 Benches
There was a bench in our back yard Where grandpa sat to whittle. There was a dead spot in the grass From Copenhagen spittle.
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 In the midst of the winter meeting season I traveled to Washington DC for the American Sugarbeet Growers annual meeting then left to go directly to New Orleans for the National Council of Farmer Cooperatives annual meeting. It was very interesting to me to see all the similarities both inside and outside of the meeting halls.
 Editor's Note: We flashback to March 2008 and David Kragnes' first piece for The Sugarbeet Grower. Over the last 10 years, "Farmin' With My Dad" has been one of our most popular and requested poems of David's. We are happy to share it once again with our great readers and subscribers. We hope you enjoy this step back in time on a timeless piece of literature.
 After many years of "Farmin' With My Dad" being my most requested poem, a number of people have asked, "Isn't there a sequel?"
For three years now I have farmed with my oldest son. Opportunities for me off the farm have allowed enough work here to keep him around. This fall my youngest son came home for harvest There are some indications he will be back for planting. So here now comes "Farmin' With My Lad."  Once A Year In DecemberBy David Kragnes:
The dentist is like Christmas, With sights and sounds and smells That dig their way into your brain Where deepest memory dwells.  PosturingTo stand or kneel or lay down flat
I’m not sure what to think of that. There’s lots of folks who want to shout, The President has tweeted out,  I always tell the guys to fill
The fuel tank to the top, Don't drive by with a tractor Just hit the brakes and stop  I have tried a few things in my life, like writing poetry. Some have worked out well, some, not so great. The road less traveled has taken me some fascinating places. I feel pretty lucky for the things I have seen and the friends I have made along the way. Thanks for all the kind comments this winter at sugarbeet meetings. "Normal"? My wife just said I'm normal. She said it right out loud. I'm not sure that she meant it But still it makes me proud. For normal isn't something Of which I'm oft accused. Abnormal is more likely The word by most folks used. Talking on the telephone My grandkids point and laugh. They make jokes about me, My phone, it folds in half. I don't tweet or twitter I hardly ever text. Facebook is still something That I should work on next. My pilot friends don't think me Abnormal or insane. Though I guess it's more common To not build your own plane. That Detroit Diesel engine Put in a half ton truck, Seemed to make sense at the time To try and save a buck. The only Simon Duplex That I have ever seen, Was owned by me, for hauling beets It was a fine machine. If we should hit a sports bar My knowledge seems quite poor. I can name twelve senators, But not the final four. My fashion sense is awful, Except for my blue jeans. They're tattered and all full of holes Just like those worn by teens. So what about me's normal To cause my wife to say That's what she thought about me At least upon this day? Last night I had a fever, And I was in a fix. But today she checked me, I'm ninety eight point six.
 By David Kragnes
For you growers in Brawley California, a snow blower is standard equipment up here in Minnesota for clearing out driveways and yards. It is a mix of augers and fans that chew up the snow and throw it to one side. Metal objects hidden in the snow make a most objectionable mess out of the inner workings. |
 Write Field column is written by David Kragnes. David farms near Felton, MN. He is a former Chairman of American Crystal Sugar Co., and currently serves on the board of directors of CoBank.
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