By Kelley Sheiss

I remember it clearly.  After recently moving to Indiana, I had the privilege of helping at a local livestock event with another volunteer, a strikingly beautiful woman a few years older than me.   I knew she lived on a farm doing a good chunk of the livestock chores along with yard work, gardening and renovating an old farmhouse.   As we worked side by side during the show, I happened to notice her hands.  Much to my surprise, this woman who turned heads everywhere she went had man hands!   Some people call them "farmer hands," "gardener hands," or "laborer hands."  I choose "man hands."
The term stuck with me when I was in my early 20's and lived in Chicago.   A little story that might seem a bit out of my character (well, not really for those of you that know me) on how I came to use the term.  I would like to blame it on young ignorance, but no such luck.   A co-worker of mine was taking her brother out to celebrate his birthday.    She knew I hadn't had much of a taste of Chicago nightlife, so she asked me to join them at "The Baton Club."   This was an establishment where men dressed up as famous women performers.  As I stood in line, all I could think of was "if my parents could see me now."   As we entered, we were ushered to the front row, right in front of the stage.   Being with the birthday boy had its benefits!   As the performers came out, I was in awe.   These men...er...women...er...performers...were amazing!  There was Donna Summer and Marilyn Monroe, along with many more.   Honestly, I was fascinated.   At one point, "Donna Summer" knelt down to sing to the birthday boy and I looked at his...her...the performer's hands.   There wasn't any make-up, wigs, tape, etc. to hide the fact that this dude could easily palm a basketball with one hand.  Even with the acrylic nails, I could see it - man hands! 
Around here, man hands are worn and weathered.   Often, they have short nails, rough, dry skin and plenty of cuts, divots and scars.  In some cases of farmers I know, there are crushed finger tips and even missing parts.   That's why you'll never see my husband wearing a wedding ring.  He put it on the day we exchanged our vows and took it off the next day.  I'm o.k. with that. Why?  Rings are a digit death wish on a farm.    When I worked off the farm full-time, I took great care of my hands, vowing to never fall victim to the man hand syndrome.    That vow has now gone by the wayside.
As I type, I look at fingers with short nails, cuts and dry, dry skin.   Something had to give, and it was my hands.  Well, to be honest, it started with my feet.   I knew it was bad when recently Donnie said "Jeez, you need a cheese grater on those things!"   I am thinking there is a little Amish in me somewhere, because I love to go barefoot. In the house, in the yard and even in the barn.  I have had things on my feet you would take time to walk around.   Add to it a genetic tendency for bunions and the fact I tried to scalp a foot a couple years while mowing, well, I've got a disaster down there.   Even the butterfly tattoo I splurged on for my 40th birthday didn't help the landscape on my feet.   I once had someone tell me the feet are the key to your soul, health and well-being.  She then followed-up with informing me nicely I was in trouble if I didn't take better care of them.  I could put the Pedi-Egg company out of business.  I've been working on the feet, but now the hands are taking a back seat.
I envy women who post on Facebook they are off for a mani/pedi.  The one time I went in for a pedi, I swear the nice little Oriental man was cursing under his breath.   And mani's?   I am better off flushing money down the drain.   I drool at gals with fancy acrylic nails.   I gaze at the amazing nail designs on Pinterest, sadly realizing it is not meant to be.    On rare occasions, I splurge and buy press on nails, but for some sadistic reason I do this right before we go to a cattle show, and they are off in mere hours.   It doesn't help that I was a nail biter way back.   I keenly remember the orthodonist telling my mom "she has to stop biting her nails or this is going to cost more."  Since I had the Fort Knox of braces on my teeth for several years, my mom's dire measures consisted of putting vinegar on my fingers.  It worked.  To this day, I don't bite my nails.  What I do now is pick, especially when I am nervous.  For those of you that know me, I am nervous...a lot...especially when Dillon is showing livestock.    Look at me on the side of the ring.   Bet 'ya I am working on my nails.
I have come to realize that my days of hand glorification are over.  I am so used to short nails I don't think I could function with anything over the tip of my finger.  In meetings, I find myself looking at other ladies nails and then, with sneaky shame, hiding my hands on my lap, wondering if someone has noticed my "man hands."  One time, fearful of being late for a meeting after hastily doing some barn chores, I quickly washed up and rushed to town, only to realize I had left a little bit of the barn on my hands.   Cue a quick excuse to the bathroom.
On the other hand (no pun intended!), I realize they are a portrait of hard work and obsessive hand washing to keep the newest virus at bay.  Will I ever be a hand model?  Absolutely not!   Don't even think about the foot model gig, either!

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By Kelley Sheiss

I've been gone from this column for quite a while, but certainly not for a lack of ideas!  
Farm life, along with 4-H season and a variety of other factors put Musings on the back burner. Heck, I thought of this short musing on Mother's Day and it's taken me until July 4th to put it in print!
My inspiration was the holiday dedicated to mom. The only thing I wanted that day was some peace and quiet to clean the house.  Yes, clean. Many farm wives/moms can sympathize that often the house takes last place when it comes to priorities around the farm.   As my wish was granted and I feverishly dusted, vacuumed, mopped and cleaned toilets that day, my mind starting processing the many ways you can tell you are a farm wife. While the list could go on and on, I opted to limit it to 10 in keeping with late night talk show tradition.  I am sure many of you ladies in  agriculture can relate to some things on this list and easily add to it!  

Top Ten Ways you know you are a farm wife

10.  Your "family vacations" revolve around these things:  (1)  Attending a livestock show (2) Attending a livestock sale or (3)  Looking at or delivering show stock.

9.  Socks and underwear occasionally have an orange tint to them when a rogue hog marker finds its way to the dryer.  They wash fine, just don't dry them.  Oh, and speaking of laundry, you don't get worried when you find an errant syringe needle in the wash, either.   No intervention needed.  It's just for iron shots.   While we're on the laundry discussion, you find you also run the "clean washer" cycle more than the other actual wash cycles.

8.  Your magazine library consists of Prairie Farmer, The Show Circuit, Hoosier Beef, Seedstock Edge, QC Supply, Sullivan's Catalog and The Toy Farmer  (for the boy).

7. You find chew spit on your toilet seat or shower floor.  This is because you have forbidden chewing tobacco in the house and the hubs tries to sneak it in and spit where he thinks he won't get caught.   Gross?  Yes.  Real in my life?  Absolutely.  You would be amazed at the places I have found chewing tobacco "residue."

6. Your medicine cabinet holds Advil and allergy medication, along with Bose, Banamine and Draxxin.   In addition, the fridge in the garage that holds a variety of drinks such as water, extra orange juice and soda also stores PG 600 and wart vaccine.  You better be on your toes when you reach for something!

5. You NEVER serve a meatless meal.  If you try, the farmer you live with will forage in the refrigerator to find some type of protein source to add to the entree.  Or if he really wants to gnaw at your conscience, he will pull out a bag of potato chips and munch on them like they are the only thing to eat in the house.  Grrrrr.

4. You can go from downright stinky and dirty loading hogs or breeding cows to clean and made-up for a Chamber lunch or community meeting in the time span of an hour.  Likewise, you can return home and be dirty and stinky again in fairly short order.

3. The weather dictates your social life and the temperament of everyone in the family.  Right now, that temperament is being tested on a daily basis.  This time of year, "date night" means checking cows, watering pumpkins or weighing pigs.

2. You proudly ride shotgun with a semen tank in the front of the truck.

1. You can always tell what season it is by what is on your floor/carpet.   Winter = straw, Spring = mud, Summer = hay, Fall = soybeans or shelled corn

Yes, as farm wives we are probably more fifty shades of Little House on the Prairie than anything else, but we wouldn't have it any other way!

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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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