Finding Meaning on this Anniversary

I have been deeply affected today by the emotions of the anniversary of 9/11 -- much more so than I would have anticipated.  Perhaps it comes from the reflective mood of turning forty this year, and recognizing the changes in my world since 2001.  This summer, at the World Food Prize Hall of Fame, I saw a photographic exhibit called Forty Chances.  These were international images centered around the concept that a farmer has approximately forty seasons farming in their life.  If we start around the age of twenty and have the ability to farm full-time until we are around sixty, we get forty chances.  And thus, I am realistically half-way through those chances.  Based on my grandmother's genetics, I might get a few more.  Based on my mother's experience, I am well beyond halfway.  I can recall my grandfather looking at me as a young person, and saying, "It goes so fast.  It goes SO fast."  Virgil Harrison was -- as always -- correct.

My life was in a state of transition in 2001.  My father had passed away that June of 2001, and was buried in the family plot in Brooklyn.  I could never have conceived of how the city of his birth would change so much so soon.  That summer I was trying to make some decisions on my next steps in life, as I considered returning to school to study education.  After university and a year in Washington, I had moved back to the farm in the hopes of being a help to my grandmother.  My grandmother was aging, but was still in good form.  I suggested to her that we take a road trip that September to visit friends of hers in Wyoming, and see again many of the favorite places we had visited on trips during my childhood.  And so began a three week trip westward.

On the tenth of September, we stayed overnight in Valentine NE.  It was one of the traditions of a Harrison trip out West, that we would visit Young's Western Wear in Valentine.  On the morning of September eleventh, I awoke fairly early, made coffee in the room, and then turned on CNN for the morning news.  The first tower had just been hit, and Grandmother & I watched in shock thinking it was a dreadful accident.  Then the second tower was hit.  I jumped in the shower, and by the time I was out of it, the news was breaking of the plane which hit the Pentagon.  It was profoundly clear that we were under attack as a nation.  I tried to reach my mother on the new cell phone I had gotten that summer, but could not reach her.  How terrible to not be able to reach one's mother and hear her voice!  It is a painful emotion to which I have had to become accustomed in the last decade.

Grandmother wanted to turn back home from our trip, but I encouraged her that the safest place to be was likely in the middle of nowhere . . . and the open roads of Nebraska fit that bill.  We stopped by Young's Western Wear, which had radios playing the news as visitors somberly perused the merchandise.  We continued west, and then cut north to the Pine Ridge Reservation to pay our respects at Wounded Knee.  At the cemetery there, atop a high hill, I finally had cell reception again -- and that was the moment when my mother called.  She had received my panicked message on her answering machine, but had been outside with the sheep all morning.  I ended up being the one to tell her that our country was under attack.  

Grandmother & I travelled onward through Nebraska, and arrived in Torrington WY that evening to visit her friends Marion & Connie.  Throughout the trip, the attacks were pre-eminent in our minds.  Grandmother spent much time reminiscing about the attacks on Pearl Harbor, and how that had impacted her world as a young woman.  We saw CNN's coverage of a rescue from the tower rubble several days later while having lunch at a tiny diner in South Pass City.  We watched the national memorial service from a hotel room in Idaho Falls.  We visited my friends Conny & Don in Idaho, who were still trying to learn if one of Don's friends had survived.  I will always associate that trip and the attacks so closely.

Fifteen years later, what makes a deep impression on me is how my life has changed since those days.  My grandmother -- my travel companion, the woman who helped to raise me -- has passed onward.  My mother, who should have had so many more years, passed long before her.  My mother's husband, who was working with her in the barn on 9/11, has chosen not to be a part of my life.  At the age of 25, life seemed so full of possibilities, even at the most dismal times.  At 40, life seems a frustrating & beautiful struggle to overcome the chaotic nature of this world.  I no longer believe that everything happens for a reason.  Man was given free will, and thus the freedom to make horrific mistakes and commit terrible acts.  Yet, within each of us is deep reserves of strength that we do not even fully know until we are tested.  These reserves of emotional iron allow us to overcome terrible struggles & atrocities.  The human spirit can and will triumph.

This morning at church, we ended the service with prayers for those lost from the attacks of that terrible day.  I found myself crying while reflecting on those lives, in particular those first responders who bravely turned toward the trouble.  I did not lose anyone I knew personally, but as I age I understand better such loss.  Life is so short, and as we mature we know more keenly the stakes and we are gifted with the ability to reflect.  At the age of 25, I would have asserted that by now I would be married with a big family.  I always thought marriage & family were my calling.  Life is unpredictable, though, and that was not the path I was given to walk.  At nearly 40, I can assert that while this was not the life I wanted, it is the life which I have -- and I want it to have value.  None of us know how long we might have, or what day may be our last.  And thus it becomes all the more important that we live each day in a way that makes our life represent something worthwhile, that helps to improve the world around us for those we love.

In reflecting on this anniversary, I do not want those who committed the atrocities or the sense of fear that arose from such acts to be our lasting impression of 9/11.  Rather, I want the memory of those who gave their lives to be our lasting recollection.  Their lives were all cut too short.  Many of them lost their lives protecting others -- from the first responders who ran into the scenes of terror to the brave souls who brought down United 93.  We must honor them by being people of character who strive to make our country a better place.  All of our lives turn out different than we expected, and so many of them end far too soon.  I try to use the opportunities I have with the young people around me to teach them perspective on life, an understanding of history, an appreciation for hard work, and a love of their fellow man.  I want them to be people of character, people who are ready to face the challenges that life will throw their way, people who would be brave enough to sacrifice when called upon.  We must prepare our young people for the reality of the struggles they will face, while equipping them with the courage they will need in this life.  For we need young people who will be like those first responders who saw people in trouble and ran to them to help . . . Not reluctant individuals who merely pull out their cell phones to record such trouble.

Happy Memorial Day from Harrison Farm!

Memorial Day is a just time to honor those brave souls who gave their lives that our way of life might continue.  For each generation of Americans, we must re-define and refine what our way of life means.  My perception of the dream that is America will always be influenced by history.  But history -- for me -- is a collection of stories.  Especially those stories of my youth, shared to me by my grandparents.  As a child listening to my grandfather, it was easy for me to envision him as a child listening to his own grandfather.  And that grandfather did not seem so very distant from me, when I was told of his youthful walk at age twelve to the Ohio Statehouse to pay his respect to the assassinated President Lincoln.  As a child listening to my grandmother, I could imagine her as a child playing with her favorite cousin Ray, just as I played with my beloved cousin Jim.  Thus, I could easily sympathize with her lifelong sorrow that her cousin survived the landing on D-Day, only to give his life at the Battle of the Bulge.  History is a collection of stories, and these stories are much closer to us than we often realize.

I am constantly amazed by the caliber of the friends in my life.  Part of the human experience is self-doubt, which can lead to great melancholy.  Even on my most melancholy days, though, I cannot fail to acknowledge the vast riches I posses in my friends.  I am blessed that many of the people whom I admire most in this world are the individuals who are my friends.  I have likewise been truly fortunate that God has sent such amazing young people to me to work as my student assistants and my interns.  When I meet these young people for an interview, I share with them the mission of our farm to connect people with animals and with farming.  I tell them that I love celebrations, and animals, and teaching.  We discuss their dreams & goals, and how this farm can serve to enrich their life.  Somehow, in all those discussions, the young people with whom I have worked have ended up becoming many of my closest friends.  They are truly my farm family.

The young ladies, with whom I have the pleasure of working this summer, are a dynamic, intelligent, and beautiful group.  While I have the lofty goal of providing internships to help make their lives better, the reality is that they have enriched my life immensely.  I am constantly inspired by their honesty, their desire to learn, and their willingness to share their experiences with me.  I do not worry about the future of the world or our country when I am in the company of such resourceful, amazing young women!  

As part of our summer internship program, we have instituted Friday Fun Day.  Our first Friday Fun Day coincided perfectly with Memorial Day weekend.  We attended the wreath-laying ceremony at the Statehouse in honor of Memorial Day, and got to hear presentations by a truly inspiring woman who lost her husband in Afghanistan, as well as a speech by Lt. Governor Mary Taylor (one of my favorite women in politics).  Afterwards we walked through the Statehouse and I shared with them why it is one of my very favorite places: the paintings, the history, the architectural beauty.  Holly Golighty had Tiffany's, and I have the Statehouse.  We did a pop-in at the office of State Senator Kevin Bacon, and his aide kindly allowed my interns to see his office.  We even took advantage of a fortuitously placed podium to recognize Intern Marissa's two months of work at Harrison Farm, and her promotion to Senior Intern.  After a respite at Starbuck's and a stroll along the riverfront, our group had a remarkable private tour of the Ohio Supreme Court.  We all learned a significant amount about the building, and had a marvelous experience there!

I love teaching because it provides the opportunity to share so many wonderful things about life.  I hope that this experience was an opportunity for my interns to understand why patriotism is vastly important to my life, why I believe in our democratic republic, and how immediate history & politics can be in each of our lives if we embrace them.  In discussion after our adventures, it was clear that the tour of the Supreme Court was a huge hit, and that my random stories about history & politics were appreciated.  That being said, everyone's favorite moment was a brief & beautiful one that we witnessed by chance.  In my eternal quest for shade, we had grouped under a tree at the side of the Statehouse as our vantage point to watch the wreath-laying ceremony.  A grandfather & his grandson stood in front of us, each holding the American flag.  We were also standing behind two members of the Air Force who were helping to coordinate the plane that flew overhead after the wreath-laying.  One of my interns snapped this picture of the young boy talking intently to the patient gentleman representing the Air Force.  I know a couple of my interns had tears in their eyes watching this gentleman give a patch from his uniform as a memento to the boy.  

We live in an amazing country.  It is our duty to share our love of it with those who come after us, so they grow to appreciate the beauty of the dream that is America.  It is likewise our sacred duty to live our lives in a way that honors those who showed the greatest devotion to this dream by giving their own life.  My grandfather was touched by his grandfather's deep respect for the assassinated president who held the Union together.  I grew up knowing keenly what it meant for my grandmother to experience the loss of her beloved cousin in World War II.  I hope my interns will never forget the quiet moment they saw of a member of our military demonstrating dignity and love of country to a child.  May God bless you this Memorial Day, and may God bless our great country.

The Confederate Battle Flag

Full disclosure: my favorite book since the age of 8 has been Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.  I fell deeply in love with the story as a child, and as an adult I am still fascinated by the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel.  My enthusiasm for the story extends to the movie as well, and I value it as the story of a deeply flawed character who refuses to give up despite the challenges placed in her way.  I have a (nearly) life size poster of Rhett Butler in my office, I have numerous books about the movie, and I posses an endless array of Scarlett & Rhett items (even a Christmas tree ornament of a teddy bear named Rhett Beartler).  When my mother was alive, we usually watched the movie together over Christmas break.  One of the most powerful scenes in the film is when Scarlett tries to find Dr. Meade to assist with Melanie's terrible childbirth as the City of Atlanta is under siege.  She races to the train depot, where she finds complete chaos and endless rows of dead and dying men.  The camera focuses on Scarlett's complete dismay and total fear as she observes the death around her, and then -- using a specially developed camera for a memorable long shot -- it pulls back to show the hundreds of bodies piled up at the train depot.  As that long shot concludes, a tattered Confederate battle flag is shown flying above the scene of death below.  

For the historian in me, that scene from a fictional movie captures the existence of the Confederate Battle Flag during the time that the Confederate States of America existed.  The people who flew it were humans -- humans who experienced joy and pain and folly, just as we do today.  My direct ancestors fought for the Union, but their cousins still in Virginia fought for the Confederacy.  It truly was a war that divided families, ruined lives, and set our country back developmentally.  I am not offended when I see the Confederate Battle Flag depicted in a historical manner: example given, at the Alamo there is a collection of the seven flags that have flown over Texas, including the flag of the Confederacy.  I do, however, applaud the state of South Carolina for removing the flag from being flown under state auspices at their capital.  The reality is that this flag is the emblem of a defeated nation; it should not fly in an official capacity.

During the time I spent as a McCloy Fellow in Germany, I was intrigued by the efforts of the German people to learn from their country's actions that led to World War II.  The German people have worked to renounce the atrocities, learn from them, and move forward.  The historic sites which we visited were very straight forward in explanations of historic fact.  The German people of today seem to own the past in order to learn from it, and then move forward away from it.  The old axiom is true that those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.  

I thought of my time in Germany this morning, and my observations on that country's efforts to learn from its own divisive history.  The Wall Street Journal carried articles today on the signing of the law to remove the Confederate Battle Flag from the South Carolina capital, as well as another article on efforts to remove other symbols from the Confederate era.  I wholeheartedly support removing the flag from a state capital: the insignia of another nation -- and one that tried to defeat our own -- should not fly in an official capacity.  Nor should it be used for political purposes that detract from our efforts as humans to promote a society of understanding, love, and respect.  The historian in me, however, is quite concerned to see further efforts to remove all Confederate symbols.  If we remove our history, we cannot learn from it, and we set up future generations to repeat it.  History must be a continual education for those of us in present times, that we might create a better future.  

When I read Gone with the Wind, it is clear how the author utilized older characters to try to tell the young how terrible war truly is.  The young men are full of fervor for battle, convinced that they know best -- and they ignore the older generation who is opposed to war having lived through the Mexican-American War and the Cherokee uprising.  As the book plays out, it becomes clear that those voices of experience who argued against war were the wise ones. This fictional interpretation illustrates the folly of ignoring history.  History happened.  Learn from it, and become a better person.  Be a part of building a better world for the future.  We must make wise decisions to improve our world -- even our own individual daily choices -- and unless we learn from our common history as humans, we can never move beyond the poor choices of previous generations.

Appomattox Day

150 years ago today, General Lee met General Grant at the McLean House at Appomattox VA to sign the instrument of surrender.  This was the beginning of the end for Civil War fighting.  Within a few months, the remaining Confederate generals would also surrender.  General Lee's troops were allowed to return home, permitted to keep their horses, given rations, and able to retain their side-arms if they were an officer.  The generosity shown by General Grant toward the defeated was unique for the victor of a civil war.  Winston Churchill later wrote that this magnanimity "stands high in the story of the United States."  

I love history, and I especially adore being able to see the history of the United States in my own family. Harrisons were on both sides of the Civil War.  Taps was actually written while General McClellan's Army of the Potomac was encamped at Berkeley Plantation, the home of the Harrisons in Virginia.  President Lincoln visited the troops there, and used this location as his base to visit Richmond after it was taken by Union forces.  Following the war, the Harrisons did not return to Berkeley.  My own branch of the family had migrated to Ohio after the Revolution, and they were raising sheep in Knox County by the time of the Civil War.  I find it interesting that the pioneer spirit led my ancestor David Harrison to travel to the new state of Ohio to build a life, while his cousins remained in Virginia and eventually lost their home when they fled before the Union troops.

David's son John Lum Harrison was a little too old to go off to battle when the Civil War began, and John Lum's son James Virgil was just a child during the war.  James Virgil was the paternal grandfather of my own grandfather Virgil Grube Harrison.  My grandfather's maternal grandfather, however, saw significant military action during the Civil War.

John Kurtz Grube was my great-great-grandfather.  At age 21, he enlisted in the 17th Regiment of the Ohio Volunteer Infantry.  According to family legend, I had always heard that John Kurtz Grube marched with General Sherman from Atlanta to the sea.  This morning, I got out the picture I have of him, and decided to see if I could verify this family legend.  I was absolutely delighted -- thanks to Wikipedia -- to be able to trace the movements of his regiment and confirm that it did see action throughout the South in the time he served, including marching from Atlanta to the sea.

From genealogical research done by my grandfather, Private Grube was mustered out on 5 June 1865.  In 1868, he married Rebecca Ann Wagner.  They settled first in Carroll, in Fairfield County. They farmed there, and their first two children (Dora & Clarence) were born there.  Later, they moved to a small farm on Maize Road in Columbus.  According to my grandfather's records, John worked for the railroad and then for Columbus Door & Sash to supplement his farm income.  The latter job required John to walk from Maize Road to downtown Columbus to then take the horse drawn public transport car to West Columbus for a job that paid $1.25 per day.  John & Rebecca had two more daughters, Portia Katherine and Monnie Hazel (my amazing great-grandmother).  My grandfather was close to his aunt Portia, and was an advocate for the name Katherine when my father suggested it for me.  Portia Katherine was herself named after John's mother Katherine Kurtz Grube -- who was born in 1801 before Ohio was a state, had her son John at age 42, and passed away in 1889.  My mother Rebecca was named after John's wife Rebecca.  The Civil War feels much more recent when I think about these men & women who are my family.

I share this with you not simply because I am enamored of my own family history, but because I hope it serves as an example to remind us that the men & women who lived through the Civil War are not that distant.  They lived lives with many of the same struggles that we have, just at a different time.  John Kurtz Grube was only 21 when he went off to engage in fighting to protect the Union in a bloody Civil War.  He was just one young man, yet his efforts helped to contribute to preserving our nation and protecting equal rights for all.  I hope that in the present day, we are all willing to pledge our lives & fortunes to the same efforts: protecting our great nation and supporting equality of opportunity for all.

Happy Presidents Day from Harrison Farm!

My grandfather & I shared a mutual love of history, and this greatly shaped my childhood.  Other children went to the zoo, to amusement parks, to local swimming pools. I was taken to forts where my grandfather shared stories of Indian attacks, to battlefields where he regaled me with information about the Civil War, and to an astonishing number of cemeteries where we paid our respects to American heroes.  He reserved his greatest admiration for President Abraham Lincoln -- and since I was convinced that my grandfather was absolutely correct about everything, I echoed that sentiment.

My grandfather told me stories about Lincoln's youth when I was a child, and then gave me his own books about the president to read as soon as I was able.  Thanks to my grandfather's tutoring, I was as enamored of President Lincoln as he was.  He took me to Lincoln's home in Springfield for the first time when I was eight.  It was a wonderful trip, and I have returned to visit twice since then.

On my first trip to Springfield, we saw an exhibition of sculptures related to Lincoln -- including several busts of the president -- by my grandfather's friend, the artist John Frank.  Mr. Frank resided in Missouri.  We visited his studio there a couple of times during my childhood, and each visit he sent me home with a gift.  I treasure the small bust of Lincoln he gave me, and remember vividly my excitement when he let me pick out any print I wanted to take home from his studio.  That print of a winter scene, as well as the sculpture of "The Prairie Lawyer" are fantastic mementos of my youth.  Although I was young, I knew that my grandfather greatly valued his friendship with Mr. Frank.  My grandfather always enjoyed conversing with others who shared his love of history, and who could offer their perspective on history.

In my grandfather's den, he had a plaque hanging on the wall with a Lincoln quote.  I now have it hanging in the farmhouse kitchen so that I see it every day.  It reads: "I like to see a man proud of the place in which he lives.  I like to see a man live so that his place will be proud of him."  My grandfather was very good at living that sentiment.  I am working on it, and I have thought of that phrase often while on my winter task of organizing & cleaning the farmhouse.  

My personal favorite quote of Lincoln: "I do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday."  That line reminds me that it is incumbent upon us as humans to keep moving forward, keep striving, keep improving . . . And to a certain extent, to be forgiving of our yesterdays because we did not yet know what we do today.  It may be small victories or it may be something grand, but integrity is built upon a willingness to be a better person.  Sloth is easy, improvement is hard -- but it is much more rewarding.  

I spent my Presidents' Day feeding animals in the cold, and then continuing my cleaning process for the farmhouse.  My personal victory today: I took apart the Oreck sweeper, figured out why it was not working properly, and successfully put it back together all by myself.  Certainly a very small victory in the scheme of the world, yet I am definitely wiser today about vacuum cleaners than I was yesterday.  I suspect that for Lincoln and for my grandfather -- Giants though they are to me -- there were likewise plenty of days with only small victories.  What made them great was that they persevered, they kept going even when the going was tough, and that prepared them to be men of character.  Reading and observation taught me that my grandfather and Lincoln both struggled in life, both wrestled with melancholy & disappointment, and both grew to be men of integrity despite these challenges.  They inspire me.

I hope that on Presidents' Day, all Americans take time to reflect on the leaders of our nation.  They were all just individuals like us, with all the frailties of being human.  Yet men like Lincoln and Washington and Jefferson rose to the challenge of their executive office and left lasting legacies.  Presidents' Day is not about sales at stores or the fun of a day off work.  It is about people like us who dedicated their life to serving our country to the best of their abilities.  It is about honoring their noble qualities -- and learning from their failures.  It is about taking their examples to be the best American that we can personally be every day . . . Whether it is in a small way or in a grand way, we can aspire to be a better American (and a better person!) each and every day.

Pearl Harbor Day

Last night at Mass, I was pleased to hear my priest reference Pearl Harbor Day in his message.  He spoke on the need to remember those who lost their lives and recognize their sacrifice to preserve freedom.  This morning, I was delighted to find that many of my Facebook friends had posted references to Pearl Harbor.  Growing up, my grandmother often spoke of Pearl Harbor Day.  Since it was a Sunday -- the one day of the week that my grandfather worked a short day as a farmer -- my grandparents were on a date that afternoon.  They had recently started dating, and he took her to see the movie "One Foot in Heaven".  As they left the theatre, they heard the news of the attack.

In January 2012, I had the honor of visiting Pearl Harbor with my good friend Tonja.  It was a beautiful day, and we were both profoundly touched by the experience of seeing Pearl Harbor.  While there, I met the gentleman who is shown in the picture above.  He was a survivor of the Pearl Harbor attack, and was signing copies of his memoir.  I enjoyed speaking with him, and had to laugh as he expressed that one of the best parts of signing books was pictures with "pretty girls"!

It seems at times as though the Pearl Harbor attack was long ago, yet it impacted American lives in ways that still resonate today.  My grandmother would lose her beloved cousin Ray in the Battle of the Bulge, and I have the Purple Heart which he was awarded and that his mother gave to my grandmother knowing how close she was to Ray.  My grandfather initially anticipated that he would serve in the military since he had been in ROTC while at OSU.  Instead, the government mandated that farms must stay operating to support the war effort.  As the only child of a handicapped father, my grandfather instead stayed home to manage the farm.

Since Matt & I began dating, I have enjoyed learning about his family heritage.  When we started dating the difference in our ethnic backgrounds was not something which I even really considered . . . Until the first time that someone made a slur against Japanese people in our presence.  I suspect this individual had no idea that Matt's slightly ambiguous ethnic appearance was actually half-Japanese -- and I think the situation discomforted me far more than it did him -- but for the first time I really considered the differences in our background.  One of these differences, was the way that World War II impacted our families as Americans.  While my grandparents worked to support the war effort and lost family members, Matt's grandparents were imprisoned by their own country.

As a young person, I became aware that families of Japanese heritage had been imprisoned during the war, but it never touched me personally as anything more than distant history until I began researching Matt's grandparents.  There is a very useful website maintained by the government that provides records for Americans of Japanese descent who were relocated to camps.  Matt's grandmother and her family were sent to a camp built in Arkansas.  This was the same location where George Takei was imprisoned as a child, and I like to imagine that he & Matt's grandmother played together as children!

Matt's grandfather was a young adult when the war started, and his family was taken from their home in Seattle and sent to the Minidoka camp in the middle of Idaho.  Ted Karikomi had never been to Japan, spoke no Japanese, and was a high school graduate with a job -- yet was still considered enough of a threat that his entire family had to be relocated from their homes and imprisoned.  On archived records of Japanese relocations, it was noted by government officials what potential the individual might have for work.  The mention of being a possible typist or chauffeur does not indicate the future success that Ted Karikomi would find as a decorated enlisted man in the military or as a family doctor in rural Michigan.  It amazes me that this young man chose to join the war effort as soon as he was permitted, fighting for the very nation that had mandated the forced relocation of his family.  That was how much he valued his country.

The attack on Pearl Harbor was a tragedy whose impact is still felt.  My grandfather was born in 1919, and Matt's grandfather in 1922.  They were both young Americans who loved their country and served it to the best of their ability during the war and after . . . as citizens, husbands, and fathers.  Yet, their experience during the war was vastly different, primarily because of their heritage.  We are so blessed to live in this great country of freedom, and -- much like my pastor said -- we must never forget those who have helped to protect those freedoms.  There is no other nation on earth like America, no other place where immigrants from any continent can build such free lives.  And these liberties must be protected from all aggressors.  As we live our fortunate first world lives, it behooves us to remember those who suffered to ensure our present blessings.  And we must always be willing to share that burden to protect American liberty for future generations!

Iron Ladies

Ever since my childhood, I adored Margaret Thatcher.  As a girl growing up in the 1980s, it was fantastic to watch the evening news and see a woman who was a world leader.  My grandfather was a staunch Republican; his support for Reagan & Thatcher -- and his opposition to communism -- was a major influence on me.  When I learned that Margaret Thatcher and I shared a birthday (10/13), it further cemented my view that we were kindred spirits.  The death of Baroness Thatcher feels like a closing of my childhood, now that Reagan, John Paul II, and Thatcher have all passed on.

At the beginning of April, I had the pleasure of attending one of the meetings of the Ohio Farm Bureau Federation Board.  It has been an honor to represent Delaware, Franklin, Madison, and Union Counties, and now that I am in my second year I have gained a greater understanding of the operations of this board.  Amongst the many reports that came before the board at this session was a discussion of recommendations for the evolution of American Farm Bureau as an organization.  At a recent conference of Young Farmers & Ranchers, one of the top recommendations that emerged to streamline the organization was to discontinue the Women's Committee of American Farm Bureau.

Over lunch that day, discussion on this suggestion ensued.  Many gentlemen were surprised that young people would advocate for removing the potential leadership opportunities that women would have through this special committee.  During that discussion (only days before the Baroness would pass), it was Margaret Thatcher whose name I brought up.  As younger farmer -- and being in the unique position of being one of four women who serve as district trustees for the 22 Ohio Farm Bureau districts -- I have a different perspective on potential leadership roles.  Having grown up at a time when I routinely saw a female Prime Minister of Great Britain, I did not learn as a young person that there were any limitations to what a woman could achieve if she put her mind to it.  While I applaud the good work of the Women's Committee of American Farm Bureau, I am seeking equality of opportunity to serve as a leader.  Not equality of outcome, but of opportunity -- the ability to achieve as an individual, not based upon gender.  Women & men both serve as farmers, as business people, as professionals.  This is based upon personal success, and should be driven neither by bias against nor for one gender over another.

When Baroness Thatcher passed just days later, I was intrigued to reflect on this conversation.  As we live our lives, we never know how far-reaching our impact can be.  I am sure that during her career in Parliament, Baroness Thatcher could never have imagined the devotion with which a little farm girl in Ohio was following her achievements.  The Saturday after she passed was April 13th -- our half birthday.  In her honor, we held an "Iron Lady Party" at the farm.  I invited my closest local friends, who are truly an accomplished, remarkable group of women.  We dressed up in honor of the Baroness, grilled meats, drank wine, and smoked cigars.  It was a diverse group of women (not all of whom had met before), but the conversation flowed freely -- from history to women's issues to funny stories.

My friends inspire me with their activities and accomplishments.  As I looked around the table that night, I was amazed by everything that had been achieved by this group of women.  As unique as each of those ladies is, they are all driven by the belief that they can succeed in their chosen realm.  In this, Thatcher was a role model.  She did not expect to be limited by her gender, nor receive benefits because of it.  Thatcher showed us that a woman can achieve success in her chosen field, and still be a lady.   My favourite Thatcher quote: "Being powerful is like being a lady.  If you have to tell people you are, you aren't."  Amen.