Oh man, just when you thought it was safe to be reading a farm magazine again, along comes this guy talking about Hart Attacks…
To ease your mind, this column has nothing to do with cardiovascular health (or lack thereof). It is just the ramblings of an old farm boy and a long-time, somewhat, most-days retired agricultural writer.
Hart Attacks and my name might be new to some of you while others are saying “oh, that guy again.” The fact is, I have been writing a Hart Attacks column for most of the past 50 years. And if over the past three decades you flipped through Country Guide magazine or Grainews, you might have seen my name and this column.
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Yes, my retirement in 2022 was widely noted — thanks to both of you for sending best wishes. But you know that feeling you get deep in your gut that says you still have something important to contribute to life? Well, me neither. But when the editor of Alberta Farmer Express said they’d pay me a few bucks for a column, I was all over that idea. So here we go. Turns out the editor of Grainews wants to pick it up occasionally too!
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I need the money. I met with my financial advisor yesterday and he said I can live comfortably in retirement until next Thursday. So things are golden on that front.
I’m not sure what this Hart Attacks column will be about. I thought I might focus on politics and religion — but I figured there’s a high probability of running out of material. Are they doing anything worth talking about?
And what about that new Pope — who saw that coming? Or what about those Flames, or what about those Oilers? Do the Elks really think they can outmanoeuvre the Stampeders’ Vernon Adams Jr. this year? Truth is I don’t follow sports close enough to comment on anything. I do like watching curling and golf — they are easy to nap through.
And speaking of golf, as of this writing I will have been out twice so far this year. A flat tire on my pull cart is slowing me down. If anyone sees my scorecard they might think it’s the final score of an NBA game rather than nine holes of golf.
I did not come from a family of golfers; we were dairy farmers and there was no time for fun. I was born and raised on a dairy farm in eastern Ontario back in the day when a 25-head milking herd was a pretty typical-sized dairy operation. My dad had a new dairy barn built in 1963, and as I recall, it had 30 stanchions, which as I look back was a pretty big herd for our road in Williamsburg Township of Dundas County.
No, there was no fun in my childhood — milk cows, feed the pigs, bale hay, kill a chicken for supper, sleep and then get up and do it all over again. It was like a work camp! But seriously, there was a lot of fun and good times for me growing up. You can’t beat life on a farm, that’s why I chose a career in journalism.
I started out as a writer and editor for newspapers, and then discovered and was drawn to the glamorous, high-paying life of an agricultural writer. I’m still waiting for my ship to come in, however. So far all I’ve seen is a 12-foot rowboat with one oar.
I often think about the changes in agriculture since I was a boy on the farm, and I compare it to the difference between riding in a stagecoach and a SpaceX launch. There might have been a week or so over my career where I thought I could keep pace with changes in ag technology, but I realize I was just kidding myself.
So that’s it for this column. They don’t pay me overtime, and also I see a nap in my future. With this column I say hello. And say that if you’re interested in lifelong learning, and making the best use of your reading time, I’m sure I can find someone to help you.
