On this particular Sunday evening, it had been raining but the sun was coming out. As we got to the Armstrong farm, on state Route 506, we could see flames coming out of the Armstrong’s barn. It had been struck by lightning. We stopped, and I headed to the barn.

Riches come with family and faith, not new toys. It would be great if we could get this across to kids in grade school and preserve the idea through high school. I think it would make for a more peaceful world with more satisfied people.

I think it was Thanksgiving 1963 that we had an early snow, probably six inches or so, and Dad had planned we would cut wood on Thanksgiving Day. So, it was off to the woods in a heavy snow.  

Some of you will look at this headline and think I am talking about Republicans. Some will look at it and think I am talking about Democrats. You are both correct. The pandemic in the world today is lying.

Since permanently moving to the farms when I was 12 and limiting our travels to basically farm to farm and then to Hillsboro, I viewed the world as very large. To me, Cincinnati was the other side of the world.

We need to realize what we have, how financially rich we are, and give thanks to God for our bounty at this time of year. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

One evening, after dark, Dad was coming home from combining soybeans at the McNary Farm. He was on the road from Carmel to Cynthiana, coming up the hill from Heads Branch. We got a call at home. The crankshaft had broken in the engine, and he needed me to come with the John Deere and pull him home.  

I’ve written before that as recently as the Great Depression (yes, surprisingly, almost 100 years ago) many people were embarrassed to take a handout from the government. Would such days return. 

But Saturday morning, we had no (working) car. Dad called his “MCPO man” (remember those commercials on WSRW?). He brought out a 1964 four-door Corvair. My parents bought it, and that was our car for the rest of the days on the farms.

For over 200 years, we have laughed at the Luddites, those villagers who destroyed the steam-powered looms for fear they would lose their jobs. I fear the Luddites are about to be proven correct.  

As we got into the spring of 1965, things were smoothing out and becoming routine on the farms. I was finishing up my freshman year at Hillsboro High School and had only one more year of Latin to dread. 

Let’s talk about fixing our physical frailties. I’ll use me as an example and express the hope I have for the future, as long as the Lord wants me here.

Once I started to Hillsboro High School in the fall of 1964, I had access to the stores in Hillsboro, for the school bus took me there and back every school day. I was making a little money, earnings from helping neighbors put up hay, and I had an account at Farmers & Traders Bank.

What does it signal to you when you see a train car covered with graffiti? Or someone’s yard or home up to here in trash? Are these things so ubiquitous you don’t give them a thought?  

When it came to working in the fields, I had three favorite seasons. Soil preparation, especially plowing; hay-making and wheat harvest. I usually did not get to participate much in the fall harvest, for that was going on while I was in school.