Front Porch - Winter 2016

WINTER 2016

Arkansas’ ballet of beauty

An excerpt from

TALYA TATE BOERNER’S DEBUT NOVEL

“The Accidental Salvation of Gracie Lee”

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IN THIS ISSUE

Farm Bureau Matters

Randy Veach | Page 3

Swan Lake

Keith Sutton | Page 6

The Accidental Salvation of Gracie Lee Talya Tate Boerner | Page 16

Taste Arkansas

Jamie Smith | Page 22

Land & People

Ken Moore | Page 26

In the Kitchen

Debbie Arnold | Page 28

Building Wealth

Benjamin Waldrum | Page 32

Delta Child

Talya Tate Boerner | Page 36

ON THE COVER

Trumpeter swans disappeared from Arkansas for more than 80 years. Now they’re back, and a visit to their winter homes around Heber Springs may allow wildlife watchers to see and photograph hundreds of these magnificent waterfowl.

Photo by Keith Sutton

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Farm Bureau Matters

by Randy Veach | President, Arkansas Farm Bureau Federation

Tracking trade opportunities

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he views were slightly different in Havana, Cuba than they were in Belfast, Ireland, though the discussion was remarkably consistent — all about Arkansas agriculture — on the recent trips I attended.

The Cuba trip last September was organized by the Arkansas World Trade Center and led by Gov. Asa Hutchinson. The delegation included several business interests, though it was clear the focus was on agricultural trade. While in Havana, Gov. Hutchinson met with several trade officials and took part in an international news conference covered by CNN. Upon our return, Gov. Hutchinson wrote letters to the leadership in both chambers of Congress, urging them to allow flexibility in credit extension to Cuba. Arkansas was the first state to send its governor and a trade delegation to Cuba since the reopening of the U.S. Embassy in Havana.

I agree with Gov. Hutchinson’s comments about U.S.-Cuba relations. We should be looking ahead with Cuba and not looking in the rearview mirror.

It’s clear Cuba wants to attract more foreign investment. In fact, while there, the Cuban government announced a program to “guarantee” the value of investments made in the country.

Cuba can’t raise enough food to feed its people, and there is an opportunity for Arkansas to help in so many ways.

Obviously, poultry and rice are trade opportunities. There are broad opportunities for just about every commodity grown and raised in Arkansas.

The overall living conditions in Havana are poor. And families have little opportunity to better their lifestyle. They have to improve their economic situation. We went into a local grocery store that was only about 60 percent stocked.

That is why they’re eager to encourage foreign investors to partner with them.

This trip affirmed we have a good opportunity to sell more Arkansas farm products to the island country 90 miles from U.S. soil. It’s clear to me that we must move forward normalizing trade relations with Cuba. Frankly, we need the Cuban government to move forward on a number of citizens-rights issues. That action will ease some of the

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concerns over the U.S easing trade restrictions. That’s no easy fix, but it’s imperative.

My trip to Ireland was with the American Farm Bureau Trade Advisory Committee as part of the North AmericanEuropean Union Agricultural Policy Congress in Belfast.

The conference was entitled “Making Agriculture A Success,” and was sponsored by the Ulster Farmers’ Union.

Roughly 90 percent of those in attendance were farmers and ranchers, giving us a great opportunity to talk about common ground on important issues like “big data,” climate change, biotechnology, international trade, government farm programs, technology and drones. As you might imagine, discussion with farmers — and not government agencies — was the highlight of the conference.

Much of the EU’s farm economy is built around farmerdirected cooperatives. And while we have some large agriculture cooperatives in the U.S. — Riceland Foods, in fact, is one of the largest farmer cooperatives in the country — we don’t operate in quite the cooperative fashion as EU farmers.

We met with the secretary-general of COPA-COGECA, which serves as the united voice of farmers and their cooperatives in the European Union. COPA represents the farmers, and COGECA speaks on behalf of the agricultural cooperatives. Their organization struck me as very similar to one we encountered on our 2011 visit to South Korea, the National Agricultural Cooperative Federation.

Europe was very different from Cuba. Europe represents advanced capitalism. Cuba is communist and only beginning to engage in global trade. These markets present unique challenges and opportunities. It’s these opportunities that matter to Arkansas farmers and ranchers, and they stand to benefit from these sorts of trade trips.

The future of Arkansas agriculture will be defined by what happens in both advanced and emerging markets around the world. So it’s critical that we put our best foot forward in each and every one, highlighting the unequaled quality of our products and the knowledge and experience of our people. I look forward to continuing these efforts in 2016 and sharing more about our successes.

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Included in membership dues ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU OFFICERS:

President • Randy Veach, Manila Vice President • Rich Hillman, Carlisle Secretary/Treasurer • Joe Christian, Jonesboro Executive Vice President • Warren Carter, Little Rock DIRECTORS:

Troy Buck, Alpine Jon Carroll, Moro Terry Dabbs, Stuttgart Sherry Felts, Joiner Mike Freeze, England Bruce Jackson, Lockesburg Tom Jones, Pottsville Gene Pharr, Lincoln Caleb Plyler, Hope Rusty Smith, Des Arc Leo Sutterfield, Mountain View Joe Thrash, Toad Suck Dan Wright, Waldron EX OFFICIO

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Contact David Brown at Publishing Concepts for advertising rates dbrown@pcipublishing.com (501) 221-9986 Fax (501) 225-3735 Front Porch (USPS 019-879) is published quarterly by the Arkansas Farm Bureau Federation 10720 Kanis Rd., Little Rock, AR 72211 Periodicals Postage paid at Little Rock, AR POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Rhonda Whitley at rhonda.whitley@arfb.com Front Porch • P.O. Box 31 • Little Rock, AR 72203 Please provide membership number Issue #98 Publisher assumes no responsibility for any errors or omissions. All rights reserved. Reproduction without permission is prohibited.

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L

es Singley didn’t know what a good looking guy he was. For years he would hold his hand in front of his mouth when talking or smiling because his teeth embarrassed him. “I had problems eating.

I would stick with soft foods because chewing was impossible,� says Les. “There were even times when others made fun or even looked away when I spoke. I hated to be around crowds of people.� Les explains, “I decided it was time to have a better outlook about myself. I wanted to eat and smile like everyone else. I made an appointment and the minute I walked in the door I got a warm welcome. I met Dr. Jirik and he asked all about me and then he told me about himself and his

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One of North America’s most impressive wildlife spectacles is the gathering of hundreds of magnificent trumpeter swans on Magness Lake and other waters near Heber Springs.

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an. 2, 1991. Somewhere in the sky over mid-America, three young swans struggle through a snowstorm. Each has a 7-foot wingspan, but despite their huge size and powerful wing beats, the dusky-brown juveniles have been pushed off course by the winter squall. They are tired and far from their normal migration route.

Below, in the darkness, the calls of geese resound from a small oxbow lake just outside the Ozark Mountains community of Heber Springs. The swans hear the waterfowl and soar down to land nearby. The sheltered waters of Magness Lake provide the perfect place for them to rest and recuperate.

The next morning, four avid birdwatchers driving by the lake see the swans and stop for a better look. “My goodness, are those trumpeter swans?” one asks as he looks through his binoculars. “Surely it can’t be.”

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Trumpeter swans in Arkansas often wear numbered neck collars and/or leg bands that help biologists track the birds’ movements.

Viewers can report the unique combinations of numbers and letters by calling 1-800-327-BAND. This trumpeter swan, banded in Wisconsin while still a flightless youngster in 2004, has been seen several times since on Magness Lake near Heber Springs.

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Magness Lake was the focal point of trumpeter swan watching in Arkansas until recent years. Two other lakes on Hiram Road east of Heber Springs now have viewing areas, too. Scores of swans can be viewed on these waters throughout winter.

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The trumpeter swan is the largest waterfowl in North America and the largest swan in the world. Its wingspan may be larger than an eagle’s, and a large individual may weigh half again as much as a big Thanksgiving turkey!

By the late 1800s, trumpeter swans had been hunted to the brink of extinction for their meat, feathers, down and quills. In 1933, 70 birds in Yellowstone National Park were the only known survivors. Extinction seemed imminent until 2,000 trumpeters were found in remote parts of Alaska. Reintroductions by wildlife agencies gradually restored the population to more than 46,000 birds by 2010. About 500 now winter in Arkansas.

Trumpeters aren’t the only swan species that may be seen on lakes near Heber Springs. The smaller, less vocal tundra swan (pictured top left) is a regular but uncommon visitor in winter, and there also have been rare reports of mute swans, a species introduced from Eurasia to the U.S.

Because of their huge size, trumpeter swans require a long watery runway for takeoffs.

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Trumpeter swans mate for life and live together as family groups of dusky-brown juveniles and snowy-white adults. The young birds, called cygnets, learn their migration routes from their parents. The families return to several Heber Springs area lakes each November from breeding grounds in northern and western states.

Trumpeter swan pairs often squabble with each other, with aggressive squawking, nipping and wing flapping that turns the water into a raucous battlefield.

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The swans that visit the Heber Springs area each fall and winter provide unique opportunities for up-close photography and viewing.

When one of the birds calls, however, there is no doubt. The loud, trumpet-like sound from which the species takes its name is a dead giveaway. These are not the quieter, more common tundra swans seen each winter in Arkansas. They are trumpeter swans, and this is the first time the species has been seen in the state in more than 80 years. The birds, which were near the brink of extinction throughout their range in the early 1900s, are an astounding find.

At the time, farmer Perry Lindner owns Magness Lake, and he often feeds corn to wintering waterfowl there. He welcomes these new visitors and when he spreads corn along the shore for them, the swans greedily partake. They seem to enjoy their new home, and it’s not until Feb. 24 that they depart. During their almost twomonthlong visit, scores of people come to see them.

Fast forward to November 2014. My son Zach, his friend Rebecca and my wife Theresa join me for a trip to Magness Lake to photograph the swans. It’s a sojourn I’ve made several times annually since 1998.

No one expected trumpeter swans would return to Magness Lake after the first visit. But the birds must have liked what they found, because they came again and brought friends and families.

Two adults appeared at Christmas in 1991 — an adult female banded in Minnesota and her mate. They stayed until the end of February along with two more adults that arrived in January.

The next winter, the banded female and her mate returned with three cygnets (juvenile swans). Since then, the numbers have fluctuated, but in recent years, more than 150 swans have been spotted on the lake at one time. Several nearby lakes now also host wintering populations.

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When visiting last year, we arrived at sunrise and marveled at several dozen trumpeters that came to eat corn we scattered. Other birds flew in, touching down with loud honks and splashing. Many were juveniles dressed in dusky plumage, but most were snow-white adults with jet-black bills and legs.

Ordinarily, trumpeter swans are hard to approach. The Heber Springs birds have become accustomed to humans, however, allowing people extraordinary opportunities to view and photograph them. Standing within a few feet of North America’s largest species of waterfowl is an experience few observers ever forget. The swans are gigantic, sometimes weighing 38 pounds and standing 4 feet tall. They are strikingly beautiful, with long, graceful necks, snowy feathers and expressive black eyes.

Zach and I photographed flying swans, swimming swans, feeding swans, preening swans and resting swans. We snapped pictures when they stood tall on the water and flapped their wings, and captured images of family groups with parent birds and cygnets together. We laughed when one swan would chase another that had crowded its personal space, and gazed in wonder when the heaviest flying birds in North America would run hard across the water’s surface to gain speed for takeoff.

We did not see any swans wearing the bright-colored neck bands from restoration programs in other states. But on previous visits, I’ve recorded numbers on the neck bands of several trumpeters. Information returned from the federal Bird Banding Laboratory indicates the Magness Lake swans come from as far away as Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan and Iowa.

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Although it’s only 30 acres in size, Magness Lake near Heber Springs provides a winter home for scores of trumpeter swans and other species of waterfowl. The Eason family, which owns the private lake, graciously allows visitors to observe and photograph these beautiful birds from a lakeside parking and viewing area.

The people who come to view the swans often travel long distances, as well. I’ve met birders from as far away as New York, Montana, Arizona and Oregon who came to see the Heber Springs trumpeters.

I’ve even met a few from other countries like Japan and Great Britain.

For the most part, though, the people who visit are from Arkansas, including many Heber Springs residents who come daily from November through February to feed the swans and marvel at their beauty. By March, the birds will be gone, traveling north and west to their breeding grounds. But by Thanksgiving, they’ll be back again to tug at the heartstrings of wildlife lovers who flock to Magness Lake to see them.

If you’ve never seen the swans, by all means make time to go this year. Perhaps you will never witness the massive migration of wildebeests across the African plains, the gathering of millions of monarch butterflies in Mexico or the great spawning runs of salmon in rivers of Alaska and the Pacific Northwest. But right here in the Natural State, just outside Heber Springs, you can see one of the world’s most incredible gatherings of wildlife. To stand on the bank of this Cleburne County oxbow and see scores of trumpeter swans is an experience not to be missed.

By some quirk of fate, where once there were no swans, now there are many. And when you see them, it will not be hard to imagine that the winter storm in 1991 brought these magnificent birds here for a reason — so we might witness their beauty and be thankful for living in the Natural State where such things are truly appreciated.

Trip tips

To view the swans, drive east toward Wilburn on Arkansas Highway 110 from its intersection with the Arkansas 5/25 bypass on

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the eastern edge of Heber Springs. Go 3.9 miles from the intersection and turn left onto Hays Road (Little Red River Bible Church is directly across from the turn). The parking area beside Magness Lake is just before the S-curve about one-half mile down Hays Road.

Magness Lake is on private land now owned by the family of Larry and Patti Eason. Visitors are asked to park only in the designated area and leave pets at home. Please avoid littering, climbing on the fence or blocking gated roads.

In recent years, the trumpeter swans have wintered on two nearby lakes, as well. Both are on Hiram Road and provide viewing areas with gravel parking lots. To reach these lakes from Hays Road, continue on Highway 110 east toward Wilburn for 1 mile and turn right on Cutoff Road (gravel). Continue 0.7 of a mile to paved Hiram Road and turn left. The first lake is on the left 2.1 miles from this turn. You’ll pass through a white pipe gate into the parking area. The second lake is 0.6 of a mile past this one. You’ll see a large red-and-white “Water for Sale” sign at the left hand turn into the parking area. These, too, are privately owned lakes, so please show all courtesies.

The trumpeters usually arrive around mid-November and stay until late February. You’re likely to see at least a few regardless of the time of day, but the best viewing and photo opportunities often are near dawn and dusk. Many guests bring deer corn to feed the birds and draw them near. This is OK but other items should not be fed to the swans, and people should not try to hand-feed or touch them.

In addition to trumpeter swans, visitors often see the smaller tundra swan and a variety of ducks and geese, including ringnecked ducks, buffleheads, mallards, canvasbacks, Canada geese and snow geese.

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Front Porch readers know Talya Tate Boerner best for her “Delta Child” column she writes for the magazine. Talya is a Delta girl who grew up making mudpies on her family’s cotton farm in Mississippi County. After a career as a commercial banker in Dallas, she returned to Arkansas and now lives in Fayetteville with her husband, John, and two miniature schnauzers, Lucy and Annabelle. Talya’s love of food, farming and nature is evident on her personal lifestyle blog, “Grace Grits and Gardening.” She loves to cook and believes most any dish can be improved with a side of collard greens. The Accidental Salvation of Gracie Lee, scheduled for release Jan. 28 from SYP Publishing, is her debut novel. This is an excerpt from her critically acclaimed book. Southern Yellow Pine Publishing, all rights reserved.

T

here must have been a rule that country churches should be plain and ordinary, because most of those around Mississippi County were that way. As Momma pulled into the circle drive, which was filled with more dandelions than gravel, I stared at the Boon Chapel Baptist Church sign out front. A few weeks ago, someone had painted over the “n” in Boon. “Just for meanness,” Nana had said.

“Why hasn’t someone fixed the sign yet?” I asked. “It just looks pitiful, and everyone who drives by will think we changed the name to Boo Chapel.” I could barely stand to even get out of the car and walk inside.

“I doubt it,” Momma said as she checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

The front porch had begun to lean to the right. The twisty vines wrapped along the columns and over the roof likely kept the building from collapsing. Over to the side, tombstones poked up through a carpet of clover, but it was the mound of fresh, black dirt that caught my eye.

“Who died?”

“A man from Sugar Ditch. No one you know,” Momma said.

“Momma, if I die, don’t bury me at ‘Boo’ Chapel.” I said “boo” with extra emphasis.

Momma laughed as we walked together up the front porch steps, carrying our Bibles and wearing our Sunday best.

“Where would you like me to bury you, Gracie Lee?” “I don’t know, but not out there.”

“Me neither!” Abby, who was the biggest copycat in the history of copycats, echoed me. I rolled my eyes at her.

Beyond the graveyard, cotton and soybean fields splayed out like a fan, the view broken only by weeds and wildflowers growing on the ditch banks. All around the church, pecan trees kept watch, whether we were there or not.

But we were there.

Everyone but Daddy, anyway.

For as far back as I could remember, each Sunday morning at nine a.m. sharp, Mr. Donaldson, the official Boon Chapel church secretary, called service to order by saying a prayer and leading the congregation in the singing of a hymn. After everyone was good and awake, we went to our designated Sunday school classes, which were determined mostly by age.

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“The front porch had begun to lean to the right. The twisty vines wrapped along the columns and over the roof likely kept the building from collapsing. Over to the side, tombstones poked up through a carpet of clover, but it was the mound of fresh, black dirt that caught my eye.”

People like Aunt Fannie and Mrs. Donaldson went across the hall to the young-married class even though they weren’t young and had all been married long enough to have kids at least Abby’s age. The largest class belonged to the old ladies — Nana, Mrs. Sweet, Aunt Clara, and a few other women — who all wore sweaters draped on their shoulders even in the summer. Since they were closest to dying, they took their Sunday school lesson as serious as anything. On any given day, Nana’s lesson book could be found rolled up in her pocketbook like a treasure map.

Lumped together in a separate class away from the women, the Boon Chapel men stood around outside and leaned against Uncle Will’s truck, drinking coffee from paper cups.

During the summer, when Momma opened our classroom window to let the hot air escape, we could hear them talking about farming. Farming was the only topic of interest to men in our corner of Arkansas.

I was in the youth class with Abby, our cousin, Dian, and the Donaldson twins, who were girls too. There had never been any boys in our class, which seemed a little strange when I really stopped to think about it. But I wasn’t complaining. The thing I did complain about was having

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Momma for our Sunday school teacher. What sort of sense did it make for Abby and me to get up early every Sunday morning so that our own Momma could teach to us from the Bible?

“Today’s lesson is about the importance of church,” Momma said. “I know sometimes it would be nice to sleep late on Sunday morning, but God commands us to attend. If you knew Jesus was planning to walk into the doors of Boon Chapel and listen to Brother Brown’s sermon today, I bet you wouldn’t think twice about coming. Right?” A tractor passed by on the road in front of the church, rumbling louder and louder until it faded away in the distance.

“I’d wear my Easter dress,” Abby said as she glanced down at her shirt that was already stained with a dribble of orange juice.

Momma’s example was a good one, and I understood what she was saying, but still I didn’t think it was fair that Daddy never had to go to church. And Momma never bugged him about it, either. In some ways, she lived as two different people. At church, Momma talked about Jesus and reminded us to be kind and to do unto others, but where Daddy was concerned, she did whatever it took to survive.

We all did.

After Sunday school class when Mr. Donaldson rang the hall bell, everyone gathered back into the sanctuary for the reading of announcements and other important church information. Mr. Donaldson had all the best church jobs, including changing out the paper numbers on the wooden tote board that hung above the piano. It was a board much like the baseball scoreboard at school, only smaller. This week’s numbers didn’t look very different from last week’s numbers. Or the week before. “Attendance this Sunday 39, Bibles brought 25, and offering $52.43.”

After we dragged through a few too-slow hymns, Brother Brown walked up to the pulpit. “Good Sunday morning,” he said, while opening his Bible and paging through to the book he wanted. Slowly, slowly, he licked his thumb and continued turning pages. Why, oh, why didn’t he know about bookmarks? “Ah, here we are.” He paused, looked at the congregation, and nodded. I glanced at my Cinderella watch. Brother Brown was allotted exactly 25 minutes. He’d best get on with it.

Brother Brown’s sermon drifted over the congregation like crop defoliant, settling on the faithful Baptist like a fog.

Week after week, the same tired tone, the same woeful words about Hell and sin and Satan. The pew beneath my rear end became rock hard, my eyelids heavy. Everyone, even the devout old ladies, seemed to have difficulty listening. Nana sat with her Bible open to the day’s passages, her normally attentive eyes glazed over. Every few minutes, she pushed the short curls around her face behind her ears and sat a little taller as though trying her best to pay attention. Uncle Will snored from the back row. Brother

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Brown’s words rarely reached my ears. I counted ceiling tiles to stay awake, un, deux, trois. I carefully peeled the silver lining away from my spearmint gum wrapper and made a tiny ball. I imagined the pot roast Momma left simmering in the oven. When my stomach yowled like a cat, Abby giggled.

“Nana, draw a duck,” I whispered, hoping for a distraction.

Pulling an offering envelope from the wooden pew in front of me, I handed it to her. In a pinch, offering envelopes made good scrap paper.

Nana nodded and slipped a pencil from inside her Bible. In one graceful hand movement, she drew her own unique version of a duck, more of a one-legged flamingo or strange swan.

“That doesn’t look like a duck,” Abby muttered, stifling her laugh. Then she hiccupped, and we teetered headfirst into a fit of silent, shoulder-shaking giggles, the sort easily mistaken for sobbing. Momma shot us the stink eye from her place at the piano bench. Since Momma was stuck sitting up front as the Boon Chapel piano player, Nana was tasked with keeping us quiet during preaching. It rarely worked. Nana had the biggest giggle box of all.

Sunday service always ended with Brother Brown’s invitation to join Boon Chapel Baptist Church, followed by five, long stanzas of “Just as I Am.” Momma played a few chords of the introduction while Brother Brown reminded everyone to bow their heads and close their eyes. I saw no point in closing my eyes, so I lowered my head but watched the whole time. As I suspected, nothing much happened.

“Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me.”

While the congregation sang, Brother Brown shut his hymnal, clasped his Bible in the crook of his arm, and walked from the pulpit to the front of the sanctuary. Stooping toward the empty front pew, he picked up his hat then stood ready to greet all the potential new church members moved by his message. Once again, there were none. The invitational hymn was a waste of time. Boon Chapel membership had been stuck at 44 since I was in the nursery.

By the end of the second verse, I felt sorry for him. No one ever went up there. Not since Aunt Clara had pretended to rededicate her life. If anyone had her life straightened out, it was Aunt Clara. Everyone knew she was only trying to be supportive.

Well, today would be different. After doing some serious thinking last night, I decided to walk up during the invitational hymn and visit with Brother Brown. Even though I questioned whether or not Brother Brown had a direct link to Jesus, or if Jesus existed at all, I thought it would be a nice gesture and give me something to do during all those tedious stanzas. Plus, maybe Brother Brown could help Daddy or, at the very least, become inspired for future sermons.

“Just as I am, though tossed about with many a conflict, many a doubt.”

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“Around us, the music swelled as though my walk to the pulpit had energized the church members.

Brother Brown mumbled a few words that I could barely hear and read from the book of Matthew, something about all things being possible.”

Squeezing between Abby and the pew in front of us, I placed one foot onto the red aisle carpet. “Where are you going?” she whispered, tugging the back of my blouse. I ignored her and took another step forward, hardly feeling my feet. The untied lace on my right shoe flopped with each step. I wished I had worn my black Mary Janes instead of my saddle Oxfords, even though they pinched my toes.

In the back of the church, the air conditioner kicked on with a sudden whooshing sound, making the floor pulsate and the walls groan. I was thankful for the timing, certain the racket would conceal the loud thump of my heartbeat.

The lights hanging from the ceiling, dimmed for an instant, and maybe even swayed before returning to normal. I continued to stare at my slow-moving feet. Just keep walking.

“O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”

Glancing toward Brother Brown, I noticed an upraised bushy eyebrow, a hint of excitement at having a customer. I didn’t look at Momma but felt her smile in my direction.

When I reached the front of the church, he took my hand in his cold, clammy one and draped an arm around my shoulder, which felt surprisingly nice. His breath smelled of coffee and peppermints, and tufts of white hair protruded from inside each nostril.

“Hello, Miss Grace.” He smoothed the top of his deeply parted hair and smiled like I had made his day perfect.

“Hi, Brother Brown.” I smiled back but felt nervous. He had never really spoken to me before, and I was surprised he knew my name. Since I didn’t know what to do with my hands, I crossed my arms over my chest, but when that didn’t feel right, I dropped them to my side and let them hang, doing nothing.

“Are you ready to turn your life over to Jesus?” he asked in a low, soothing voice that moved my hair and tickled my ear.

“No sir, I just came up to say hello and ask you to pray for my Daddy. He’s mean to Momma, he drinks too much beer,

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

and I think he’s probably going to Hell. In fact, I’m sure of it.” I tugged on the hem of my dress and couldn’t take my eyes from his amazing crop of nose hair. I had never before noticed how much he looked like the walrus at the Memphis Zoo. With his hand firmly planted on my back, he guided me to the front pew and we knelt there, because Boon Chapel had no proper altar. Around us, the music swelled as though my walk to the pulpit had energized the church members.

Brother Brown mumbled a few words that I could barely hear and read from the book of Matthew, something about all things being possible. The congregation continued singing and even started over with the first verse. That made me feel bad, because I knew everyone wanted to go home for lunch.

My mind blanked out, like it sometimes did during history class when the teacher went over something for the tenth time. My stomach growled and even cramped up from hunger. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, I concentrated as hard as I could, hoping he might hear me with his mind. Yet, on he droned. A different sort of sermon especially for me.

Why did I ever walk up here?

My foot was asleep.

Tingling. Tingling. I shifted my balance and almost fell.

I never heard Brother Brown actually pray for Daddy, but I knew Mae would be proud that I made the effort. From my spot kneeling at the first pew, Momma’s piano playing sounded louder than normal and vibrated the floor beneath my knees. Finally, we stood. I stomped my dead foot to wake it up, but not too loud. He shook my hand as though we made some sort of deal, and the whole thing was over.

After the torture of church, Momma’s pot roast was pure deliverance. Loading my fork with a piece of meat and a wedge of potato, I savored the flavor of Sunday afternoon.

“Grace, don’t you have some good news to share with Daddy?” Momma jolted me from my perfect pot roast moment. That was what Momma always did, and I hated it.

She tried to force Abby and me to chit-chat with Daddy, the man who would have rather pulled weeds with his teeth than make small talk. Daddy stabbed a chunk of meat, looked up from his plate, and waited for me to say something. My face flushed. I hated that too.

“Not really,” I said through clinched teeth. I didn’t look at Daddy, but from the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head like I was impossible.

“Gracie got saved today,” Abby blurted out and flashed a gigantic smile showing lots of rosy gum between several missing teeth.

Daddy shot me a knowing look, like he could see right through me, as though he knew there was more to the story.

“I just went up to talk to Brother Brown. It’s no big deal.” I hid behind my glass of tea. When I attempted a gulp, the ice cubes moved in one giant mass to the front of my glass. Tea poured

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“If God really and truly existed, he wouldn’t let it rain again so soon. What had started out as a fun, pretend, backyard swimming pool turned bad all around, especially in the way our cotton was ruined.” down the sides of my chin and onto my favorite T-shirt. Abby clasped her hand over her mouth to hold back a giggle.

“Of course it’s a big deal. It’s a huge deal,” Momma said, handing me a dishtowel. “Right, Lee?” She tried once again to drag Daddy into the conversation.

“If you say so,” he mumbled. “Do we have any of those hot peppers left?”

Momma popped up from her chair, opened the icebox door, grabbed a handful of jalapenos from the bottom drawer and rinsed them. “She’ll be getting baptized in a few weeks,” Momma beamed. She placed the peppers on a saucer beside Daddy’s plate.

“What?” I stared at Momma. She looked as pleased as the time I won first prize in the countywide essay contest and received a certificate of achievement signed by Governor Bumpers. My essay entitled “What Makes Arkansas Special to Me” was printed in the local Savage Crossing Crier, and my picture appeared on the front page of the gossip section.

Today, I don’t remember a word of what I wrote.

“Maybe we should have a big baptism party to celebrate, invite the whole family over, Mamaw Pearl, Nana and Papa, Aunt Fannie. What do you think, Lee? It’s been forever since we had a family party. I can make that chocolate cake you like, the one with the coconut.” Momma grinned at Daddy.

Her eyes flitted around as though ideas churned in her head.

Daddy glared at me, his stare so sharp and cutting I could feel it inside my chest.

Abby wiggled in her chair like she had to pee. She cheered, “Yes, a party!”

I dropped my fork. It skipped off the edge of my plate and bounced to the floor.

This was the sort of thing that happened when I didn’t mind my own business. My one and only attempt to be social with Brother Brown and to possibly help Daddy had resulted in a complete misunderstanding. And I had known something was up too. When the service was finally over,

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most of the church members, including every old lady, formed a line and walked to the front to shake my hand and congratulate me like I was a celebrity or something. It was the craziest thing.

“Do I have to get in that water with Brother Brown?” I asked. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt bad. Not 30 minutes before, Brother Brown talked with me and held my hand, and I smelled his coffee breath and all.

“Yes, Grace. That’s the only way to Heaven. You know that.

We talked about it in Sunday school just this morning,” Momma said.

I didn’t remember any such thing.

“S*!t. That’s the whole problem with religion,” Daddy said in a mocking tone. Momma cut her eyes at him. She hated when he said bad words at the kitchen table and especially on Sunday. “And we aren’t wasting a red cent on any damn party.

In case you’ve all forgotten, our cotton is still underwater.”

No one had forgotten.

After yesterday’s firestorm, no one dared blink or breathe or swallow or speak another word until Daddy left the table.

But I agreed with him about the whole religion problem, and that worried me a little.

Later that night as I tried to fall asleep, I stared at the shadowy space between our twin beds. The weatherman had forecasted more rain, and in the distance, I heard thunder. If God really and truly existed, he wouldn’t let it rain again so soon. What had started out as a fun, pretend, backyard swimming pool turned bad all around, especially in the way our cotton was ruined. According to Daddy, we would probably end up in the poor house, wherever that was.

“Abby, are you still awake?”

“A little.” Her sheet shifted as she turned toward me. Most of our best conversations happened in the dark just before we fell asleep.

“If something ever happened to Momma, and Nana and Mamaw Pearl weren’t around anymore, I would go live with Mae.” “Where would Nana and Mamaw Pearl be?” Her words sounded thick and dreamy.

“Dead. If all our grandmothers were dead and something happened to Momma, I would go live with Mae. There’s no way I’d stay and take care of Daddy.” I explained it extra slowly because she was only 7 years old and sometimes didn’t understand things.

“Me too. I’m going wherever you go.” She turned the opposite direction from me. Her breathing became steady and even.

You can preorder a signed copy of Talya’s book, “The Accidental Salvation of Gracie Lee” from Southern Yellow Pine Publishing online at www.syppublishing.com. Unsigned copies are available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

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TASTE ARKANSAS

Kyya Chocolate,

the ‘home of Arkansas craft chocolate’

by Jamie Smith

Kyya makes single origin chocolates. This means the beans in each batch all come from the same country. It takes three days to craft each batch of chocolate.

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hen people travel Arkansas Highway 112 and cross the Benton/Washington county line, they might be surprised to smell the faint scent of chocolate. The arousing aroma comes from the state’s first bean-to-bar chocolate company, Kyya Chocolate in Elm Springs.

The complete chocolate-making process happens in this facility. Kyya is one of only about 10 percent of U.S. chocolatiers that own a cocoa press, allowing it to extract the powder and cocoa butter from the cocoa beans after roasting.

Pure chocolate

Kyya’s name derives from the Greek word kaia, which means pure. The owners, Rick and Cindy Boosey, make sure their chocolate is pure in every sense of the word — from the ingredients to the mission behind the chocolate.

Many major chocolate companies make multiple chocolate batches every day, but Kyya takes three days to craft each batch. We in the South know that slow-cooked food brings out the best flavor and quality and with chocolate, it’s no different.

Kyya refers to its flavors as origins, meaning where the cocoa beans grow. Each

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single-origin chocolate bar has the same basic ingredients, but the cocoa beans’ growing conditions give each origin a unique flavor. This concept is called terroir and is similar to how coffee beans, tomatoes or wine grapes grown in different places have flavor profiles unique to their origin.

While some chocolatiers blend origins to create their chocolate, all of Kyya’s chocolates are “single origin,” meaning the beans used in each batch all come from the same country.

Most of its current bean selection comes from Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Madagascar and Uganda. Kyya also tries other origins in small batches.

“We made our first batch of Nicaragua, and it’s far beyond anything I’ve ever seen,” Rick Boosey said.

For Christmas, they offered a gift package of “12 Dark Bars of Christmas,” which meant they were making 12 different origins at 72.5 percent cocoa.

“At one moment we had 12 origins in the shop,” Boosey said. “For a craft chocolatier, that’s a pretty big undertaking.”

The business experienced rapid growth in 2015 — both in volume and product assortment. It went from selling about 2,500 bars a month in 2014 to almost 10,000 bars a

month by the end of December. Chocolate lovers can find Kyya in approximately 125 retail locations throughout Arkansas, Oklahoma, Missouri and Kansas. The bars are also available on the Kyya Chocolate website, kyyachocolate.com and the P. Allen Smith website, pallensmith.com.

Kyya also collaborates with other local artisan food companies to produce unique food products such as coffee-infused chocolate and chocolate-infused beer. They have several local artisan food partnerships planned in 2016.

In late 2014, Kyya introduced baker’s chocolate and in 2015 started offering cocoa powders and syrups to local bakeries, coffee shops, breweries and restaurants. It is expanding its production of chocolate syrups to complement the single-origin chocolate bars.

In late 2015, Kyya received Food and Drug Administration approval for the new syrup manufacturing line, which gives the company the ability to add consumer-size bottles to the commercial offerings. Like the specialty single-origin bars, the consumersize bottles are only available in its shop.

“The addition of syrups will help us drive more business back to our farmers,” Boosey said.

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Mission behind the chocolate

The idea to make chocolate came to life during a mission trip to a Ugandan orphanage where the plan was to build a chicken farm. The trip inspired a bigger, longer-lasting idea that would eventually become Kyya Chocolate.

The Booseys started making chocolate in 2012 in a Fayetteville shop. They moved operations to Elm Springs and rebranded to become Kyya Chocolate after their original partnership dissolved. They spent several years perfecting the chocolate recipe and process then spent 2015 sharing their story (and chocolate).

Their story has resonated wherever it’s told.

“What it says to me is we had this idea and it’s being embraced at every turn,” Boosey said. “A year down the road and this dream is finding its place in the marketplace.”

They purchase all the beans through fair trade brokers or directly from farmers.

The Boosey’s goal is to build relationships with at least 40 individual farmers around

the world. They will purchase beans from these farmers at higher-than-fair-trade prices and teach the farmers more sustainable growing practices. The Booseys have traveled to six countries so far, and they plan to get to Haiti as soon as possible and Costa Rica in February.

Kyya also donates a portion of its net profits to support orphan care — a cause close to the Boosey’s hearts as they adopted all four of their children.

“That’s always going to be true,” Boosey said of their dedication to adoption and orphan care. “Orphans are always going to be a part of our life. Adoption has been a part of our families for generations.”

Dedication to family, farmers and community are vital concepts the Booseys weave throughout Kyya’s work.

In recent months, they’ve served as either sponsors or vendors for nonprofit fundraisers. They focus especially on events that involve women and children in northwest Arkansas.

A major highlight for Kyya and the community in 2015 was hosting Kamp Kyya during the summer. Each week for two months, a different group of students spent four days at the manufacturing facility. Each group made chocolate from start to finish, including handcrafting their own bars and bonbons. Through the process, the students learned about food science, geography and civics. They later offered an adult Kamp Kyya that was a single-themed, nighttime session.

“We had 100 kids go through Kamp Kyya and about 50 adults,” Boosey said. “It was a lot of fun, and I learned even more about chocolate, about what’s feasible and what isn’t.”

Kyya also engages the community through monthly tours and chocolate tasting events.

The manufacturing facility has also become a popular student field trip destination.

“As of December, we’ve had about 10 different schools come through,” Boosey said. “That’s a lot of fun. I love doing that.”

Parents are Rick and Cindy Boosey (back row) with daughters (from left to right) Madison, Peyton, Cassie and Abby.

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AUTO • HOME • LIFE

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LAND & PEOPLE

The Wildy family of Manila is the 2015 Arkansas Farm Family of the Year. Left to right: Paul Harris, Justin Wildy, David Wildy, Tab Wildy and Blaine Wildy pose in a field of peanuts, a new crop they planted for the first time in 2015. The family also raises cotton, soybeans, wheat and milo on the 9,200 acres they farm in Mississippi County. photo by Keith Sutton

Wildy Family Farms wins Arkansas Farm Family of the Year

Mississippi Co. cotton, corn and soybean farmers earn 2015 honor

by Ken Moore

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ildy Family Farms of Manila were named the 2015 Arkansas Farm Family of the Year. As Arkansas’ Farm Family of the Year, the Wildys will compete in the 2016 Swisher Sweets/ Sunbelt Expo Southeastern Farmer of the Year program. A winner will be named from among 10 southeastern state winners next October in Moultrie, Ga. David Wildy credits his family heritage for the honor.

“I’ve never been more proud of my family.

It’s one of the most rewarding, most exciting and most humbling things that has been bestowed upon us as a family,” Wildy said. “I think back in the 1920s, my grandfather, Ed Wildy, won the Arkansas Master Farm Family – before this program – and when I was about 4 years old my dad won it in the late ‘50s. It was in my dreams that this generation and my family could do the same thing.

“My grandfather came to Mississippi County in 1914, and my dad came to the farm where we’re presently located back in 1938. So farming goes way back in our heritage. I’ve got two sons and a son-in-law back on the farm with me, and they’re beginning to take hold and carry on the tradition and understand what it means to be a family farm,” Wildy said. “It’s a very

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humbling experience, but we’re very proud to be able to represent Arkansas agriculture as the Arkansas Farm Family of the Year.”

David and Patty Wildy oversee the farm where they grow soybeans, cotton, wheat, milo and peanuts on 9,200 acres. Wildy Family Farms is a fifth-generation farm established in 1938. In addition to David and Patty Wildy, other partners include their sons and daughters, Justin and Kristi Wildy, Tab and Taylor Wildy, Hayley Wildy and Paul and Bethany Harris.

Environmental stewardship with an emphasis on energy and water conservation is a major consideration on the Wildy Farms. The farm is audited by a private firm dedicated to socially responsible environmental practices in on-farm production. The firm has certified that Wildy Family Farms has met all standards and criteria in the process. New technologies are constantly being implemented to help increase profit for all crops to $100 per acre. And, the family is developing a farm succession plan to ensure the successful transition to future generations.

David Wildy earned an animal science degree from the University of Arkansas in 1975 and was a member of the Mississippi County Farm Bureau board of directors for seven years. He served as its president in 1986. He also served

on the Arkansas Agriculture Department board from 2005-2010, is a member of the St. Francis Levee District board of directors, the University of Arkansas Agriculture Development Council and numerous other boards and associations.

The Wildys are active members of First Lutheran Church of Blytheville.

“Arkansas Farm Bureau congratulates Wildy Family Farms for being named Arkansas Farm Family of the Year,” said Arkansas Farm Bureau President Randy Veach, a cotton, soybean and wheat farmer from nearby Manila. “Also being from Mississippi County, I’ve known the Wildys for many years and served on the county Farm Bureau board of directors with David. They have a model farming operation that not only has been successful in consistently producing high crop yields, but because of their business plan, will endure for generations to come.”

The Farm Family of the Year program, now in its 68th year, is the longest-running farm family recognition program of its type in the United States. It begins with selection of the top farm family in each county. Then, eight district Farm Families of the Year are selected. The competition is judged on production, efficiency and management of farm operations, family life and rural/community leadership and values.

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IN THE KITCHEN

Chasing winter’s chill Spicy smoked chicken chili

by Debbie Arnold

Chase winter’s chill with this Slow Cooker Spicy Chicken Chili. photo by Debbie Arnold

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hen winter settles in with those long, gray days, I turn to heartier menus. Soups, stews and chilies form the basis of many of our weekly meals. They’re economical, filling and warming and can usually be made in quantities sufficient for two to three meals. This Slow Cooker Spicy Smoked Chicken Chili is one I rely upon not only for family meals but to share with neighbors and friends. Plus, it makes good use of smoked chicken or turkey leftover from the holidays, as well as the stash of frozen peppers and corn from the garden.

It’s spicy just as the name implies. In fact, some may think of it as hot. The heat may easily be adjusted to your tastes by reducing or increasing the peppers. This version satisfies my taste for spicy but allows others who don’t have quite the tolerance for heat to still enjoy it. Since this is such a filling chili, little else is needed to complete the meal.

Slow Cooker Spicy Smoked Chicken Chili Yields: 6 quarts Total Time: 6-8 hours not including preparation

Ingredients

• 6 cups smoked chicken or turkey (breasts, thighs or a combination), chopped or shredded • 2 tablespoons canola or Riceland Rice Bran oil • 2 teaspoons cumin seed • 1 large yellow onion, diced • 2 cups chopped poblano peppers • 3 cloves garlic, minced • 2-3 teaspoons cumin • 2 teaspoons ground ancho pepper • 1½ teaspoons kosher salt • 1 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper • 32 ounces low-sodium chicken broth • 2 cans Rotel (a combination of Mexican and regular), blended • 1 jalapeno, minced • 2 chipotle chilies in adobo, minced • 1½ cups finely crushed tortilla chips • One 13.5-ounce can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed • One 13.5-ounce can black beans, drained and rinsed • One 13.5-ounce can garbanzo beans, drained and rinsed • 1-1½ cups frozen whole kernel corn • ½ cup chopped cilantro plus additional for garnish • 1 can additional Rotel, optional (or diced tomatoes) • For serving: lime wedges, grated cheese, pickled jalapenos, chopped cilantro, sour cream, corn chips

Directions

1. Chop or shred smoked chicken; set aside.

2. In a large skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Add cumin seed and toast until just fragrant; add chopped poblanos, onions and garlic.

Sauté until tender.

3. Add cumin, ancho pepper, salt and black pepper to poblano-onion mixture and stir to coat. Sauté 2-3 minutes.

4. Add chicken to slow cooker insert along with poblano-onion mixture. Pour chicken broth over it all.

5. Add in minced jalapeno and chipotles. Stir in crushed tortilla chips.

6. Cover and cook on low 6-8 hours, stirring once or twice.

7. Approximately ½ hour before serving, stir in beans, corn and chopped cilantro.

8. Stir in additional can of Rotel or diced tomatoes, if desired.

9. Spoon chili into serving bowls and garnish as desired.

Notes

1. Flavor improves if prepared a day ahead.

2. Chili may be refrigerated four to five days or frozen two to three months.

Debbie Arnold pontificates and eats at “Dining With Debbie.” She and her hubby split their time between central and northwest Arkansas. She loves to cook, develop recipes and have play dates with her two perfect grands. Mostly, she has play dates with the Perfect Ones.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

Buying, Selling, and Managing Timber Deltic Timber Corporation focuses expertise on Arkansas’s most abundant natural resource.

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For equipment sheds, barns, outbuildings, garages, and everything else under the sun, you can count on SBI Metal Buildings for competitive pricing and timely delivery of complete, precision fabricated building systems. SBI is a single-source manufacturer of all the major components for our pre-engineered metal buildings. Our quality control leads to superior quality, and that quality can also be found in our components, metal roofing panels, cee's, zee's and trim.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

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Avoid Knee Surgery

Hot Springs- Knee pain sufferers who are facing surgery have found hope in a new breakthrough knee treatment called Cold Laser Therapy. A Free Knee Pain Information Kit is now available that reveals how a safe, non-surgical, painless therapy not only gets rid of knee pain, but also stimulates healing of inflamed tissues in and around the knee. In this kit, Dr. Roth, DC explains how Cold Laser has helped thousands of knee pain sufferers get out of pain. If you suffer from knee pain, you need to order this Kit while supplies last.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

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BUILDING WEALTH

Paying it forward Giving can improve your tax bottom line

by Benjamin Waldrum

F

rom colleges and churches to food banks and foundations, the recent holiday season was a time for charitable giving. And, although doing good is its own reward, those donations can come in handy around tax season, according to Laura Hendrix, assistant professor of family and consumer science with the University of Arkansas System Division of Agriculture.

“With the end of the holiday season comes the beginning of tax season,” she said. “If you give to charity before the end of the year, those contributions can be tax-deductible.”

Specifically, charitable contributions can be claimed as itemized tax deductions. This includes charitable credit card charges made in 2015 and checks mailed by Dec. 31.

Hendrix says so long as the transaction was completed by the end of the year, it counts.

Individual consumers are responsible for the lion’s share of charitable giving every year.

Americans donated an estimated $358.38 billion to charity in 2014, with 72 percent coming from individual donors, according to Giving USA 2015: The Annual Report on Philanthropy for the Year 2014. The Giving USA Foundation, which advances philanthropy through research and education, has published the report every year for the last 60 years.

Arkansas ranks among the top states in the country for individual giving, according to The Chronicle of Philanthropy, an independent news organization serving philanthropic interests. The Natural State, along with most of the South, shows a high “giving ratio” per county — the ratio of itemized charitable contributions to adjusted gross income.

For example, Pulaski County has a giving ratio of 4.18 percent, with the highest

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contributions coming from low-income families. Households earning $25,000 or less per year showed the highest giving ratio, a whopping 12.15 percent.

Hendrix says that’s a lot of taxdeductible donations, assuming the organization is eligible.

“Only donations to eligible organizations are tax-deductible,” she said. Check out eligible charities at IRS Select Check (www.irs.gov/Charities-&Non-Profits/Exempt-Organizations-SelectCheck) and learn more about qualifying deductions at www.irs.gov.

So, the organization is eligible and the donation has been made. Now what?

“Make sure you itemize,” Hendrix said.

“You can only claim the deduction for charitable donations if you itemize.” Tax filers can either itemize or take the standard deduction. The standard deduction is $6,300 for single filers or $12,600 for married couples filing jointly, unless the itemized deductions will be more than that.

“If your itemized total isn’t more than the standard deduction, you’ll pay more in taxes,” she said.

Remember to keep a written record of any donations. These records are needed in order to claim a deduction. This can be a cancelled check, bank statement or credit card statement, as long as it includes the name of the charity, the amount and the date of the contribution.

Donations of $250 or more require an acknowledgement from the charity. This also applies to other types of donations, such as household items or clothing.

Acknowledgements must include a description of the items contributed. Special rules apply for donations of vehicles, boats and planes when the value is more than $500.

All this information is easiest to obtain when the donation is made. Organize and store records and other tax-related paperwork in a safe place, and tax season will be a little jollier.

“Give with all your heart, but use your head,” Hendrix said. “Tax season is almost here.”

For more information about creating a spending plan, managing credit, building savings and investing for the future, contact your county extension office or visit www.uaex.edu.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

Updated phone & tablet apps make advocating for Arkansas agriculture easier than ever before.

❚ State Legislature The “Government” section of our app gives you quick access to contact information for every member of the Arkansas General Assembly.

You can call or email their offices straight from the app.

❚ Officials & Agencies Handy access to contact information for state constitutional officers and agency heads.

❚ U.S. Congress Use our app to make your voice heard. We’ve made it easier than ever to share your opinions on agriculture issues with your Representatives and Senators.

❚ Issues Keep yourself informed with up-to-date information on important farm policy issues.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

Get it on

❚ Map Search the map for your state and federal elected officials.

This feature allows you to enter any address or simply touch the map to find your elected officials.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

ANNOUNCING Your New Travel Benefit!

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

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photo by Keith Sutton

DELTA CHILD

Farm sledding byy T b Talya aalllya ya T ya Tate aeB at Bo Boerner oeerrneer

D

uring Christmas vacation, I easily pushed thoughts of school to the back of my mind. Once Santa returned to the North Pole, I was forced to concentrate on math homework and other fourth-grade issues. Going from holly jolly December to gloomy gray January felt downright depressing. From my desk near the window, I stared at the empty playground and the winter field in the distance. Summer seemed a million years away.

But later that very night, everything changed. The weathermen on all three television channels forecast snow. Lots of snow. I knew the chances were better than good, because Momma made a special trip to the grocery store for extra bread and milk and a jumbo package of toilet paper. Even so, my sister and I carried on with our normal after-supper schedule of finishing homework and laying out clothes for the next morning.

A surefire way to jinx something was to count our chickens, so we didn’t dare.

The temperature plunged. Momma pulled extra quilts from the closet and cranked the hall heater to high. I lay in bed hoping and praying for snow, yet fell asleep feeling certain the promised winter weather would skip over

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our entire school district. By daybreak, a deep layer of snow blanketed our county. For once the weathermen had been right.

“This only means you’ll have to go to school later in the spring,” Momma said as she put away the breakfast dishes.

“Who cares?” I cheered. Adults rarely appreciated the magic of snow and the luck it brought to rural schoolchildren. I would gladly sacrifice a week of summer vacation for five snow days. The here and now was immediate and gratifying. Plus, by the time May rolled around, even the most serious teacher would be unable to concentrate on schoolwork. An extra week during spring only meant field trips and extended recess and reading time under the cottonwood trees.

On the first morning of our surprise winter vacation, I rummaged through Daddy’s closet and found a woolen scarf I’d never known him to wear. My sister snagged a carrot from the icebox drawer. Pulling a faded John Deere cap from the peg on the back porch, we headed outside aiming to build the best Frosty ever. And we did.

For a string of days, we had snow cream to eat, snow angels to make, snow balls to throw. Each night, more snow fell erasing the

prior day’s tracks and providing us a fresh, white blanket. What if it snowed forever, and we never went back to school?

“You spend more time dressing to go outside than actually playing outside,” Momma complained as we pulled off our heavy boots and left them in a wet pile at the back door. Although she never said so, by the end of the week Momma seemed ready for the snow to melt so the school bus could run.

Daddy spent his snow days at the town diner playing cards and drinking coffee with his farmer friends. By Saturday morning, his eyes glazed over from the tedium of it all, and he agreed to take us sledding. Although we begged to sled down the only hill in the Delta, Momma said the Mississippi River levee was too dangerous. Instead, Daddy pulled us through the cotton field behind our house on a hubcap chained to the back of his truck. Farm sledding, that’s what Daddy called it. Dashing and bumping across the frozen furrows, my sister and I screamed and laughed and cried from the fun of it.

Summer seemed a million years away.

Read other work by Talya on her blog “Grace, Grits and Gardening” found at www.gracegritsgarden.com.

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

Can We Lease Your Land for Our Solar Farms?

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ARKANSAS FARM BUREAU • WINTER 2016

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