Archives For Rural

Immediate Care Center for Calves

02.26.13 — 1 Comment

After speaking about personal branding through social media in a few classes at Oklahoma State last week, I swung by my parent’s house. In college I found it incredibly annoying my hometown was only 10 miles from campus. Now, I find it amazingly convenient. Tailgate, enjoy a game and not worry about a place to crash? That’s clearly a win.

Well, unless you don’t live in Oklahoma anymore.

Lucky II

Anyway. When I arrived at home, my little sister looked at me with her baby blue eyes and said, “will you feed the bottle calf?” Nope.

It was cold outside!

I responded, “If you get my Carharts out of my car (Yes, they’re always in my car) I will.” Little sister set a personal record. House – Car – House in .009 seconds.

WInter is rough, man.

Poor little guy was all Bambi and the frozen pond scene. Little Sister calls him Lucky II.

Lucky

When we were little we had Lucky. He was born in a really bad storm, got stuck in the mud and broke his leg. So, we raised him …. like a dog. Sort of. Every now and then he would get out of his pen and we’d find him lounging in the yard with the dogs.

Thankfully, we lived on rural route three out past where the black top ends. Kix and Ronnie have nothing on my childhood.

If you keep your eye on the news you know we’ve had some fun weather in Oklahoma this week. Although it skipped Oklahoma City, a lot of the state had some serious weather drama.

Today, my dad posted this on Facebook:

Immediate care center at Clay Ranch. Thankful for the moisture, but mother nature was hard on the little guys. Lost 3 to sleet and snow. Maybe these will pull through with a little TLC.

2013_Winter_Calves

They look so cozy in the horse barn! And, hungry. And, cold.

That’s it. I’m going home. I’m going to name them and give them kisses. At least one of them will forever be known as Oliver.

In Rural , ,
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So God Made a Farmer.

02.03.13 — 7 Comments

Dodge, you captured the passion that is the farmer.

Every farmer’s story is unique, and I’m thankful for every single one.

I’m thankful for my rural gone urban story. It’s the foundation of my life, the reason I’ve set my goals high and my standards higher.

Long nights waiting for dad to finish working in the shop,
taking lunch to grandpa in the fields,
learning to bottle-feed the calf who broke his leg during a winter storm,
fixing fence in an abrasive Oklahoma summer,
breaking ice before school,
feeding calves after a late night ‘hoops practice,
talking futures around the breakfast table,
mending the water gap,
riding shotgun in the feed truck,
wiping away tears for a lost calf,
prayers for rain,
education,
determination,
compassion,
families.

Every story is unique.

I’m so thankful for mine.

Thank you, Dodge, for touching my heart.


Broadcaster Paul Harvey delivered the speech, called “So God Made a Farmer,” at the 1978 FFA Convention, only 28 years before I received my American FFA Degree. Man, I wish I could have heard that speech in real life.

In Rural
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Oklahoma_Sky

Urban problems.

08.05.12 — Leave a comment

I was pulled over this week because my brake light was out. Thankfully, I was disgustingly sweaty and gross from trying my hand at Crossfit when the Oklahoma weather was dancing a little jig in the 112 – 113 degree range, which I’m pretty sure was a direct result in Mr. Police Officer kindly let me off with a warning.

Read as: Urban problems. I chose to work out in this record breaking heat.

Here’s the thing. Thanks to that time I had a blow out on a dirt road and called my dad for help, I know how to change a flat tire. No, he didn’t change the tire – he simply brought a pair of boots and bib overalls and waved as he drove away. I guess it could have been worse? I could have changed that tire in my church clothes in the winter temperatures….

Anyway. With that, I can’t change a brake light. I’ve tried… and failed. So, yesterday I drove home to the farm so play that Daddy’s girl card. I will never outgrow this card, ever.

Read as: Transition back to my rural life where my urban problems seem a little smaller.

The Oklahoma sky knows how to melt my heart, it’s true. Here, where the wind sweeps across the plains like it’s defending an Olympic Medal, the sky seems larger. Sure, it’s probably the lack of trees; but it’s beautiful nonetheless.

This is the road to home.

The home where I spent many summer nights on the porch watching the fireflies and lightning dance across the sky. Last night, instead of smelling the sweet scent of rain, my heart broke as I was overwhelmed with the smells of Oklahoma burning.

Living an urban life it’s easy to get caught up in how our yard just isn’t quite as green as it should be, how it takes so much water to keep our flowers aesthetically pleasing, and how unfair it is to be on water rationing. It’s not just something to whine about anymore. Cattle being sold because there’s not enough forage in the pastures or back stock of hay and people are losing their homes.

Carry your umbrella. Wear your rain boots. Listen to songs about rain.

I’m praying for rain, and I hope maybe you are, too.

In Natural Disasters., Rural ,
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A perfect week.

07.29.12 — 2 Comments

Do you ever look back at your college days and think, “How in the world did I survive that?” I’m not talking about too many nights at the bar, I’m talking about balancing leadership positions, multiple jobs, and too many credit hours. Sometimes I look back and think, “I wish I was still that good.”

Because, if I was… I wouldn’t be so tired.

Don’t get me wrong, my life is completely worth being tired.

Last week was interesting, to keep state it simply. T was in Dallas for work, so made a mini road trip to Dallas after delighting in a few peaches in Stratford. Not a day passes that I’m not thankful for my amazing job that allows me to work from home every now and then, or in this case work poolside in Dallas.

After a few fun days in Dallas, including a Darius Rucker concert, I woke up in the 4 o’clocks Wednesday for a too-early road trip back to Oklahoma City. Our church group meets at our house each Wednesday, so early to bed wasn’t an option. Courtney’s surprise birthday party followed Thursday evening and an Avett Brothers concert Friday. I had a fun work event on Saturday, catching some zzz’s wasn’t an option then, either.

With all that said, Saturday night I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my faded Oklahoma State sweat pants and watch a few hundred episodes of the Golden Girls.

But, as a proud big sister, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch my little sister run barrels while people watching with my little brother. So, I pulled a pair of starched jeans from the closet and headed to a small-town rodeo.

Wait. Hold on. I feel obligated to confess my love for starched jeans. If I’m going to wear boots, I need my jeans to have the ability to stand by themselves. It’s odd, I know, but I feel as strongly about this as I do that spending more for quality high heels is better than mostly everything else.

I love more than anything that after a long busy week of urban living, I can sit in the stands with my dad (yes, those are our boots and starched jeans) and talk his ear off about things that don’t really matter while he says all of four words.


He didn’t even roll his eyes when I snapped this picture. It’s a Christmas miracle, really.

My little brother, one of my favorite people in the entire world, is going to be a high school senior. I can’t begin to explain how much this blows my mind. This picture taken around 9 p.m. when the sun was still glaring heavily into our eyes and the temperatures were still in the triple digits. Honestly, I don’t care how gross we look because my brother is smiling and this never happens. This, too, is a Christmas miracle.

I will trade all the quality nights of sleep in the world weeks like this. Weeks incorporating everything I love about life – rural, urban, family, T., adventures, family, friends – are exactly how I want to live my life.

In Brooke, Concerts, Dreamboat., Family, Friends, Rural, Travel , , , ,
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Dreamboat thinks I went Princess Fishing.

05.09.12 — 4 Comments

Summer of ’07, also known as back when I was old enough to vote but not old enough to drink, was the last time I went fishing (well, before yesterday). I’m a crafty one, you see. Caught that little baby fish and didn’t even have to touch it.

My lovely family took a little excursion to Red Lake, Ontario where we went a week without internet, cell phones and television. Sometimes, I dream of a week like this. Could you imagine an entire week without technology? It seems magical.

A week where you paint rocks because you are so bored? Only my mother and aunt would bring random crafts on a family vacation. Next time, I’m petitioning for a beach vacation.

A lot has changed since ’07. Sort of. Yesterday I went on a work trip to Lake Texoma. A guide took us around the lake to the best fishing spots, took the fish off the hook and cleaned the fish.

According to Dreamboat this is what you call Princess fishing.

Dreamboat? Well, that umm.. friend of mine… the one who calls me his girlfriend. You know, the one who couldn’t be blogged about because he didn’t have a blog name — we’re going to refer to him as Dreamboat.

Why? Well, if Berry Tramel can call him Dreamboat so can I. He is dreamy, Berry. I’ll give you props on this one.

Anyway. Princess fishing. It’s fitting, I suppose.

In Dreamboat., Rural, Travel
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New Traditions, I think?

04.09.12 — 4 Comments

As an Oklahoma transplant, the road between the 405 and the 317 is a well-traveled one especially on Holiday weekends. Our family is usually in Indiana attending the small church where most of my family was married and sitting in the same pew I crawled under as a toddler.

Until this year.

For some odd reason, we stayed in Oklahoma. Oddly, we were faced with a new challenge of “what do we do?” Our traditions are nailed down in the 317.

Some things will never change. Mom made us stand around, awkwardly, to take a few pictures.

And, usually, we goof off until someone makes Mom cry and then we suck it up and muster a smile.

Note: we do have a father, he just happens to be allergic to cameras, and he’s not as scared of Mom as we are.

We’re weird.

And, without traditions, we were literally lost after church.

We gathered in the living room – staring at each other – until someone mustered, “hey, when’s the last time you dusted off your Glock?”

Then, clearly, it was “game on” when guns were concerned.

I’m not even sure I know what type of gun this is. I just know it’s loud, and I’m a dead-on shot.

How did we go from this? A normal family taking awkward pictures….

To this?

It doesn’t make sense.

Happy Monday from the Clays.

And, thanks mom for the food. I’ll be full until Thursday.

 

In Family, Rural , ,
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Brainstorming 101

02.27.12 — 6 Comments

I never know what to blog about. I mean, what is the purpose of this blog? It’s to tell you what I’m doing in my life from my abstract random perspective, right?


Well, I mean, I blog for a living… so the things I’m talking about on http://www.ChickasawCountry.com (to be published NEXT MONDAY) I can’t really talk about on here… But, you can follow me over there on twitter, Facebook, and even Pinterest.

I’ve been working on embracing my urban life. By definition this means attending Oscars parties. I mean, why not? I did have a pair of shoes I purchased two years ago laying around… they needed to be worn.

And a really great friend to serve as my arm candy. (insert evil laughter…) Seriously, ladies, this guy is legit. The best “psuedo boyfriend” a girl could have. He doesn’t even rub it in that he’s smarter than I could even dream of being.

On occasion, I watch my little sister show her heifers. I can’t let myself embrace the urban life too much.

Is this what you guys want? Or – do you want the I’m a serial first dater blog? Because, I’m that, too. Seriously.

In Brooke, Rural
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This just happened.

12.30.11 — 2 Comments

Like any spoiled farm girl, I pulled into the local gas station – and seriously considered “putting it on the tab.” As a creature of habit, I just enjoy the small town gas stations – the people are generally nicer.

Then.

The guy walks out, asking me if that was my car making all that noise?
Me? MY car? How dare you, my car is fine.
I think the (insert something about cars here) is slipping, it’s just a 15 minute fix.
Can you fix it, let’s say Wednesday? I’m actually going on a road trip to Phoenix and well, I haven’t packed yet.
You’re not driving this car.


The thing is, I actually pulled my car into the shop last night, and my brother checked everything out – so it’s fine.
Blank Stare.
*huff*
I’ll call an order the (insert what ever that thing is) and they’ll deliver it – it will just take an hour.
Blank stare.

I sit here from my dad’s office – placed convientently across the stress from where my car is getting her … something… fixed. Pully? Maybe that’s it. On a serious note, how amazing are small towns. I love this place.

 Also – could someone come pack for me? I’m supposed to leave for a roadtrip soon. In a last minute scramble, I’ll probably just take everything orange and throw into a bag.

Also – if you’re not cheering for the Cowboys come Monday, we can no longer be friends. Keep that in mind.

In Rural
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rural iphone photography

10.03.11 — 2 Comments

What I thought would be an afternoon of naps, Keeping up with the Kardashians marathon and free food turned into gate-gettin’ and cattle loading.

Not that I mind – except I was in flip flops.

Apparently when I head to the farm to see the family I sometimes forget to leave my urban brain behind.

Yesterday, it occurred to me that I’ve managed to slide by in my rural up brining. Sure, I’ve spent my fair share of mornings busting ice and feeding animals – but sometimes, I just don’t know why I don’t know something.

I finally tip-toed into the house, switched on the Kardashians {Kris was about to propose!} when the phone rang.

“Can you go get the wheeler.”
I’m listening….
“Go to the shop and get a ratchet strap.”
Yeah, a ratchet strap – I know what that is…
{click.}

By this point I’m heading to the shop looking for a ratchet strap. {remember, I forgot to switch back to my rural brain.}

I look around a while – and then I see it.

“OOOOHHHHHHH.”

Yeah, I knew what it was – I just couldn’t remember it’s name.

Whatever – I took some decent pics while I was out, completely worth missing Kris propose to Kim.

Don’t forget – Rural Gone Urban is on Facebook!

 

 

In Rural ,
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Strippers and Babies !?!

07.26.11 — 7 Comments

Yes, you read that correctly.

I’m in New Orleans, or “Nawlins,” depending on your dialect. I’m here at the Ag Media Summit and luckily our hotel is only a few blocks away from Bourbon Street.

As a college student I attened AMS because that’s what I was suppose to do. I was an overachiever and my adrenaline rush was meeting the best of the best and knowing who was who among the agiculture community.

However, when the chance to attend again arose – I jumped on it for an entirely different reason.


Because it’s the place where between catching up with old friends (Ahem, Katie Allen) you learn to think like a reader while writing for your audience, strategic tweeting (reinforcing why I love Social Media so much), and how to make your copy more creative.


It’s the place where your 5-year-old heart jumps in excitment at Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots that toured the streets of NOLA during Mardi Gras.

It’s the place where you keep a straight face when the tour guide neither confirms nor denies the existence of vampires – but leaves you not being able to completely rule out the idea.

Ag Media Summit is the place where you sit in one session learning how to build pages faster in InDesign (design software) while checking twitter (#AgMS) to see what people are learning from AdFarm’s Brandon Souza regarding networking.

It’s the place you feel a sigh of relieve knowing your smart phone is fully charged – so you can capture the lady in the table.

It’s the place you fall head-over-heels in love with Adobe Lightroom and question why strippers are lining the same streets where  families push baby strollers.

Mostly, Ag Media Summit is the place where you confirm your career choice. Your lovely career choice that allows you to embrace your abstract-random way of thinking that is so delicately intertwined in the agricultural community.

In Friends, Rural , , ,
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