March 2019 marks 50 years ago that our family’s house burned down.

     The day started like any other brisk March school day. The weather was cold and blustery as my mother and I set out for school. My mother was a substitute teacher. That day she was substituting in a home economics class at Walcott Elementary and Intermediate School, where I was in first grade. On the ride in, Mom told me to come to the home economics room at the end of the school day, and we would go home together.
     Back at the farm, my father finished the morning milking and opened the barn door to let the cows outside, just as he did every day. But this fateful day, Dad opened the door to the smell of smoke. His eyes lifted up to see smoke streaming out of the house. He ran to our neighbor’s house to call the fire department, who soon arrived. The firefighters almost had the fire out, but then their water ran out. By the time they returned with more, the fire had fought back to the point that our house was fully engulfed in flames. The firefighters were able to save the summer kitchen attached to the house. They also were able to pull a few pieces of furniture out through the windows, but that day the fire robbed us of almost all our possessions.
     At the end of the school day, unsuspectingly I went to the home economics room, and my mother told me what had happened to our home. She explained all my toys were gone and asked if I wanted to take some fabric scraps out of the waste basket to play with.
     When we arrived, the house was still burning. I will never forget seeing the ivory keys of our player piano burning. Nearly everything I had thought was important was being consumed. The fire left us with only the clothes on our backs. I cannot describe how devastating it was to lose so much. Yet, thankfully we still had each other. Because the house was empty during the fire, no one had been injured or killed. We also still had our dairy farm. We acquired a mobile home, and for about ten months slept there and ate in the summer kitchen while we built a new house.
     The fire stole so much from our family, but because of it, we got to see what an amazing community we live in. As much as the fire took, our community gave back, surrounding us with love and support. Our minister came to our house and prayed with us. My great aunt and uncle, who lived down the road from us, took us into their home while we were getting back on our feet. From the day of the fire until months afterward, we received generous gift after gift of clothing, food, furniture, and toys from so many gracious people in our Eastern Iowa community. Those people—YOU—made our tragic time bearable. To this day I’m grateful for the wonderful community who came together to help our family in our time of great need.
     Fifty years after that horrible fire, we’re proud to still farm in this great community. We’re thankful to be able to give back to this amazing community of family and friends. We want to provide the very best meats and cheeses to you. Please stop by our self-serve store, the Cinnamon Ridge Country Cupboard, north of Donahue, or pick up our delicious products at the I-80 Truckstop, North Scott Foods, or the Freight House Farmers Market.
 

      As February marks the start of baseball spring training, flipping the calendar over to February always brings back memories of playing baseball each spring and summer—well, come to think of it, every fall and winter too! Though our team practices and games were only held during the summer, baseball was a favorite pastime in our family. From watching nearly every Cubbies’ games on our small black-and-white TV to analyzing my Little League games play-by-play over dinner, my family was steeped in baseball. Throughout the year, I was practicing. In between chores, I would throw up rocks and try to bat them over the corn crib. I would hurl a tennis ball against the broad side of our red barn to practice fielding and throwing. Whenever I could talk him into it, my brother and I would play in the cow yard on a modified “field.” There we usually drew a nice crowd of female spectators—though the wrong species to let the attention go to our heads!
     In the summers my father was the coach of our Walcott town team. Although we’d have to scramble a bit to get evening chores done early, each game was worth it—even when we lost. It was great fun to travel throughout Scott and Muscatine counties, playing about 30 games a season. Fortunately, several seasons our hard work paid off, and we ended up winning the county championship twice. At the end of each season—championship or not—our team would celebrate by driving to the Windy City to go to a Chicago Cubs game. Being at Wrigley Field in the flesh was always the highlight of my year. I still remember seeing the Big Red Machine from Cincinnati—it’s something I’ll never forget!
     Once I grew up and had a family of my own, I was glad to share my love of baseball. My daughters also enjoyed America’s pastime. Both played softball for the town team, and I coached my youngest daughter’s teams, winning a few trophies along the way. It is such a fun way to spend time as a family, and we still laugh together about many of those memories.
     So, whether you get excited about baseball spring training or not, be comforted to know that, despite the cold weather, spring is on the way. Whatever pastimes your family enjoys, be sure to talk about them over the dinner table—those memories will last a lifetime. Whether you’re shopping for a meal of soup on a cold evening or have dusted the snow off your grill, our Cinnamon Ridge Farms has you covered. Stop by our self-serve store north of Donahue, or pick up our delicious meats, cheeses, and other products at the I-80 Truckstop, North Scott Foods, or the Freight House Farmers Market.

     On the farm, weather can be a real challenge, especially snow and cold. Our livestock need to be kept warm, but also need fresh air, as respiratory infections such as pneumonia can occur in stale air environments.  Then, when big snowfalls occur, not only do the driveways need to be plowed, but also many of the yards for the livestock’s recreation need to be cleared. One winter in particular stands out for me as the worst in my lifetime: the winter of 1978-79 packed a huge snowfall and followed with severe cold.
     That winter started early. We already had ten inches of snow on the ground before the blizzard on January 12th.  I was playing high school basketball in a Friday night away game in Burlington.  The weather forecast had predicted only 2-4”, so little thought was given to travel conditions. At least that much had already fallen, however, as we were loading on the bus. The driving wind brought more snow minute by minute.  The swirling snow and wind sure made for poor visibility and slick roads! Our team bus driver really stepped up to the challenge, but even with his best efforts we had a hard time making the trip home. It took almost four hours to make the normally two-hour ride. After our team arrived at Davenport West, I then had an even harder time getting back to our home farm. The back roads I needed to travel were far worse than the main roads the bus had taken. I finally made it to our driveway, only to get stuck in the snow, which had now accumulated to over a foot!
     The next morning I couldn’t even see the car! It was completely covered in snow. In total, that blizzard dumped about 18 inches. The whole family spent the next few days moving snow and getting animal pens cleared. The most challenging was digging out the car in the driveway. My mom packed a hot lunch and thermos of coffee and sent me to flag down the snow plow on our road. The plow driver was appreciative of the warm food and was willing to return the favor. Once he’d finished with the road, he came and cleared our driveway. This way the milk truck could come and empty our now-full tank of milk and deliver it to the processing plant.
     The roads were a long tunnel, it was only one car width wide and the snow wall sides were taller than the car. My dad remarked that if we got another big blizzard, the tunnels would fill, and the whole county could be snowed in. Finally the spring came, seemingly much later than usual, and all that snow melted creating a big muddy mess.
The winter of ’78-79 really taught me how well our community runs when people look out for each other. I feel very fortunate to live in an area where, for decades, county employees have worked tirelessly to keep roads clear in all kinds of weather.
Having such a great county road crew gives everyone the opportunity to come to the Cinnamon Ridge Country Cupboard store in rural Donahue for our farm fresh eggs, meat, cheese, and baked goods. 

     As I was growing up on the farm, Christmas time was both a lot of hard work and a lot of joy. If the weather was cold and snowy, it meant for extra work to keep the animals warm. One evening during Christmas season, I was carrying hot water to the chicken house. While hurrying to get out of the cutting wind, my rubber boots slipped on the ice. Time briefly slowed down as my rubber boots slid out from under me across the snow-dusted ice. Desperately trying to regain control, my free arm swung around like a windmill, and the other tried to stabilize by gripping the handle of sloshing bucket even more tightly. As gravity proved its inexorable power, I soon realized my efforts to stay upright were going horribly awry: my youthful rear end landed squarely in the bucket!
     Soaking wet, I desperately wanted to change into dry clothes, but I didn’t have many chores left and knew it would be faster to just finish.  After I regained my wits, I filled up a new bucket of hot water and more gingerly delivered it to the chickens. By the time I got to the chicken house, I was moving like that alien robot I had seen in a summer drive-in movie.
Finally finished, I was so grateful for the warmth of the house, but I felt dismayed to learn my pants were completely frozen solid and I could not get them off! One of my older brothers informed me, with a twinkle in his eye, that I would have to wait with them on while I thawed. Teeth chattering, I was not excited by this plan. Eventually, I finagled myself where I was lying down on the mudroom floor. Only then was I able to wiggle out of my frozen trousers, a predicament my family later found hilarious.
     Every Christmas Eve, we celebrated with a family gathering. After all the evening chores were done, we would sit down to an amazingly bountiful traditional meal. My mom and aunts never disappointed! But when I was really young, I hardly ate anything from that glorious spread—because after the meal we would open presents.
When I was four years old, a surprise knock on the door led to a visit from Santa! However, Santa gave me a very hard time. I distinctly remember him telling me the reindeer were eating corn out of our corn crib, and he didn’t think there would be enough for the dairy cows. I was so worried that I almost didn’t open my presents. For days I looked and looked for Rudolph’s red nose among our animals at the feed bunk.
     Although it’s been a long time since Santa’s knock interrupted my family’s holiday meal, I still realize today how important family is during this special time of year. From my family to yours, thank you for your patronage this past year of family farms, including our family farm, Cinnamon Ridge. Our whole family works hard through winter’s chill and summer’s heat to provide wholesome and delicious products at all the places Cinnamon Ridge products can be found. We hope our efforts bless your family. May you all have a blessed Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

​     With the chill in the air finally is telling us it really is fall, ‘tis the harvest season. Before our crops are safely gathered in, I will spend many more solitary hours in the cab of our combine. Yes, being a farmer does mean living at a distance from “next door” neighbors; popping out to the store for us does take over an hour. But being a farmer means close relationships too. In addition to the faithful Cinnamon Ridge canine companions like Stella and Callie, we have developed strong connections with as seed salesmen, nutritionists, insurance agents, and veterinarians. In particular, our large animal veterinarian visits our farm several times a month to monitor the health of our dairy herd, check which cows are pregnant, give vaccinations, and, of course, respond to emergency calls. This frequency has built a strong and jovial relationship.
            In the days of party line phones, long before cell phones, our veterinarian and his colleagues would communicate via CB radio. This way a vet wouldn’t have to go all the way back to the clinic just to be sent out on another call. To facilitate their radio, our vet clinic had a tall tower. As all the vets in that clinic were loyal graduates of the Iowa State University College of Veterinary Medicine, they proudly flew an Iowa State flag from their radio tower.
            One summer evening, being young and mischievous, I climbed the tower and exchanged their flag for an Iowa Hawkeye flag, myself being a graduate of the University of Iowa. While I was not caught, as you can imagine, my work did not go unnoticed. Word spread quickly through our rural community that our vets were looking for the culprit. Any non-Cyclone fans were prime suspects. When they were next on our farm, I asked if they would like to hire our “fowl” legal team Duck and Run to help with the investigation. We all had a good laugh, but I knew payback would be coming.
            I waited on edge many years for the retaliation. We were vaccinating calves for brucellosis, an important vaccine that must be administered by the veterinarian, after which the calf receives an ear clip and tattoo to verify they have been properly vaccinated. My daughters were helping us catch and restrain the animals, and our long-time vet saw his chance for revenge. Pretending to sniff the permanent green tattoo ink, he said energetically, “Mmm, smells like mint.” My youngest, Kara, being very curious, blurted out, “Let me smell!!” Before I could stop her, the vet held out the ink. Kara moved her nose in close, and, with a rapid motion only someone so experienced around large animals could muster, the vet smeared the bright green ink all over her face. To add insult to injury, the next day was school picture day! It took a lot of scrubbing to remove the bright green ink, and even still her upper lip still had a slight tint for her picture that year.
            Farm fresh eggs, meats, cheeses and baked goods are available for both Cyclone and Hawkeye fans alike at the Cinnamon Ridge Country Cupboard, located on our farm north of Donahue. Our products are also available at the I-80 Truckstop, North Scott Foods, and the Freight House Farmers Market.
 

The chill in the air and colorful leaves usher in autumn, which at our farm not only means harvest time, but also fall harvest tours for many local grade schoolers and preschoolers.
 
As their bright yellow school bus turns onto the lane to our farm, the children are abuzz with anticipation for the day’s field trip. Giggling and smiling, the first-graders climb up the wooden steps onto the wagon and set off for a tour of the fields. Standing the fields, a gentle breeze rustling the tall, drying corn stalks, they learn about the harvest of corn and soybeans. After the combines take the corn and stalks, row by row, off the field, winter wheat is planted and will be green all winter long—even under the snow! The tour wagon returns to the barn, and the kids pat the cow statue as they head upstairs. Sitting criss-cross applesauce on a large blue rug, the kids guess the main ingredient in various household items – all the way from toothpaste to ranch dressing. The adults in the room chuckle when one child shouts out “SOYBEANS!” as the main ingredient in corn flakes.
 
We then act out the story of the little red hen while mixing the ingredients for corn bread. To keep them involved, each kid gets a beanie baby animal that is to say the sound each farm animal makes. Cows, pigs, horses, and also giraffes, tigers, and sea lions find their way into the children’s small hands. There are more than enough beanie babies for everyone from my youngest daughter’s beloved collection. A bewildered look crosses the face of the kid that gets the fish, as he’s not sure what sound to make. “Dove, dove” says a girl when handed a dove beanie baby, as she seems to think this is what a dove says. After each child is holding an animal, we proceed with the story of the little red hen. The room fills with a happy cacophony with the kids all making the sound of their animals refusing to help the little red hen.
 
At Cinnamon Ridge Farm, the little red hen story takes a different twist. While the beanie baby animals have to learn a lesson, each kid gets a piece of warm, fresh golden corn bread and a glass of ice cold milk at the conclusion of the story. After finishing this delicious snack, the children race out to the hayfield where each child gets to pick his or her own pumpkin to take home.
 
If your mouth is watering for fresh cornbread, but you’re too old for a school tour, don’t worry! Cinnamon Ridge offers customized tours to all ages. Book a tour today at www.tourmyfarm.com. If you don’t have time for a tour, stop by our self-serve country store at Cinnamon Ridge, stocked with fall goodies, along with our award-winning meats and cheeses. You can also check out our products at the Freight House Farmers Market, the I-80 Truckstop, and North Scott Foods.

​     Summer in Iowa means small town festivals, with our local town of Donahue being no exception. Held over Labor Day weekend, Donahue Frontier Days features fun community-building activities including a slow pitch softball tournament, rubber duck race, breakfast at the firehouse, foot races, pie auction, live music, fireworks, and a parade.
     One of our favorite cows at Cinnamon Ridge Dairy, Chickadee, walked in the Donahue parade many times through the late 1990s and early 2000s. Each year we would do our best to dress Chickadee up according to that year’s Donahue Frontier Days’ theme. One year the theme was “Off to the races!” so Chickadee cheerfully pulled a two-wheel sulky. Although it is quite doubtful she would have won a race, many people smiled at a cow pulling a typically horse-drawn cart.
      For the theme “Elvis Lives,” Chickadee wore cardboard aviator sunglasses and blue suede shoes, one of which she lost about halfway through the parade. “Little Town on the Prairie” was no problem for Chickadee fitting in, and we at the farm donned 1800s garb. Chickadee seemed relieved she wasn’t required any extra costuming.
     Finding a connection for the theme “Return of the Loveboat” was quite a challenge and took many days of thought. Chickadee finally wore a sign that read “Loveboat…Where’s the ark???” It probably made people scratch their heads a bit.
This year I found myself participating in many local parades as part of my campaign in the upcoming election for Scott County supervisor. I’m blessed to have many friends who willingly walk with me. The most notable of all parades this year has been that at Buffalo, where we rounded a corner and the fire truck was met with residents armed with garden hoses. Apparently, there was an ongoing battle each year, and once again this year the residents found themselves soaking wet (which wasn’t so terrible on a sweltering day), outmatched against the firefighters.
     The best part of all the parades is the wonderful folks we get to meet. Thanks to all of you who have supported my campaign, as well as Cinnamon Ridge, by purchasing our meats and cheeses at our farm store, farmers market, I-80 truckstop, Randy's Neighborhood Market, and North Scott Foods.

​     Even when life on the farm gets busy, my wife Joan and I try to keep our weekly date: spending time together at our club. Going to our club, that is, Sam’s Club, lets us do our farm’s weekly shopping together—and have some fun. Usually, the goods we need (whatever doesn’t grow on our farm, like flour, spices, and laundry detergent) fill one Sam’s-sized cart. When we exit the store, Joan and I push our cart down the gentle, but significant hill to the far corner of the parking lot, where we always park our white Suburban. Despite the shopping cart’s posted warnings (such as “Do not let child ride on cart”), the kid in me loves this part of our date. The gray hair at my temples blowing in the breeze, I put one foot on the cart axle, then the other, and coast all the way down the long hill. Sometimes I can even coax Joan to hop on the front, and the fun on our date extends the length of that hill.
     One day a few years ago, our grocery list had been quite lengthy. The demands of the coming week—hungry farm interns, farm store baking, and several farm tour dinners—had piled not one, but two carts high with potatoes, butter, strawberries, pickles, and so much more. After chatting a bit with the employee at the door, I exited our club with my cart well behind Joan, who was briskly pushing hers toward our car. By the time I paused for passing cars, I could see Joan efficiently unloading the goods. As I glanced down at my own cartful of groceries, the urgency to catch up with Joan combined with the anticipation of the fun ride down the hill. I did not pause to consider how I had so many fewer groceries in the cart, since they had been split between two carts this week, and no Joan on the front to keep the cart well-balanced. Like an Olympic bobsledder, I pushed the cart to a running start, then hopped on to roll down the hill. As soon as my second foot landed my full body weight onto the front of the cart, the laws of physics and the posted warnings on shopping carts caught up with me. To my complete surprise, up popped the front of the cart, toilet paper, bananas, and napkins! Out slid my feet and legs with the wheels of the cart! Down plummeted my back and rear end—with my tailbone crashing squarely onto the asphalt and my hands still gripping the cart handle.
     Lying on my back with the wind knocked out of me, I gasped for air. A large man entering the store remarked, “Son, you ain’t gettin’ up from that.” An elderly woman began yelling, “Oh my God, he’s dying!”—which attracted Joan’s attention. With my back in severe pain, I was thankful Joan appeared so promptly at my side and helped me crawl to the curb. She then brought the car to me, and I managed to gingerly climb in.
An urgent call to a nearby chiropractor let us know, fortunately, that he had an immediate opening. Minutes later as I related my shopping cart misadventure, the chiropractor first smiled at my shenanigans and then helped to relieve much of my discomfort. Whew! With some time to heal, I would be as good as new. I was blissfully unaware that the next day’s events would require not one, but two return visits to the same chiropractor—plus a doctor-ordered enema! Let’s just say, when Joan and I have our regular date at Sam’s Club, I take the posted shopping cart warnings a little more seriously.
     We encourage you to fill your shopping carts (safely, of course!) with our award-winning cheeses and meats at the I-80 Truckstop, North Scott Foods, Randy's Market, or the Freight House Farmers Market. These products, plus our delicious bakery goods, are also available at our self-service store, the Country Cupboard, which is located on our farm, just north of Donahue. Visit us on the web at www.tourmyfarm.com.

                She probably heard the party rolling in even before our well-worn, brown trailer came into view. Chickadee, our beloved bovine, was out on “recess” in the front pasture with the other milking cows when as we began loading calves to go to the Mississippi Valley Fair. Chickadee started bellowing loudly. Rusted in some spots, the trailer may have been nondescript to most, but to Chickadee, it was a party on wheels. Ever since her first ride to the fair as a spring calf, Chickadee had decided that if that beloved trailer was leaving the farm, she should not be left out of the fun.  
                Moo!! Moo!! Moo!! Minutes ticked by as my daughters opened the trailer gate and gently coerced one young haltered heifer, then two, onto the trailer. Chickadee’s continuous hollering did not get anyone’s attention. Clearly, those humans needed some help remembering her standing reservation on the party wagon. Chickadee started galloping her 1,200-pound body toward the trailer. The thin single wire of the electric fence around the cow pasture didn’t even break her stride. The wire snapped, and Chickadee charged up to the trailer, leaping right on board. Meanwhile, all her pasture mates looked up at the commotion and soon gleefully realized they were free. As Chickadee was happily oblivious to the chaos she had created, the other milk cows kicked up their heels and scattered over the farm yard, excited to be somewhere previously off-limits. It took us a long time to repair the electric fence and an even longer time to herd back the loose cattle, who were disinclined to give up their freedom and/or respect the wire fence. It took a still longer time to dislodge Chickadee from the trailer. She did get to ride into the fair on the next load later that afternoon, which made her very happy.
                Once at the fair, for Chickadee, the party must have continued, based on how much she still  had to say. Moo, moo, moo!!! She bellowed almost continuously—day and night, in the show ring and out—much to the chagrin of the exhibitors trying to sleep in the barns with their show cows. Having happily hopped back onto the trailer at the end of dairy exhibition, after days of near continuous mooing, she came home hoarse and thirsty for the mineral-rich well water of our farm. Yet, after two trips on her beloved trailer and parading around the show ring, surprisingly, once she got home, she had no stories to tell. Chickadee settled back into her normal (mostly quiet) routine. Evidently, what happens at Mississippi Valley Fair stays at Mississippi Valley Fair.
                We think our farm-made cheeses are worth shouting about, the perfect complement to any party. But you don’t have to jump on a cattle trailer to enjoy our award-winning cheeses. You can find our cheese at North Scott foods, Randy’s in DeWitt, Freight House Farmers Market and at our farm store at Cinnamon Ridge Farm, just north of Donahue.
 
 

     While I was growing up on the farm, our garden put a lot of food on our table. Whether we were eating fresh snow peas in the late spring, summer’s green peppers, fall’s pumpkins and butternut squash, or canned tomatoes during the winter and spring, the produce the garden provided was essential to our lives. Our large garden had almost everything you can imagine: from asparagus and green beans, to radishes and zucchini.
     Sprawling over a sizable part of our yard, the garden took a lot of collective effort from the whole family.  Planting, hoeing, pruning, weeding, and harvesting were on everyone’s chore list. As I was the youngest in the family, weeding (my least favorite garden activity) always seemed to be on my to-do list! I spent hours upon hours bent over in the hot sun, fingers caked with dirt, as I rooted out thousands of leafy invaders from the long garden rows. But nothing was worse than, having finally finished garden chores, being greeted in the dairy barn by my dad’s indignant “What the Sam Hill have you been doing all day?!?”
     My sister Marge was especially helpful with harvest and preservation, working with my mother to make sure the garden churned out its very best. To her credit, Marge always tried to make it fun for us, creating incentives to make even the drudgery of weeding rewarding. She promised everyone who picked two grocery sacks full of green beans an exciting trip to the drive-in movie theater in the evening. When my siblings and I got to the movie, we realized the catch: the green beans had to come with us! While at the movie we had to stem the green beans, dropping the stems out the car window. You could tell where our family’s car had been at the drive-in. There were four sizeable piles of green bean stems where it had sat! I remember stemming beans during the John Wayne classic True Grit. It was so mesmerizing I didn’t get my two bags done during the film! Fortunately for me, my kind older sister recognized I was distracted and completed my bags as well as her own.
     Even though caring for the garden was exhausting and at times seemed endless, the true reward of scooping out fresh green beans onto your plate made it all worthwhile.
Today you can get that same farm-fresh goodness (without the back-breaking work!) by shopping at our Country Cupboard, located on our farm north of Donahue. Or purchase our products at North Scott Foods or the Freight House Farmers Market. Visit us on the web at www.tourmyfarm.com