in such a short time, especially if I showered that day and realize that I may need to shower again, is akin to fingernails on a chalkboard.    I cringe at first, but around here it’s adapt or die.  Typically it all turns out well and I am back to my own to-do list in a matter of hours.   The times it doesn’t go well usually occur if my father-in-law is involved or if something is terribly wrong, such as cattle outside the fence, pens of pigs mixed together or  a piece of machinery is stuck, broken, etc.
If there is one thing I have learned as a non-farm person who is now a farm wife, it is be flexible, be ready and above all, grow a thick skin.   Valentine’s Day is just around the corner.  It’s not a recognized holiday here at 3D, which is fine with me.  While I may not be showered with flowers, trinkets or dinner, I can pretty well guarantee that some time during that day I might hear “I’ll need ‘ya in about ten minutes.”   That’s more than enough for me!
Author’s note:   Over the past couple of years writing this column, my husband, Donnie, has been a pretty good sport about letting me use him as a primary topic.   In one of our recent chats, I offered him the opportunity to do the same to me and serve as a guest columnist.   He really perked up at the idea, which scares me a bit.   So, after a couple more of my musings you’ll have the pleasure of reading some thoughts composed entirely by my hubs.  Since he can’t type, I’ll have to serve as his scribe.   He’s worried I’ll edit the column for my own behalf, but I’ll make a guarantee to you the reader that it will be straight from the farmer’s mouth!

Kelley Sheiss and her husband, Donnie, live on the family farm in Etna Troy Township. They have a son, Dillon. She is also the program director for Leadership Whitley County. 

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According to statistics provided by the United States government, less than 1% of people living in the United States claim farming as an occupation and about 2% of people actually live on farms.  The average age of the American farmer is 55.3 years of age, with an increasing number of farmers age 65 or over and a decreasing number of farm operators 35 and under.

As the summer rolls to an end, my husband recently had the distinction of moving one notch closer to this older statistic as he turned 40 in mid-August.   I have the privilege of being the “older woman” in our relationship, turning the big 4-0 back in March.  To be quite honest, I’ve found the start of a new decade in my life quite enjoyable.   Gone is the “anguish” of the teenage years, the “discovery and growth” of the 20’s, and what I term as a “floundering” decade of the 30’s.   At 40 comes a certain contentment with life.   The challenge for both of us is that our minds are often still in our 20’s while our bodies are starting to dictate otherwise!  Since turning 40, I have learned  at least five new words that end in –itis, and I’ve also discovered there are limits to what I can accomplish while helping (or sometimes hindering) here on the farm.
The unofficial motto for our farm family has long been “work hard and play hard.”  In recent years, our ability to play hard definitely impacts the threshold to work hard.   For instance, our bedtime is quickly backtracking to meet our son’s.  More than once we have actually fallen asleep on the couch/recliner before Dillon’s bedtime, and I jump awake to realize he is still enjoying TV.   That’s not exactly a proud moment as a parent.  Obviously, Dillon is entering his prime when he can go to school, help with chores, enjoy some playtime and still keep his eyelids open past 8:30 p.m.    For Donnie and me, getting caught up in a great 10 p.m. TV program or enjoying a late weekend night with our fellow farm friends results in sleep deprivation that is hard to recoup.  I remember back to the good old days at Penn State when we were just getting ready to go out at 10 p.m.  Now, I’m flossing my teeth, taking a variety of pills for one of those –itis words and applying over-priced night cream.
While farmers are early risers by nature, age now often dictates an earlier awakening than usual.   More than once recently my husband has grumbled “Had to get up and use the bathroom at 4/4:30/5 a.m.  Figured I might as well get up and get to work.”   Welcome to the world of bladder control, dear.   Turning 40 gives new meaning to “early to bed, early to rise.”  It’s not that we always want to get up early.  It’s that we have to!    Next comes tackling the stairs.  I never minded stairs when I was younger (except for the time when I was 5 and fell down a flight, knocking my front teeth loose), but at the day’s end – or beginning – my knees have become a symphony of snaps and pops.   My dream house list has quickly grown to include a single-level style or at least a design with as few stairs as possible.
Despite some physical shortcomings that might grow with increasing years, I have found most farmers embrace that getting older is more about attitude than age (with a little wisdom tossed in).   I chuckled to myself this summer when, after a particularly hot, long day of straw baling my “younger” husband proudly inquired if I saw him up in the barn stacking bales with several 16-17 year old very hard workers.  “I swept those boys under the table today,” said Donnie, reminding me of Dillon’s proud rooster out in the barn.   I admired his attitude, but I was fonder of my wisdom that day when I opted to haul wagons in an air-conditioned truck.   Employing age-induced wisdom has come in quite handy with other tasks lately.   This includes volunteering to watch the opening at the gate versus the tricky sorting of large market hogs,  offering to drive the tractor instead of trudging along the ground when we’re picking up rocks, or conveniently scheduling a meeting in town when it’s time to clean out pens or wean pigs.  I have found that many of these tasks which seemed quite easy when I first came to the farm 15 years ago take a bit more of a toll on me today.    One task I still don’t mind, although I’ve lost some of the gusto needed to accomplish it, is halter-breaking our sale calves.   After we wean calves in mid-August, the job is to put a halter on them and get the animals used to being tied, led and ready to show.  It’s the closest thing to a rodeo that I’ll every experience, and I love every minute of it.   I have found with my added years that I much prefer the smaller calves (along with the ones that don’t let out a bellar or kick), but I relish diving right into working with them.   Of all the years I have had the privilege to do this, there’s only been one emergency room visit, and it turns out my arm was just badly bruised, not broken.    I would rather spend an afternoon working on calves than doing just about anything else.   Not only does it rejuvenate my youth, it is one of the most rewarding tasks on this farm.   There are times when I’m poked back to reality, such as the time last year when we had a recent graduate from Penn State working with the calves for a week.   We were washing them one day and Adam was from Lancaster as well.  We were enjoying talking about our respective high schools and other details of our hometown.  All that reflecting had me back in my 20’s again, until Adam looked at me in the most polite, sincere way and said “you know, based on when you graduated from high school, you could be my mom.”  POOF!   Nothing like a little dose of reality to brighten your day.    I laughed when he said that because as two 40 year olds with an 8-year old son, we have found ourselves in that interesting position where  at certain functions we seem too young to be Dillon’s grandparents, yet just a bit too old to be his parents.    Thanks to Dillon, he’s one of the big reasons for keeping us young at mind.
Although it’s just started, the 40’s have been quite good to us.    The farm continues to prosper with limited (and aging) labor, the calves have taken it easy on us this season, and Dillon’s entry into 4-H and sports is keeping us on our toes.   While the medicine cabinet inventory contains a few more packages of Zantac, Advil and hot/cold therapy packs, we’re counting on our attitudes to get us to the next generation of American farmers.

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