Life is bittersweet

Life is a bittersweet journey.

Mine is no exception.

There are days when I am so restless that I can’t WAIT for a change of scenery.

Then there are other days when I just stand still…because my heart aches for the past and each step toward the future is one step away from what I miss and who I was.

But, life is a journey and we must keep walking. Turning around has never been an option and watching life go by gets rather boring.

So take the next step. It is scary—but keep walking and know we never walk alone.

Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails. Prov. 19:21

Life, Love and the Pursuit of...

**Warning**  I ramble a lot in this post. If you are looking for a blog post on agriculture, peanuts or Bluebell Ice Cream check back in a few weeks.

My grandparents influenced my life a lot. My best childhood memories can be traced to their back porch. We spent many afternoons in the Florida heat listening to stories Ma wrote for us grandkids. Ma has always had a flair for storytelling and she always seems to know what to say at the right time—no matter the situation.


Lately, people have been asking me a lot of questions. Questions like “What are you going to do after college?” “Where do you want to work?” “What is your dream job?”

Because of this, I have become a skillful liar. I’m GREAT at BS. I can give a vague, yet satisfying answer. But the truth is—I have no idea.

Ma always told me, “If you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. If you want to be a ditch digger—Jillian, go to it. ‘Cause there ain’t nothing worse than dreading having to wake up in the morning.”

And that’s all I want—is a job that doesn’t take years off of my life and that I enjoy.

However that’s not always the push I get from society… or friends or teachers. The emphasis seems be on going out (away from where ever you are now) and changing the world. (Que deep motivational voice: "Go forth and conquer!")

While I do want to be successful and all that jazz—sometimes I stop and wonder how happy I would be if I gave up my Southern (and sometimes redneck) roots and moved to the city. If I found a happening job, made lots of money and had 2.5 kids that were ballerinas and peewee football players--would I be happy? Would that satisfy me?

Talking with a friend yesterday, also dealing with the same issue, it occurred to me that “success," contentment and happiness aren’t always equal. She told me, “Jillian, if I could be happy in a hut in Africa helping others, gosh dern it I could be happy back home helping people…I’m learning you don’t have to leave to be a world changer—you just gotta be one where ever you’re at.”

This struck a chord with me and I have figured out what I want to be when I grow up.

I want to be happy.

Now, that definitely doesn’t answer the billions of questions I’ve received about my future occupation, but it clears something up for me. It reminds me that my happiness doesn’t lie in what money can buy or how successful I am or if my life satisfies other’s expectations of me. My happiness lies in doing what God created me to do—and though I still don’t have a job title for that (heck—it may not HAVE a job title) I know that it’ll include what I love.

Like Ma said, ain’t nothing worse than dreading waking up in the morning.

Therefore, if you’re looking for an employee that loves talking to folks, driving tractors, taking pictures, social media, cooking, working cows, planning banquets, working with old people, working with teenagers, serving others, moving feed, selling merchandise and occasionally flirting with customers—give me a call. I’m the girl for the job.

Reality Check: Women Farmers?

There have been very few moments in my life when my mouth fell open in disbelief. I’ve never been a person of few words---much less speechlessness. Last week though I met an occasion for both.

Sitting in a restaurant with friends, sucking down the closest thing to sweet tea I’ve had since I moved to Missouri, a friend asked me what I planned to do after college. More specifically, “Jillian, are you going to be a farmer?”

Cue the jaw dropping moment.

As I scrambled for words and tried to halt the runaway train that was my mind, I managed to stutter out something like, “Heck no! I couldn’t do that everyday!”

I received several puzzled looks. I mean I talk about the farm A LOT and now I’m vehemently denying my affection for the ground that holds my family’s blood, sweat and tears?

Let’s just say I had a slight communication problem. Or better yet—the thoughts I was thinking weren’t translating well into words.

Behind my bumbling reply, my new friends did not realize how deep a question they had asked me. It’s a question I have asked myself many times through out the years: Do I want to be a farmer?

I grew up on a farm—but my parents aren’t farmers. We lived across the road from my grandparents, on their farm. So I spent my summer days riding in the tractor with Pa, shelling peas with Ma and swinging under our oak tree. It was the best way to grow up.

Pa and Ma-- they still don't know what to do with their

two granddaughters who wear jeans and cowboy boots to church

As I got older and more involved with FFA, I decided that I wanted to contribute to the farm like my older boy cousin and brother did. After all, my brother had been driving the tractor since he was tall enough to reach the clutch—I should be able to as well.

My desire to learn to drive the tractor was met with resistance. And resistance went by the name “Pa.” While I don’t ever remember him telling me he didn’t want me helping—I kinda got the sense that I might have been out of place. Statements about my biscuit making abilities really put a burr under my saddle (because every southern girl “should know how to make biscuits from scratch.”) I was mad and I was bullheaded—which isn’t a good combination.

I resolved that if someone wouldn’t teach me—I would figure it out by myself. I spent the summer after that- one step behind Pa and always looking over his shoulder. I have never learned more than I did then.

Though I don’t know when it happened Pa finally warmed to the idea of letting me help out some on the farm. Granted my role was still small, but the knowledge I gained that summer when I stubbornly followed him around, helped me a few years down the road when I was looking for a job. It is still helping me today—I may not remember where every grease fitting on that old peanut picker was—but I can sure explain how it works and more importantly where my food comes from.

So, as I came back to reality—sitting in a little Missouri restaurant drinking unsweet “sweet tea,” I realized how far society had come. Generations ago people assumed that women should help on the farm but not run it. Today, my friends had sincerely asked if I was going to farm on my own. Though I have decided not to be the main operator of a farm (it’s just not my dream) I was proud to hear the tide was changing and that agriculture had truly opened up to women.

And for that—I’ve never been happier.

For more information on women’s roles in agriculture visit:

2007 Census of Ag

Women in Agriculture

American National CattleWomen, Inc.

Farm Mom of the Year

"It Keeps Me Turning Home..."

It is amazing how smells can take you back to another place… Today, I was walking out of the office and a diesel truck drove past. Its smutty exhaust attacked my olfactory sense and I was transported back to the farm. It brought me back to one particular day when I was doing my “girl’s work” of leveling out peanut wagons.


Our old tractors were creeping by pulling peanut pickers, my brother Wesley was “setting” wagons and I was sweating like a mule, thigh deep in peanuts with a shovel. Trying to convince myself that there were no snakes in the trailer with me.

Not a very glamorous memory—but a good memory none the less.

I love farm life--and farm memories!

You see, to call our farm a peanut “operation” might be a stretch. Yes we farm. We have peanuts. We “operate” tractors. But in my mind—operation sounds HUGE—and at the time we were still using two-row peanut pickers.

But the great thing about memories is size doesn’t matter. I can still see, clear as day, those tractors and Lilliston pickers creeping their way down the row from the top of that peanut wagon. It’s a good memory—it’s helped me through many hard times. Remembering my family and our way of life has kept me grounded throughout all my adventures. Remembering the long hours my grandpa and uncle put in on the farm makes me appreciate the life I live as well as the food I eat.

But enough reminiscing.

I had another moment of transportation last week—this time I actually went somewhere: home!

I spent the holiday weekend with my family: cooking out, eating, going to movies, eating, singing around the piano, eating, playing with the baby… and did I mention eating?

It's not a family get together with out Bluebell Ice Cream!

Holidays around my house ALWAYS include massive amounts of food. What can I say—EVERYONE in my family knows how to cook! (Well—my skills are questionable) So we spent the weekend enjoying good meals and lots of friends and family at the house.

My uber-cool niece

I also spent my weekend checking out the crops. I was impressed to see how great my fiancé’s dry land cotton looked as well as the peanuts. However the corn—was not what I expected. I guess I forgot that North Florida/Lower Alabama aren’t exactly part of the Corn Belt—and it showed. The lack of rain on our sandy soil had really taken its toll. Overall though, I was thrilled to see the progress of ours and our neighbor’s peanut and cotton crops. (The beans I saw didn’t look half bad either!)

Deltapine Cotton--Florida

FL07 Peantus--Alabama

I’ve only got a few weeks of my internship here in the Midwest left—and though I enjoyed being home, I missed my STL friends… and corn—really tall, lush green corn.

I never thought I’d say that.

Until next time—keep it between the ditches

PS--If you haven't heard the new song by David Nail, "Turning Home" you should check it out!

Someone Pass Me a Mood Ring

So this weekend has been an emotional roller coaster ride--from being so happy that I'm practically dancing while driving down I-270 to crying as I was driving around looking at farms and looking for antique shops. I'm such a sap-- a very homesick sap. (Someone pass me a mood ring.) While I cannot always control my emotions (I can be SUCH a girl sometimes) I don't have to let them control me.

Sometimes it's just nice to feel--anything-- after staring at a computer screen all week, worrying about other peoples problems and making it moment to moment--it is nice to feel emotional, like I've finally turned off autopilot or hit the brakes to turn off the cruise control. I can think and feel again. Emotions--happy, sad, elated, devastated-- remind me I am alive.

However, while all this "emotional being alive" crap sounds wonderful-- if you don't control where your emotions take you just like you practice self control in other areas of you life, you are going to be one miserable chicka blubbering on some winding back road looking at corn.

Yes, I was pretty pathetic Saturday.

The day had gone beautifully--I didn't get lost, found some awesome stores and had Rocky Road Chocolate Candy-(perfection!) but all of the sudden my crack-head, bi-polar emotional system went into overdrive and I remembered how MUCH I missed people back home--you know the kind of folks that you just sit around and shoot the breeze with--not even folks close to me. Well, the next thing you know I'm a blubbering mess, 800 miles away from home and my life sucks and wah, wah, wah, sob, sob, sob.

After, I got home, had some homemade chicken 'n rice and time to reflect--I realized that my overly dramatic sorrowful woe-is-me afternoon was self induced. I couldn't help what I was feeling--but I didn't have to let my feeling lead me around like I was a cow with a twitch in my nose. I thought back to what someone told me earlier this week-- "Attitudes are like flat tires--you won't get anywhere unless you change it."

So, I started thinking about everything going on in my life--since my move:
I have awesome co-workers and a job that I love.
I have hilarious friends from church that are more fun than Snipe hunting with a Yankee.
I am getting to do something I've wanted to do my ENTIRE life-- live "out West"-- and while this sure ain't Montana--it's been an amazing experience!
And God has provided a way to pay for all of this, given me a supportive family and fiance and answered my prayer SO MANY of my prayers this week--that it has given me hope--it's good to know he hasn't given up on me.


What right did I have to be sad?

That's right none.

Now, that that's all out there--here are some picture from my lovely adventures:

Corn--Jerseyville area--already has ear development and tasseling!

The river flooder the road ahead and was knocking on these folk's front door!

Down Where I Was Born Was Heaven On Earth

So the weekend has officially begun (it is 12:01 after all!) I'm planning on getting lost again this weekend and hopefully seeing some more beautiful Midwest country side. (By the way, last weekend's adventure--which will be posted soon--ended with me and my fiance completely lost in Southern Illinois. We did find the best barbecue known to man--and trust me I KNOW BBQ!)

Anyways-I was reflecting on the AG community and how lucky I was to grow up on a farm... and happened across this lovely note I wrote right after I moved to college. Figured I'd share--it's timeless =)

Happy Trails!
Jillian
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Down Where I was Born Was Heaven On Earth: Reflections from Home

Moving to Auburn has really made me think about how blessed I was to come from a little community in Jackson County, known to the locals as Dudley, and how much I miss the little things…


--Like the smell of the earth at night—right after it has been plowed.

--and ironically, the hot, humid air

--the feel of broke dirt under my bare feet

--and running between rows of peanuts.

--I miss driving like at bat out of torment—down sandy dirt roads

--and moving hay, even if the muffler had a hole in it.

--I miss the farm and Ma and Pa. I never thought I’d say it but I miss shelling peas too. =)

--I miss pickin’ blackberries and dewberries in the cool of the evening… and their wild, tangy taste.

--I miss coming home to Ma’s for dinner after working with the boys. How she could stand the stink of all of us—I will never know!

--I miss cows

--and whippoorwills and fox squirrels.

--I miss wearing flowers in my hair and dancing shamelessly in the wind

--I miss the sound of the wind in the trees late at night.

--I miss the smell of rain, slowly creeping up on the farm…the sound of it beating down on the tin roof…the way it looks peppering the earth…and watching lightning dance across the sky…

-- and driving ol’ blue.

--I miss being able to stand outside and know that all the land I see, from horizon to horizon, belongs to my family.

--Riding the four-wheeler under the irrigation and swimming in the creek.

--I miss the burst of moisture that hits you when you drive between two corn fields…

--I miss picking peanuts too.

--I miss being able to see the stars at night, without the interference of street lights.

--and being able to walk in our woods.

--I miss walking down the road with no fear

--and knowing everyone and their story… I have learned that inspirational people are everywhere… you have to open your eyes to see.

--And darn it, I miss having people wave when they drive by. I don’t know what it is about these Alabama folks that don’t wave!!!

--I miss rescuing gopher turtles… then writing my name on their shells!

--I miss chasing windmills with mama and night hunters with Wes (to AC/DC theme music lol…)

--Fresh GREEN peaches… and figs… and raw turnips.


--I miss my store family… and my community which was and still is committed to seeing their youngin’s achieve their dreams. It truly takes a village.

Homesick? Not really...

It never ceases to amaze me how I can miss home SO MUCH one moment and fall in love with another place the next.




There are TONS of things I miss about home: peanuts, walking barefoot down dirt roads, the Chattahoochee River, the sound of the wind singing in the pine trees... there are a lifetime of memories living in the land, the land I was raised on. Some days I miss it so much I physically hurt.



This past weekend though, I had the chance to visit my roommate’s Illinois farm. It was there, standing on her back porch that I fell in love... again.



The land stretched out before me farther than any I had ever seen before--it was as if the sky was twice the size of the sky at home. The corn rows were never ending. Barely visible, in the distance, were wind turbines.

Yep, I was sold.



I spent the rest of the weekend dodging rain showers, hanging out with her family and enjoying Midwest delicacies (AKA Pork Burgers--why hasn't the South figured this one out yet?!) I realized that it wasn't so much that Florida dirt that I missed but the community and care of agriculture life; the knowledge that things are not as bad as they seem, especially when there's cake at home and family to laugh with. I missed knowing that people pay attention to what others do (yes, I suppose I miss small town gossip a bit) and truly care about their well being.



Let me just tell you folks, that can be hard to come by in the city... unless maybe you were raised there.



There's just something about farm life that makes living and growing up a reckless-safe adventure. An oxymoron, I know... reckless in the fact that you have the freedom to be innovative, to build a better mouse trap, to find a way to get just as much work done using a simpler method. Reckless-- because there is a whole wild world to explore and it starts at your back porch. Reckless--because life dependent on nature has to be, it's anything but reliable.



Farm life is also safe. I remember coming home so cotton-pickin' mad that all I wanted to do was go fast... and most of the time my grandparents (Ma and Pa--no one really has "grandparents" in the South) kept me grounded. I was hard headed and stubborn, but their love cultivated me into the person I am today. (Along with the rest of the "village") They didn't always understand my restlessness or my love for FFA or accept the fact that I enjoy driving tractors and showing cows... but they were always there. They always knew what to say (not always when to stop but that's a different story... =)



It was this weekend I realized why I was homesick. I missed the reckless/safe life I had been privileged to live at home. It has made me more determined than ever to return to it, and offer it as a gift to my kids one day.



So, to answer the 4,329 questions from Facebook: No, I have no big city notions. I like the farm just fine--and I hope to be back there for good in about a year =)



Love y'all all

J