Coming to the country life

Welcome! Thanks for logging on and finding out more about me and the "parallel universe" I tend to inhabit, agriculture. How did I get here? Telling you that seems the natural place to start.

I'm a communicator--a talker, connector and social educator. My story has all the elements of a good summer novel: misunderstood heroes, a rescue, passion, pride and love.

I started my career in design--the only thing other than talking that I was really good at. Who knew I wouldn't love it for the rest of my life?  :)

In 1998, I was rescued-- yes, I really do believe that's the right word--from a nightmare job by my good friend Mike Danna, director of public relations for the Louisiana Farm Bureau Federation. Didn't know what it was, didn't know what they did, and for damn sure didn't know anything about agriculture. But I made the jump and wound up falling in love. Hard.  No, not with Mike, bless his heart--but with farming, ranching and a lifestyle that is at best seen as anachronistic and misunderstood, and at worst is mocked and devalued.

My first trip out to a sugarcane field in south Louisiana, about a week into the job, the producer I was to interview looked at me about two minutes after I got out of the car and said, "Darlin', you don't know anything about farming, do you?"  Busted.  Then and there I realized: there's no getting over on a farmer. They're smart people, and they've got your number, Slick.

"No sir, I don't," I said. "But I know how to tell stories, and if you'll tell me about what you do, I'll tell your story the best I know how," and that seemed to satisfy him. 

Telling those stories satisfied me, too. For 10 years until I moved to Atlanta, I worked with the farmers and ranchers of Louisiana and their families. I learned enough about agriculture to be dangerous. I also learned a tremendous amount about the people of rural communities who are very different from the folks "in town." I learned about life, death, the extraordinary dangers that come with farming and that, if you come to a producer's house for an interview, you'd better expect to sit down to a huge home-cooked meal before you go or you'll insult his wife or mama. I gained about 15 pounds my first year at Farm Bureau.

I have become a passionate advocate for the rural communities and citizens of our nation. They are some of the finest, kindest, most honorable people in the world  who, every day, do a job every one of us depends on to live. These people feed and clothe us, and provide shelter to protect our bodies. yet even today the perception of farming is negative and, if you think of farmers at all, you likely imagine an old man in overalls on a small tractor. That couldn't be further from the truth, and that's the story I make my living telling. Keep coming back and you'll learn something every time (I hope), whether it's thought-provoking, funny or weird. You might also learn more about my family or work--for me, anything and everything is up for discussion. Glad you came to visit--stop on by again soon!


Saturday, May 17, 2008

On Cowboy Boots Made in China

My grandmother, Alvis Fincher Austin of Klondike, Texas

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So I've had the itch for some time now to get myself some cowboy boots. Now, having said that, I first have to admit that for years, I mocked my older brother who lived in the country and adopted himself a rather country “way.” For instance, when we moved to Baton Rouge from Michigan back in 1979, he took me out for ice cream at Baskin Robbins, and horrified me when he asked “summa that PRAY-leens and CREE-yum” ice cream. Almost died. Let me explain. First, we sounded like the worst sort of pandering Yankee nitwits and our northern accents were so thick most folks couldn't understand us in Louisiana anyway, and Second--and this was probably the greater sin--south Louisiana folks call those damn things PRAH-lines, not  PRAY-lines, for God's sake, and I, who just wanted to fade into the crowd and go unnoticed, knew he'd marked us as fakers the second we opened our mouths. 

The hilarious joke fate has played on me is that the life I dogged my brother about is the life I now aspire to. He ended up owning horses and living in the country before his difficult death and truly, that place and those animals were probably the only thing close to real peace he ever found in his life.

Back to the boots. Most of the farmers and ranchers I know work in steel-toed pull-on Brahman workboots, not cowboy boots. But I've been pining for a fine pair of boots for a long time, and the need has just been wearing me out. I don't know where any boot stores are in Atlanta,  so when I went to Baton Rouge for a business trip I thought I'd just pick up a pair there.  So I'm looking, not finding anything that made me crazy--which would have required some sort of red trickery and sass--but I really had my heart set on some so I found a serviceable pair of brown ones I thought I could live with.  And then, the tag: Made In China. I put them down like my hand was scalded. China doesn't have COWBOYS! 

As fate would have it, I went to San Antonio shortly thereafter on a trip for Farm Bureau. My lovely friend Jim Monroe told me he'd take me to find some boots there, because as he says, “If you can't find some kicks in San Antonio you’re not gonna find ’em anywhere.” Then I got the big bonus, because Ronnie Anderson, president of Farm Bureau and a true cowboy himself (so's Jim in case you're wondering) came along and I had a lovely time with my two friends picking out boots for me. I wound up with two pairs (!), some very slick and fancy city boots that will be perfect for going out in Atlanta, and then another pair of good-looking rugged ones for every day. Pix are coming.  I did something with the fancy ones that I haven't done since I was a little girl: I put them on the night stand so I'd see them as soon as I woke up. Yes, they ARE that fine. 

AND...they're made in Mexico, where they do indeed still have cowboys and some of the finest cowboy boot artisans around. If you're interested in finding out more about cowboy boots as an art form--and they ARE--check out Tyler Beard's books on the subject--gorgeous!! For some really fine pix of modern day cowboys, check out the December 2007 National Geographic (http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2007/12/vaquero/draper-text) and photographer Robb Kendrick's transcendent tintypes  of 21st century cowboys. They accompany Robert Draper's evocative story about enduring individualists.

The final note on the boots--for my birthday in March, my parents sent me such an amazing gift: my grandmother's cowboy boots, which have been in a closet in their house for about 60 years. They're tiny--she was at best 4'10" on a good day, and when I knew her as a child she was always Done Just So: hair, panty hose, lipstick... the whole nine yards of proper southern lady-hood. And I got these boots, and the heels are worn down to the nail heads, and it gave me the most wonderful vision of her as a beautiful young woman in Dallas, dancing and stomping and having a ball. I wish I'd known her then--we probably would have had a lot to talk about, between dances.

at 5:42 PM

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