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Country Lifestyle

Christmas 1990

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By

Barry Whitworth, DVM

Area Food/Animal Quality and

Health Specialist for Eastern Oklahoma 

It was Christmas eve.  I was closely monitoring the clock, counting down the minutes until I could head home.  The boss had talked about closing the clinic down early, and I was ready.  My wife and new 9-month old daughter were waiting for me to get off work so we could begin our holiday celebrations.

In the midst of my Yuletide daydreaming, I heard the sound of the boss drive up to the clinic.  He motioned for me to get in and silence filled the truck for a moment.  Finally, the boss broke the quiet, “Barry, I think it’s time for you to ‘get on down the road’.”  When he said, ‘get on down the road’, he was not talking about a farm call.  He was firing me on Christmas Eve.

As I stepped out of the pickup and walked back in the clinic, my mind was racing with the reality of being jobless.  I should have seen this coming.  In fact, in the 8 months that I had worked there, my boss and I had never been on the same page.  I had actively been searching for another job, a fact that I never hid from him.  I left that day with a sense of defeat heavy in my chest.  I prided myself on being an excellent employee.  In my whole life I had never lost a job.  I was accustomed to getting pay raises and praise from my employers.  Instead, that day I was getting a pink slip to take home to my family for Christmas.

As I begin my drive home, fears, doubts, and anxieties began to make themselves at home in my mind.  A sea of questions began to rush in, “Would I ever get another job?” “What would potential employers think when they found out I had been fired?” “Was I cut out to be a veterinarian after all?”  My confidence was wounded, and I felt inadequate.  The classmates I had studied and trained with over the past four years seemed to be breezing through their first year with no hiccups; yet, I had met many obstacles during my first job.  Deep down inside, I felt like an embarrassment to my alma mater.

I rounded the corner and the small trailer that we had called home over the past eight months was in site.  The truck rolled to a stop, and I paused a moment to collect my thoughts before heading inside to break the news to my wife.  The holiday scents and sounds greeted me as I opened the door.  My wife had been preparing all day for our first Christmas with our new baby.  She turned to welcome me home with a cheerful face, but she knew instantly that I did not bring good news.  Tears began to flow when I told her that I had lost my job.  Together we began to wonder how we would make it.  It was not just the two of us anymore.  We had our baby girl to worry about, too.  How would we take care of her?  What if she got sick?  In reality, neither my parents or my in-laws would then or now ever let their granddaughter go without, but in the moment the fears were very real.  We sat contemplating the future full of worry, and the joys of Christmas Eve seemed to drift somewhere far away.

Following our family’s Christmas celebrations, I returned to the clinic to turn in my equipment and pick up my final check.  My employer and I parted as best we could, and then I ‘headed down the road’ to somewhere I did not know.

One morning as I sat at home updating my résumé, the phone rang.  I stopped working and answered the phone.  The person calling was Bill Booth.  He said, “I was wondering if you would bleed some pigs for some of the kids in the local 4H and FFA program.”  Shocked that he had not heard the news, I politely informed Bill that I no longer worked for the veterinary clinic and gave him the number to get a hold my previous employer.  I am not sure if the next words out of Bill’s mouth were said simply because he felt sorry for me or out of compassion, but they are words that I will never forget.  “I did not ask another veterinarian to bleed the pigs.  I ask if you would.”  I was grateful at the thought of making a little money since I had none coming in, but the impact of his call was of greater value to me.  At that moment in my career, those words reassured me of my abilities and worth.  Someone still believed that I was capable.  Someone still believed that I had what it took to be a veterinarian. 

Over the course of my almost 30 years in veterinary medicine, I have worked for many clients, and I have bled hundreds of pigs.  None were as memorable or as important to me as the ones I did that day so early in my career.  Bill’s willingness to reach out and ask me to care for his animals re-instilled in me the confidence that had been wounded and shaken.  I am forever grateful for the kindness that he showed me.

Bill passed away a few years ago.  Upon his death, I relayed to his family how much him giving me that pig bleeding job had meant to me as a young struggling veterinarian.  I told them that one of my biggest regrets was that I never properly thanked him for extending such kindness to me when I needed it the most.  Over the years, I have had many wonderful clients that have touched my life and given me the opportunity to make a living doing what I love.  You, too, have stories like mine.  Stories of a time when someone reached out in kindness to pick you up when you were down.  My hope for you is that this holiday season you would take the time to thank those special people in your life and as well be an encouragement to someone in need.

From my family to yours, may you have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Read more in the December issue of Oklahoma Farm & Ranch.

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Country Lifestyle

Apple Fritter Quick Bread

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Total Time: 1 hour and 40 minutes

Servings: 10

2 medium apples (any type), peeled, cored & diced 

1/3 cup brown sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened

2/3 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs

1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 3/4 tsp baking powder

1/2 cup milk

For the Glaze:

  • 1/2 cup (60g) powdered sugar

1–2 tbsp milk

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease and line a 9×5-inch loaf pan with parchment paper.

Peel and chop apples and place in a bowl with brown sugar and cinnamon. Toss and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, cream together butter and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time, then add vanilla. In a separate bowl, whisk together flour and baking powder. Gradually add dry ingredients to the butter mixture, alternating with milk, mixing until just combined.

Next, pour half of the batter into the loaf pan, top with half of the apple mixture, then repeat with remaining batter and apples. Lightly swirl with a knife for a marbled effect.

Bake for 50–55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Cool in pan for 10 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

In a small bowl, whisk together powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla until smooth. Drizzle over cooled bread.

Slice and enjoy warm or at room temperature.

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Country Lifestyle

The Almanac: Old Wisdom, New Uses

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By Savannah Magoteaux

It may seem old-fashioned in today’s world of instant weather apps and precision farming tools, but for generations, farmers and ranchers have kept something tucked alongside their feed store receipts and fencing pliers: the almanac.

If you’ve ever wondered what makes an almanac different from a regular calendar—or how you can actually use one on the farm today—you’re not alone. The truth is, there’s a reason the almanac has stuck around for more than two centuries. It’s part tradition, part practical guide, and part good old country common sense.

What Exactly Is an Almanac?

At its simplest, an almanac is an annual publication that contains a wide variety of information:

  • Weather forecasts (both short-term and long-range)
  • Moon phases and sunrise/sunset times
  • Best days for planting, harvesting, and other chores
  • Tide tables
  • Astronomical data (eclipses, meteor showers)
  • Farming advice
  • Home and garden tips
  • Folk wisdom and humor

The Old Farmer’s Almanac, founded in 1792, is probably the most famous, but there are many versions today—including regional editions designed for specific areas of the country.

What sets an almanac apart is that it doesn’t just tell you what is happening; it often tells you when and how to do things based on seasonal rhythms, tradition, and long-standing patterns of nature.

How Are Almanac Predictions Made?

One of the most famous parts of the almanac is its weather forecast section.
While the exact methods are often kept secret, most almanacs combine:

  • Historical weather patterns
  • Solar cycles (like sunspots)
  • Lunar phases
  • Meteorological data

They aren’t as precise as modern radar forecasts, but they’re designed to give a general idea of what to expect for an upcoming season. Many readers use them more for planning and tradition than strict prediction.

Interestingly, some almanacs claim accuracy rates of around 80%, though independent studies suggest they’re closer to 50–60%. Still, for long-range planning—like when to schedule planting, hay cutting, or even branding days—many farmers find them helpful.

How to Use an Almanac Today

If you flip open an almanac today, you’ll find it offers much more than weather. Here are a few practical ways to use one on your farm or ranch:

  • Planting by the Moon: Many people still plant certain crops according to the waxing and waning of the moon, believing that different phases influence root growth, fruit production, or hardiness.
  • Scheduling Hay or Harvest: Long-range dry or wet forecasts can help you pick safer windows for cutting and baling hay.
  • Livestock Planning: Some ranchers time breeding, calving, or vaccinations according to signs in the almanac (or at least avoid unlucky dates!).
  • Gardening Tips: Almanacs are packed with advice on companion planting, pest control, and organic practices.
  • Household Projects: Need to set fence posts or pour concrete? Some almanacs recommend the best days for setting things in the ground to “set stronger.”

Even if you don’t follow it to the letter, it can still offer a broader way of thinking seasonally—something that technology sometimes encourages us to forget.

Tradition Meets Technology

Many almanacs now have companion websites and apps, offering digital versions of their classic wisdom.
Still, there’s something satisfying about flipping through a paperback almanac, circling dates, and marking notes in the margins just like the generations before us.

It’s a reminder that even in a high-tech world, farming and ranching are still closely tied to the rhythms of nature—and a little old-school wisdom never hurts.

References:

  1. The Old Farmer’s Almanachttps://www.almanac.com
  2. Farmers’ Almanachttps://www.farmersalmanac.com
  3. University of Illinois Extension – Understanding the Farmer’s Almanac Weather Predictions
  4. National Weather Service – Historical Weather Patterns

SIDEBAR_

5 Fun Facts About the Almanac

1. It’s Older Than the U.S. Constitution.
The Old Farmer’s Almanac was first published in 1792—one year after George Washington was elected President.

2. There’s a “Secret Formula” for Weather Predictions.
The Old Farmer’s Almanac claims it uses a top-secret mathematical formula, created by its founder Robert B. Thomas, that factors in sunspots, tidal action, and planetary positions.

3. It’s Not Just One Almanac.
There are actually several famous almanacs, including the Old Farmer’s Almanac and the Farmers’ Almanac, and they’re produced by different companies with slightly different forecasting methods.

4. Moon Phases Matter.
Many planting and farming guides in the almanac are based on the waxing and waning of the moon. According to tradition, above-ground crops do better when planted during a waxing moon, and root crops thrive during a waning moon.

5. It Once Had a Hole in the Corner.
Early editions of the almanac were printed with a hole punched through the corner. Why? So farmers could hang them on a nail in the barn or outhouse for easy reading (and sometimes, as a backup to toilet paper)!

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Country Lifestyle

The Sounds of the Country

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Daylight in the country is busy. There are engines, gates, dogs, birds, wind, and people moving with purpose. Even when it feels quiet, there is usually something making noise. It is familiar noise, the kind you stop noticing because it belongs there.

Night is different.

When the sun drops and the work winds down, the sounds change. Some disappear entirely. Others step forward like they were waiting their turn. It is only then that you realize how much the land talks after dark.

The first thing most people notice is how far sound carries at night. Voices travel farther. A truck door slams a half mile away and still feels close. Coyotes sound like they are just beyond the fence, even when they are scattered across an entire section.

There are reasons for that. Cooler nighttime air is denser, allowing sound waves to move more efficiently. During the day, sunlight heats the ground unevenly, creating air layers that bend and scatter sound. At night, temperatures even out, and sound travels straighter and farther. The land does not get louder. You just hear more of it.

Coyotes are often the headliners. Their howls, yips, and barks are not random noise. They are communication. A single howl can be a location check. Group yipping can signal territory or reunite scattered pack members. What sounds like chaos is often a coordinated conversation that carries for miles.

Owls tend to follow. Great horned owls announce themselves with deep, rhythmic calls that sound older than fences and roads. Barred owls ask their unmistakable questions from creek bottoms and timber. These calls serve the same basic purpose as the coyotes’. Territory, presence, and pair bonding, all broadcast into the dark.

Insects fill the gaps. Crickets and katydids create a steady background hum that changes with temperature and season. In late summer, their calls are loud enough to drown out distant traffic. In early fall, the rhythm slows. By winter, silence settles in where that sound once lived.

Frogs take over after rain. Stock tanks, ditches, and low spots become stages. Each species has its own call, its own timing, its own volume. To someone unfamiliar with rural nights, it can sound overwhelming. To those who live with it, it becomes reassurance that water is present and life is moving.

Livestock contribute their own nighttime sounds. A cow bawling for a calf. Horses shifting and blowing softly in the dark. The occasional thump of hooves when something unseen moves through the pasture. These noises are usually brief, but they catch your attention because they break the expected rhythm.

Some sounds are seasonal. In the fall, migrating birds pass overhead, calling to one another in the dark as they navigate by stars and landmarks. In spring, night birds return, filling the air with calls that have been absent for months. The land sounds different when life is arriving versus when it is leaving.

What surprises many people is how much quieter the country can be without human interference. With fewer buildings, less traffic, and minimal artificial lighting, natural sounds are not masked the way they are in towns and cities. Even distant highways fade into the background, leaving space for subtler noises to emerge.

That quiet can feel uncomfortable at first. Silence magnifies small sounds. A branch snapping or leaves shifting can sound larger than it is. Over time, you learn what belongs and what does not. The land teaches you what is normal.

Nighttime sounds also slow you down. There is less pressure to move, to fix, to finish. Sitting on a porch or leaning against a fence, you start to listen instead of scanning. The dark removes visual distractions, leaving only sound to tell the story.

Those sounds carry information. Weather is changing. Animals are moving. Seasons are turning. Without realizing it, you begin to recognize patterns. You notice when the coyotes are quieter than usual, or when frogs call earlier than expected. The land speaks in small signals long before anything obvious happens.

Most of these sounds go unnoticed unless you stop and listen. They are not dramatic on their own. They do not demand attention. But together, they form the soundtrack of rural life after dark.

In a world that rarely slows down, nighttime in the country offers something increasingly rare. A chance to listen without interruption. To notice what has always been there. To understand that even when the lights are off and the work is done, the land never really rests.

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