Last week I was scheduled to take Angus pictures in Oneonta, Alabama. Oneonta is a small country town northeast of Birmingham.  Sherrod Angus Farms comprises about 1,000 acres, much of it open, somewhat flat land surrounded by mountain ridges. Some of the trees were still vibrant colors, which made for an interesting backdrop.  

In my 20 years of livestock photography, I’ve encountered all sorts of strange critters on these farm visits and today would be another first. As I entered on the farm’s long drive, in the front pasture was a beautiful herd of Zebras. Some years earlier, the owner Blake Sherrod, brought in several exotic animals, including Camels, Buffalo and two Zebras. Blake was looking for a way to spice up life and make farm visits more interesting for guests. While he succeeded for a time, some of the exotic beasts didn’t acclimate as well as others. The Buffalo became hard to manage and contain and the Camels proved too susceptible to Alabama parasites. Only the Zebra remained and propagated. There must have been 10 Zebras grazing, including a mare and her foal.  

At the barn was an interesting hybrid colt they called a Zonkey. I’d never heard of such, but evidently one of the farm donkeys hooked up with one of the Zebra stallions and created this oddity. They are more commonly known as a Zedonk, but Zonkey is a lot more fun to say. This Zonkey had a nasty temperament and seemed to take pleasure in donkey-kicking anything in striking distance, including Angus bulls, water tanks and his mother. Thank goodness Zonkey’s are born naturally sterile. 

The Sherrod Farms Zebras are apparently Plains Zebras, characterized by narrow stripes that widen as they get closer to the rear. While they might appear similar, I understand that stripes on a Zebra are as individually different as a fingerprint. 

The guys that work on the farm said the Zebra were not gentle, rather a bit wild, but when I sat down in the middle of their pasture, they were quite curious. They gathered around, staying in small groups, and tried to determine my motives. The mare and her foal came right up to me, stopping just out of kicking range, thank goodness. All I could think of was that Zonkey at the barn. As I retreated from their pasture, I wasn’t quite sure if the herd was following me or chasing me. 

At any rate, here are some pictures I’ll share with you. If you have an exotic animal or oddity at your farm, tell me about it. No stories about mother-in-laws, please. 

-Steve

We had the pleasure of spending the weekend (or parts of it anyway) with our youngest daughter last week. It’s a strange turn of events when your kids become more like adult friends, instead of your children. At some unpredictable time there’s a tipping point, where the carefree, irresponsible teen you’re raising turns into a somewhat-rational adult you could learn to like. The same thing happened with our oldest daughter, so I’m looking forward to nurturing this new relationship. 

As we sat and discussed our views on different things, she made a poignant observation. She said, “If you want to determine a person’s character, see if they return their shopping cart or if they just walk away from it in the parking lot. A person who won’t return their shopping cart to the store or the cart rack has a lot of issues in their life. It says a lot about them.”  

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how astute that observation really is. 

     ·      If you can’t spare the additional sixty seconds to return your shopping cart, you have a serious lack of time-management skills.

     ·      Leaving your cart in the parking lot for someone else to pick up is just like throwing your fast-food trash out your driver side window. It’s nothing short of littering.

     ·      Allowing your empty cart to free-wheel around the parking lot demonstrates your lack of respect for other’s property, both the owner of the cart and the other car owners who park in the lot.

     ·      If you borrowed your neighbor’s lawnmower to cut your grass, would you just push it out in the road when you finished? Part of borrowing is being responsible with the item. That store loaned you that cart…to save you time and trouble.

     ·      Stores stock shopping carts like any other product. If they’re stolen, broken, abused and     unreturned, it’s an expense for the store. If they hire additional people to gather carts from the lot, it’s an expense for the store. Where do you think they make up those expenses? 

That’s just five things and you can probably come up with dozens more, but the point is that character is how you act when no one is looking. Sometimes little things speak volumes.  

One thing is for sure…you can bet I’ll return my cart at Wal-Mart next time, just in case someone’s looking. That is, of course, AFTER I get a running start and ride it as far as I can!  

So much for adult behavior.

It’s peanut time in South Georgia and farmers are busy gathering their crops. It’s hard to imagine just how big this business is, but last Tuesday I ate lunch with a fellow who runs 66 semis hauling peanuts. My other lunch partners consisted of 3 generations of cattle traders who have impacted the Southeastern feeder calf market like few others.  

My host was John Moseley, Jr., who I’ve always known as “Little John”, but many of the locals called him “Mos” today. John operates Moseley Cattle Auctions with sons, Trip, Joey and Will, nephew Denver and wife Cheryl, who amazingly tolerates this rowdy group. The matriarch is John Moseley, Sr., who has spent a lifetime perfecting livestock transactions. His credits are too many to mention and his respect in this community is well established. As we ate lunch, he was visited by numerous local dignitaries, including the sheriff and local judge.  

From the roots of the Moseley Auction Barn in Blakely, Georgia, Moseley Cattle Auctions has operated as a livestock marketer since 2006. Little John has established a rapport with his customers based on honesty, fairness and hard work. If you thought these traits were a thing of the past, you need to visit this family. 

Every Tuesday at 11:00 AM, Moseley Cattle Auctions sells load-lots of 700 lb. plus calves to feed yards and commercial breeders over the phone. It’s no private auction; it’s a full-fledged bidding war. As I watched, Little John manned a conference line with auctioneer Carroll Cannon and some anxious cattle buyers. His sons were on separate lines with additional bidders. The cattle are screened and terms established, all is listed on their website or disseminated through fax and mail. Moseley and his sons don’t accept small groups or piece-loads; instead they market for larger producers with whom they have established relationships. Many of the buyers have long relationships with the Moseley’s as well and when Trip tells a phone bidder the cattle are right, the buyer believes him.  

Although the auction isn’t as loud or fast-paced as a typical auction barn, it’s no less exciting. They pace from room to room, wave bids at each other, and pull the plug on sluggish bidders. I found myself anticipating the next bid. For almost an hour, this family is totally focused on the task at hand and reacts like a well-oiled machine that’s done this very thing for years. Although the feeder calf market is a bit bearish, this week fourteen load-lots average nearly $88.00/cwt.    

After the last bid and the phones hang up, the Moseley men discuss the auction activity, but the work continues as each son schedules appearances to screen cattle for next week or load cattle from this and previous auctions. After a quick lunch, the Moseley’s scatter in various directions to finalize details, sort and photograph cattle for next week and the process continues.  

What strikes me is that these smart, educated fathers and sons have a mutual respect and commitment to each other and the success of the family’s interest. It’s not always perfect, but it’s not from lack of try. How many of us can say that about ourselves? 

Visit them at www.moseleycattleauction.com.  

-Steve     

“A local soldier was killed in Afghanistan and he’s coming home today for burial.”

“Oh, really?  Do we have any chips?”

“No. He was the father of one of the kids at my school and the first Henry County casualty in Afghanistan.”

“Do you know the kid?”

“Sort of…I was thinking we could go up to the square to watch the procession.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a lot going on. I guess we can.”  

That’s how the lunch discussion started between my wife and me. I consider myself patriotic. I can belt out the pledge of allegiance as loud as anyone. I always remove my hat for the pledge and for prayers. I’ll argue the reasons for military action in all sorts of third world countries. My father served this country in the Korean War, World War II and the Vietnam War. 

But…I’m not sure that I have time to “go watch the procession”. I have work to catch up on. I’m behind as usual. I’ll go, but I’ll be thinking about everything I have to do.  

Something happened as we stood on the side of the road, waiting, watching. There were hundreds of people there. All of them had something else to do, but chose to be there. Someone came by with little American flags. It was hot. We could hear the procession before it reached us. I surveyed the crowd around the square of our small town. I saw Boy Scouts, lots of them. I saw veterans, watching solemnly. I saw people with all sorts of flag-wear. I saw couples holding hands. I saw old, gray-haired widows crying. I saw teenage girls crying. As the hearse with tinted windows past us, I cried. I couldn’t help it. 

Here past the now lifeless body of Sergeant First Class John Beale, a 39 year old husband to one and father of two, one of whom is a student at my wife’s school. I didn’t know Sergeant Beale…until then. Instantly he became “family” to the hundreds of Americans lining the town square. Afterwards, my wife and I walked through the Henry County Wall of Honor, an outdoor walk memorializing war veterans like Sergeant Beale and a place I had never been before. 

I lamented over the ultimate price so many have paid for this country, but I also lamented over how easy it was for me to forget that sacrifice. I could have easily stayed at home and been just a missing person in the crowd. No big deal. I am grateful tonight, that we chose to go. For a moment, the rest of my busy world seemed a lot less important, a lot smaller.

How can I continue to feel the oneness, the pride and the ownership in this country that I felt as I watched Sergeant Beale pass? How can I instill that same feeling in my own children?

-Steve Sellers   

Peter Courtney passed away Saturday and the Simmental breed lost a true hero. He had been a cattle breeder and successful businessman for most of his adult life, but cranked his Simmental program up a notch in 1994, when he made a volume purchase at the High Ridge Farms dispersal. High Ridge Farms had been a prominent Simmental outfit and their ads ran on the back cover of the breed magazine, the Register, for several years. Peter never thought twice about carrying the torch and moved his Triple C Farms right into their permanent advertising position in the same spot.

Peter had built a very successful product distribution and warehousing business and set out applying those management skills to cattle production. He called a meeting in Kansas City with a group of industry professionals and formed a strategic planning session, the first of several annual meetings. He posed the question “We want to become a leader in the Simmental breed, so how do we get there?” Another question of particular interest to me was “Who is the best cow in the breed?” It was a question we all stumbled around, but couldn’t completely answer. Peter had the answer though, and proclaimed “It’s the cow that is advertised the most!” From that day on, the course was set and Peter put all his energy and resources into become a breed leader.

A father, grandfather and avid family man, Peter understood that any positive, lasting changes in the breed had to start with impressionable juniors. He knew if he could somehow spark an interest with the younger generation, the older generation would have to follow. Within his Triple C Farms, he engineered full-blown Junior Field days, events that drew juniors (and their parents) from far off states. He made them fun, educational and rewarding. He spearheaded the inception of the American Simmental Association Visa Card and was instrumental in resurrecting the ASA Foundation, a sponsorship endowment that helps fund American Junior Simmental Association growth. Triple C Farms initiated a well structured junior incentive plan that paid thousands of scholarship dollars annually to juniors that exhibited Triple C-bred champions and each year Peter proudly presented the junior scholarship checks.

Peter was never referred to as “quiet and unassuming”. His hyperactivity was often tiring and his pursuit for perfection demanding. He seldom raised his voice but rarely lost an argument. Unassuming? No, Peter always assumed you knew right from wrong. He always assumed you knew what to do and would do it. He always assumed you were friend rather than foe.

In a culture where good role models have become increasingly sparse, some may argue that “hero” is a bit of a stretch, but others will certainly say Peter Courtney qualifies.

-Steve Sellers   

In an effort to stay informed and keep you, our customers informed, EDJE has started posting on Twitter. This should really be fun! The social media blitz is on and there is no turning back. These instant forms of mass communication are part of our culture and deep-down, you believe that as well or you wouldn’t be reading this blog.

Twitter is a social networking tool, much like this blog. You are limited to very short postings, though, keeping me from droning on and on and on and on…well, you get the idea. It’s a quick, great way to stay up to speed on what we’re doing and post feedback or questions.

Does the early bird really get the worm? We’ll see…together…join us at twitter.com/edjetech  

The Showbox magazine is a very good customer of EDJE Technologies. In fact, we help with the production of each issue. So it was naturally easy to say “yes” when asked to set a few issues out at the North American in Louisville. Publications like The Showbox have a strong following and it feels good to be associated with them.

My “agreement” was to pick up two boxes in the press office and set copies out while the Junior Steer show was going on. That sounded easy enough and I would have time later to shop for those new black boots my wife keeps telling me I need. 

The Sunday Junior shows draw the biggest crowds overall at the North American and from the press room I could tell that this year was no different, even with the weak economy. I spoke to a few friends as I lugged the first box of publications to the east side of the arena, oblivious to the ticking time bomb I carried.

Don't worry; it's not what you think.

Metro Atlanta, for the most part, has been without gas since last week. Bags covered all pump nozzles.

Officials say the dry pump problem stems from supply interruptions in the Gulf, where refineries are still rebuilding after the double hurricanes beat them up. However, equally at fault, are the strict EPA regulations requiring cleaner-burning fuel in this metro area. That means gas can’t be diverted from other areas that have an ample amount. Evidently a few tanker trucks are rolling, because I got a call this afternoon saying some stations in town were pumping. Yes, I joined the migration to the mighty pump and paid due penance to continue traveling. That brings up the price issue. Regular gas prices, in this area today, were inflated to $4.09 - $4.29. But, $4.09 looks better than O.U.T. It's enough to make you sick.

Uh-oh. Maybe it is what you think.

Gotta go.

-Steve

Stay with me now, because it's time to admit there are some places that kids should not be allowed. Children from one to six are at that unique age when anything goes. Still small enough to be so cute that many parents overlook their behavior, even if affects others. Like that measuring stick at Six Flags that says “you’ve got to be this tall to ride”, we should have a method to restrict kids from participating in activities clearly meant for older, well-behaved humans, like sit-down restaurants or airplanes.  

A few days ago I was on a short airline flight that was completely full. There were lots of kids on the plane. Things went fine until we reached cruising altitude and the new wore off. Then the natives got restless. As I relaxed, with my eyes closed on the verge of sleep, I awoke to the steady tug on my shirt from between the seatbacks. I turned to see a small girl, just over a year I’d say, doing her best to pull any loose material from my shirt into the row behind me. She sat in her father’s lap, next to her mother, both of which watched with amusement. “Lily, stop that now”, the mother purred. “Sorry”, Dad chimed in, “She’s never met a stranger.” Uh-huh. Heaven forbid I say something about the child. That would be direct criticism of their parenting ability.  

By the way, what’s so cute about a single ribbon around a girl’s head that doesn’t have enough hair to make a ponytail, much less tie out of their face? 

By raising the arm rest, I made an effort to stop Lily’s probing fingers, but she continued to find the occasional bit of sleeve or tuft of hair to play with. With sleep not an option, I leaned forward and tried to concentrate on reading a paperback novel.  

That’s when I met Jordon.

Jordon was about four and unlike the rest of the passengers on this flight, Jordon thought it best to face backward and stare at me. He rested his two hands and small chin on the seatback till I looked at him. I didn’t want to look at him but I couldn’t help it. Once I did, that gave him license to start the famous “Now you see me, Now you don’t” game. If I resisted his advances, Jordon would bang on the seatback or make grunting noises. If he got too loud, his mother would say, “Jordon, turn around and sit down”, but her eyes never left the “Cosmo” magazine on her tray table. Some article about hitting the male “hot buttons”.

 

If I looked around, the businessman sitting across the isle would nod toward the boy, as if to say, “Don’t quit now, man.” Jordon continued this until we started our descent and the flight attendant made him buckle up. Thankfully it only lasted 45 minutes, as we were midway through the flight. 

Others on the plane experienced the same kind of reverse child abuse, I wasn’t the only one. But the cool thing about kids is that they can get away with that behavior. In fact, listening to the flight attendants drone on and on about how cute Lily was seemed to encourage it. I doubt the flight attendants would have thought it cute if I bobbed up and down and made grunting noises at the person sitting behind me. If, dressed in my cowboy hat and boots, I ran up and down the isle at will, it no doubt would have been labeled suspicious terrorist activity.

 

When the flight was over, Jordon not only had a good time, but he was presented a set of gold plastic wings and a handshake from the pilot for his splendid behavior. Most of us just got the cursory “Bye-Bye” from the flight attendant. I, on the other hand, left with my own form of reward…I picked up the unopened bag of bite-size pretzels left by the businessman across the isle from me.

 

Jordon's next plane seat

 

Next week, I might address mothers who take their kids to nice restaurants, let them sit at the bar and order fake cocktails.

 

-Steve  

I travel a lot. That means I get to experience a wide variety of lodging accommodations.

Most of the time it's a typical hotel arrangement and sometimes I stay at the homes of close friends, but it's never at a Bed and Breakfast. It's not that I haven't had the opportunity; it's that I choose not to. It takes an air of adventurism that I just don't have.

Last week, with the help of a friend and co-worker, I somehow ended up with a two night stay at a B and B. I couldn't refuse, in fact, I was grateful for the last minute help. Another co-worker stayed there as well, arrived before me and when I apprehensively called to see how things were, assured me it was fine.