The other day, Stewbert and I took an afternoon cruise on our motorcycles. It was one of those luscious, sunny autumn days where dried leaves cyclone across the road, and the scent of dried corn resonates. It was just warm enough to be comfortable in a T-shirt, yet cool enough for the insects to be hunkered down; for them, the end is near!
We stopped for lunch. Parking our bikes, we left our gear draped over the seats. When we turned to go into the café, my helmet was dangling from a foot peg, my jacket resting atop my tank bag. More than one hour later we emerged, and sure enough - our gear was precisely where we had left it, right there on the busy side-street. The beauty of this is that this scenario is not unusual. I have even forgotten to remove the key from the ignition a time or two. No big deal - everything is always just the way I left it.
Folks, there is a place on earth where one can leave their personal effects unguarded, and unlocked, largely without fear of vandalism. That place is here - the American Midwest is truly God's country. Contrast this to a conversation I shared with my sister, who is living and working in Washington, D.C. Poor girl - she is fed up with our nation's capital.
As it turns out, Washington, D.C. is a magnet for do-good college graduates from across the country. They flock to the city, with their advanced degrees in Political Science, Environmental Studies and International Relations. Here they migrate, with the idea they are going to "save the world". Unfortunately, in the process of "saving the world", the immediate vicinity in which they work has been almost completely neglected. Washington, D.C., as a result, is dirty, unsafe, crime-ridden and full of bums. That's OK - Washington, D.C., can have all those feel-good college graduates; I'll stick with the American Midwest.
The other day as Stewbert and I raced across the countryside on our bikes, I saw unrivaled productivity in action. After months of meticulous care, local agriculturalists were busy harvesting the rewards of their labor. There is a place on earth where people work together to produce commodities that truly are beneficial to mankind and environment alike. Production agriculture is as timeless as the products it raises, and here in the American Midwest, we are at the heart of this constructive yield. Contrast this observation to yet another conversation I had with my sister. Her boyfriend works on Wall Street, at the heart of this ridiculousness that is sweeping the nation. Poor guy - he commutes five hours to and from work every day. Once the center of confidence, Wall Street is now a district of chaos - people who were previously secure in their jobs are being laid off, salaries slashed and fortunes compromised. So it goes with careers that are based on speculation, rather than the production of tangible goods that are beneficial to society and environment alike.
At the completion of my motorcycle ride with Stewbert, I drove home to check on my cows. I had just purchased a number of Brown Swiss dairy heifers, all due to calve shortly. Eyeing "My Girls", I reflected on the business transactions that had transpired in order to make this acquisition a reality: I was introduced to the seller via word of mouth. We arranged a time to meet, and agreed on a price. After shaking hands, we set up a time to deliver the animals, along with payment. It was just that easy - we trucked the heifers to my farm, I wrote out a check, and we left on good terms. There was no formal paperwork, no legal documents, no scrutinizing lawyers, and not even a consideration that anything unfair would happen - this is how business is done in the American Midwest.
Contrast this story to that of my cousin, who lived in California for a stint, just south of Los Angeles. He was involved in the automotive industry, and did maintenance work on cars. An elderly man came to him with a sob story - down on his luck, the man needed his car fixed. My cousin obliged. After all, that's what you do in the Midwest - you help people out. The sweet-natured elderly man came back repeatedly for automotive work, and each time my cousin helped him out. Then, just about the time a payment was due, the man skipped town and broke contact with my cousin, cheating him out of several hundred dollars' worth of work. Sadly, what the man did was not atypical behavior for people in that part of the country. Says my cousin, "As soon as you were nice to someone [in California], they saw it as a weakness. You couldn't trust anyone; they'd stab you in the back."
My friends, at this glorious time of year, it is nice to know that there are certainties in life, particularly for us here in the American Midwest. I know that for the most part, I can conduct honest business with people, and I won't get stabbed in the back. I know that I will wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and I will have a job - production agriculture will never go out of style! I also know that within reason, I can park my motorcycle and leave my gear draped over the seat, without fear of vandalism.
The American Midwest is truly God's country.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
We stopped for lunch. Parking our bikes, we left our gear draped over the seats. When we turned to go into the café, my helmet was dangling from a foot peg, my jacket resting atop my tank bag. More than one hour later we emerged, and sure enough - our gear was precisely where we had left it, right there on the busy side-street. The beauty of this is that this scenario is not unusual. I have even forgotten to remove the key from the ignition a time or two. No big deal - everything is always just the way I left it.
Folks, there is a place on earth where one can leave their personal effects unguarded, and unlocked, largely without fear of vandalism. That place is here - the American Midwest is truly God's country. Contrast this to a conversation I shared with my sister, who is living and working in Washington, D.C. Poor girl - she is fed up with our nation's capital.
As it turns out, Washington, D.C. is a magnet for do-good college graduates from across the country. They flock to the city, with their advanced degrees in Political Science, Environmental Studies and International Relations. Here they migrate, with the idea they are going to "save the world". Unfortunately, in the process of "saving the world", the immediate vicinity in which they work has been almost completely neglected. Washington, D.C., as a result, is dirty, unsafe, crime-ridden and full of bums. That's OK - Washington, D.C., can have all those feel-good college graduates; I'll stick with the American Midwest.
The other day as Stewbert and I raced across the countryside on our bikes, I saw unrivaled productivity in action. After months of meticulous care, local agriculturalists were busy harvesting the rewards of their labor. There is a place on earth where people work together to produce commodities that truly are beneficial to mankind and environment alike. Production agriculture is as timeless as the products it raises, and here in the American Midwest, we are at the heart of this constructive yield. Contrast this observation to yet another conversation I had with my sister. Her boyfriend works on Wall Street, at the heart of this ridiculousness that is sweeping the nation. Poor guy - he commutes five hours to and from work every day. Once the center of confidence, Wall Street is now a district of chaos - people who were previously secure in their jobs are being laid off, salaries slashed and fortunes compromised. So it goes with careers that are based on speculation, rather than the production of tangible goods that are beneficial to society and environment alike.
At the completion of my motorcycle ride with Stewbert, I drove home to check on my cows. I had just purchased a number of Brown Swiss dairy heifers, all due to calve shortly. Eyeing "My Girls", I reflected on the business transactions that had transpired in order to make this acquisition a reality: I was introduced to the seller via word of mouth. We arranged a time to meet, and agreed on a price. After shaking hands, we set up a time to deliver the animals, along with payment. It was just that easy - we trucked the heifers to my farm, I wrote out a check, and we left on good terms. There was no formal paperwork, no legal documents, no scrutinizing lawyers, and not even a consideration that anything unfair would happen - this is how business is done in the American Midwest.
Contrast this story to that of my cousin, who lived in California for a stint, just south of Los Angeles. He was involved in the automotive industry, and did maintenance work on cars. An elderly man came to him with a sob story - down on his luck, the man needed his car fixed. My cousin obliged. After all, that's what you do in the Midwest - you help people out. The sweet-natured elderly man came back repeatedly for automotive work, and each time my cousin helped him out. Then, just about the time a payment was due, the man skipped town and broke contact with my cousin, cheating him out of several hundred dollars' worth of work. Sadly, what the man did was not atypical behavior for people in that part of the country. Says my cousin, "As soon as you were nice to someone [in California], they saw it as a weakness. You couldn't trust anyone; they'd stab you in the back."
My friends, at this glorious time of year, it is nice to know that there are certainties in life, particularly for us here in the American Midwest. I know that for the most part, I can conduct honest business with people, and I won't get stabbed in the back. I know that I will wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and I will have a job - production agriculture will never go out of style! I also know that within reason, I can park my motorcycle and leave my gear draped over the seat, without fear of vandalism.
The American Midwest is truly God's country.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
