Heaven Is For Real

by Amy on August 10, 2015



A New Purpose For A Plain Old Rock

by Amy on August 8, 2015


 Every ranch kid (and ranch wife) has picked his or her share of rocks out of a hayfield


and I’m guessing most of those kids probably have no interest in picking up any rock for the fun of it, doing any rock hunting, or collecting rocks. We still drive past the rock piles where our kids had to dump the rocks they picked on summer days after a field was hayed.


I consider them our kids’ pillars of character building.


I’m not a rock hound but I’ve been known to pick up a rock now and then, while on an outdoor adventure. Not too long ago I learned about a new purpose for ordinary rocks from my dear friend Jane Green.

Jane Green

Jane is a farmwife, retired teacher and author/columnist who turns plain old rocks into what she calls “God Rocks.”

It all started one day while she was walking down the road near her farm. A couple of unusual rocks caught her eye and one looked like it had been cut into slices. Jane picked them up and hung onto them. For some reason she felt she needed to keep them so she washed them up when she got home and set them in her windowsill. Around the same time a couple of her friends were struggling with health issues and she didn’t know what she could do to help them. When she mentioned to her sister about her unusually smooth cut rock, her sister suggested writing a message on them. Jane knew right then what to do with the rocks she found and what to do for her friends. She wrote down her favorite Bible verse on the rocks and gave them to her friends needing support: Psalm 18:2.

“The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.”

(New International Version)

She has since given her rocks out to people needing encouragement or comfort. Not long after first meeting Jane, I received a “God Rock” from her in the mail, which sits on a shelf above my washing machine and dryer.


It’s my daily reminder of always having a dear friend who cares about and supports me, and that the Lord will always be my rock; the foundation of my life. I have since copied Jane’s gesture when I don’t know what else to do for people I’m concerned about.


I’ve kept a jar of neat-looking river rocks I found and kept from a family trip to Montana and now I give them out as “God Rocks” to people I feel need comfort and encouragement. I hope Jane’s story inspires you to look at ordinary rocks differently and pick one up. Use them as a wonderful, thoughtful gift that will remind someone how much you care about them and that the Lord can be their rock too.


We Are The Tree

by Amy on August 3, 2015



Ag Men and Their Tractors

by Amy on July 22, 2015


This column was originally published February 5, 2014

Just the mention of the word “tractor” or anything tractor-related piques men’s interest into lengthy conversations. The kind of conversations that allow wives enough time to get their shopping done alone without being rushed.

Men-of-the-tractor are like Southerners and their college football; they’re serious about their machines and oftentimes proudly wear their tractor manufacturer’s colors. If farmers and ranchers aren’t in their tractor working, they’re maintenancing them, buying things for them, showing them off (if it’s one they restored), dragging their wives to dealerships just to look at them, telling stories about them, occasionally cursing them, or talking shop about them.

Last windrow

What farm and ranch women don’t realize about the tractor dealerships they often get dragged to is that these businesses can serve as a very convenient and free playland for husbands on those consolidated husband-and-wife shopping trips when grocery store and department store shopping are necessary. Farm machinery dealerships are always happy to see tractor men and will give them lots of attention. Dealerships also carry parts and implements to keep tractor men occupied looking around and on special days, some dealerships will even feed husbands complimentary cookies and coffee. Ag men can wile away time waiting on their wives by looking at, trying out (aka playing with), talking about, and asking questions about tractors.

pulling the V rake with the 656 North of Pringle

Access to tractors, implements, and related merchandise curbs boredom and grumbling about wives’ lengthy shopping stops.  Such businesses are a great place for men to go who aren’t fond of crowds, shopping beyond five minutes, shopping-and-comparing, or having patience. A non-shopper or non-crowd man is much happier and content waiting on his wife if he’s got tractors he can look at or talk about. The conversations men have about tractors lead to talking about the tractor they’re restoring or currently own, tractor manufacturer comparisons, faults, and of course, men eventually discuss the tractors they remember using growing up that their fathers had.

Men who have been exposed to a tractor at any point in their life I consider to be connoisseurs. Tractor men seem to know everything about all tractors, with their M’s and A’s, H’s, and four-digit numbered tractors. And that’s not including the year of each make and model. Such conversations sound like baby gurgling noises to me, but having been exposed to numerous tractor conversations, I realize men-of-the-tractor speak the same language. One guy will nod in understanding or agreement then reply using the same alphabet and language.

What I’ve noticed about these fine pieces of machinery is that they were no doubt invented by men, for men because all tractor operating instructions are designed with men in mind. There are no words to describe how to operate these machines because all tractor companies clearly mark silhouettes of turtles and rabbits by the lever to indicate “slow” and “fast.” Manufacturers use these simple operating instructions because men prefer brevity and simplicity—which might explain why men don’t understand women as easily. The only reason instruction manuals are provided is because they are a last resort in problem solving issues. From what I’ve observed, ag men enjoy problem-solving and figuring things out for themselves and an operator’s manual is the last thing on their mind when breakdowns occur.

My knowledge of tractors includes the ones I know I can get to start and operate. It’s a good thing tractor companies don’t make operator manuals for women because my husband probably wouldn’t like seeing me take a sledgehammer to any of his tractors.

© Amy Kirk 2014



by Amy on July 20, 2015



Somebody’s Blessing

by Amy on July 15, 2015



Keep Going

by Amy on July 1, 2015




This column was originally published October 9, 2013

One of the most important virtues of ranching is having contortionist-like flexibility (metaphorically, but physical flexibility does come in handy at times). Flexibility is required when a major part of one’s life involves managing numerous animals. They can get out, knock important water tank parts loose or break stuff off that’s needed to ensure they have water, which all has to be taken care of immediately.

When it comes to a lifestyle that revolves around animals, scheduling in extra time helps in the prevention of cancelling plans because cows are just animals doing what animals do: mess up plans. Whether arrangements are made for leisure and enjoyment, appointments are scheduled, meetings are set, or kids’ sporting events are anticipated, it does not matter, animals—especially in large numbers—have a way of sensing plans that don’t pertain to them. We may think we’ve experienced every kind of cow-related setback, but they continue to show us new ways to tamper with our plans. Cows get possessive or jealous of us similar to the way dogs get mad and make a mess of things when left alone too long. The only difference is that cows do their thing right before we carry out our plans so we run late or have to cancel.

For families like us who have a cow herd and no extended family or friends close by or hired help to oversee things when we’re gone, the smart thing to do is to schedule activities with a wide margin for extra time beforehand. Remembering is the problem. Expecting setbacks and the possibility of encountering problems has always been helpful in making any plans. Many of ours have had to be canceled completely on account of getting waylaid by cows, but other times we’ve been lucky and just showed up late.

If I had a dollar for every plan, meeting, appointment, fun event, or date with girlfriends I’ve had to scratch or attend late on account of problems regarding livestock, I would have enough money for a new place with good fences, top of the line equipment and a hired man. More than once we’ve had to skip church or go to the late service. I have probably missed more meetings than I’ve attended and have showed up late to pick up kids from practice so much that scheduling setback time is becoming habit-forming. I definitely don’t plan anything for the first six weeks of calving season and after that I check with my husband first before making any committments.

Just to verify, I am not the only ranch woman who experiences such lifestyle problems. Other ranch wives and I have jokingly exchanged different plans we’ve had to cancel or show up late for because of cows. We’ve found ourselves gathering cows out of someone’s yard instead of attending a wedding ceremony, fixing fences and asking friends or family to pick up our kids from school, or pushing cows home spur of the moment and missing a class we paid money to participate in, and the list goes on.

I have spotlighted the negative aspects of having to cancel plans on account of cows, but their antics have come in handy when I would rather be messing with cows than go to a meeting or appointment I wasn’t excited about to begin with.

© Amy Kirk 2013




by Amy on June 24, 2015



My Divine Intervention Moment

by Amy on June 18, 2015

This column was originally published July 2, 2014

The day after our son’s graduation I needed to decompress stresses I’d overcome and sort out all the recent events that happened. After getting through a couple of week’s worth of anxieties, pressing to-dos, and worries I needed a long walk to quiet my mind, replenish my inner peace, and hash out all that I’d survived.

It was a pleasant Sunday evening and I started out walking around our place then hiked along the ridge all the way out to my favorite knob which is an ideal thinking spot that overlooks our home and the valley below. I sat down on my pile of rocks for sitting on and absorbed the view below me.

I spent about five minutes or so just brain dumping and taking great pleasure in knowing that a lot of my worries were now behind me. Once I was satisfied that I’d cleared my mind enough I stood up to head down the hill when I heard a distinctive buzz sound. I looked down at the ground and all I saw was a snake’s body in the shape of an S. I was too freaked out to look for its tail but assumed it was a rattlesnake. An important plot point here—I did notice that the snake was less than a foot from my feet.

I propelled about five feet down the hill to avoid getting struck, then—and don’t ask me why—I turned around to see if what I heard really was a rattlesnake or if I was catapulting to conclusions prematurely. I admit, it was a dumb time to practice facing my fear of all snakes since I didn’t bring a shovel and the only convenient rattler-killing sized rocks available were the big flat ones stacked up that the snake now claimed.

I generally only observe rattlers that are dead and rattleless, so I wasn’t 100% sure that I’d had a close encounter with a rattlesnake since I’ve avoided a live one this long. During my heightened sense of paranoia, I reasoned with myself (mostly to ease my mind) that maybe I was mistaking the buzz for a bull snake mimicking a rattler (or so I’ve been told bull snakes will do). By the time I’d long-jumped downhill and turned around I couldn’t see the snake but could still hear it buzzing, so I decided I probably didn’t need to hang out to verify my hypothesis and concluded that the good Lord had been protecting me and I shouldn’t push my luck. I determined it would be in my best interest to distance myself from the buzz regardless of my curiosity and high-tailed it downhill.

It may sound like I was lingering, but everything actually happened very quickly and it just felt like it unfolded in slow motion. My heart was triple-beating, my hands were shaking, and I was now hypersensitive to what was on the ground and under every rock outcropping.

I tried scanning the ground for other rattlers on my way to the house but I scurried downhill so carelessly that when I felt something round-shaped under my shoe I wasn’t expecting to be snake bit on the back of my left thigh—by a big fat stick. The smack of the tree branch on the back of my leg sent me into rattlesnake striking hypersensitivity orbit.

I’ve always believed in divine intervention, but now I’m a firm believer in the Lord’s sense of humor.

© Amy Kirk 2014