Down on the Farm

I've been living in Phoenix Arizona now off and on for about a year.

Last weekend, as I was back in the Midwest, I was reminded of some of the things that make these two parts of the country so different.

One morning, I took advantage of some early morning time to get breakfast in the local small town coffee shop in Wisconsin. The same small town where I grew up and lived most of my life.

While enjoying my breakfast, I was eavesdropping on a conversation between Dan, a local electrician, and Jeff, one of the local veterinarians. Dan was telling the story about the first time he was working out at Fred Howard's farm. Dan was doing some wiring in the barn when Fred came out and asked him what he was doing for lunch. Dan told Fred he brought a sack lunch with him in the truck. Fred walked over to Dan's truck and pulled the sack off the seat and opened it up. Fred took the sandwich and threw it to the pigs. Then, he took the apple and threw it to the pigs. Next, he walked over to Dan and said, "Now you're having lunch with us up at the house." Dan said it was like a Thanksgiving dinner. Every day he was working out there, they served him a meal like that. After listening, Jeff gave a knowing nod, indicating his own familiarity with the Howard's culinary generosity.

There were other stories - one about a goat and one about the guy who picks up all the dead livestock in the county - but this "lunch" story was the one I liked.

I can't help but think that we would all be a little better off if, from time to time, we threw someone's sandwich to the pigs and asked them to sit at our table.