Are You Listening?
Krayton Kerns
2.28.07
When I was a kid, I had a listening disability. My brothers carried the trait also. (On the House Human Services Committee I’ve learned there are state programs to correct such problems all it needs is more of your tax dollars.) Dad would give us a job, lecture us about the safety procedures with this particular ranch chore, and we would nod affirmatively. Five minutes later his advice was forgotten.
It was late June when I was 10 and I was spraying weeds with my older brother Dana. (He was older…he should have known better.) We were pulling an old, red 150 gallon sprayer with a Ford 8N tractor as we battled an invasion of Canada thistle. Bolted on the top of the sprayer tank was an metal buck-rake seat which served as the work station for the operator running the spray gun. In first gear Dana would inch the tractor down the fence lines as I bounced along and sprayed the weeds.
Like all work to a ten-year old, it was boring.
On this particular day we were spraying a pasture about a mile from the house. Once the tank was empty, I coiled up the hose and took my place on the buck-rake seat. As we began the 20 minute drive home, Dana did the prohibited…he put the tractor in fourth gear. We zoomed across the meadow with me bouncing wildly around the sprayer seat. With all my strength I clutched the steel rim of the seat and strained to keep my 40 pound frame attached to the sprayer. Swinging around the last brush patch and into sight of the house, Dana dropped the tractor back to first gear and we nonchalantly poked down the driveway. Grinning, wind blown, and sporting an atomic wedgie, I peeled my fanny crack from the center ridge of the buck-rake seat and jumped to the ground. The boring task of weed spraying had changed forever.
Quickly we filled the tank with water and weed killer and rushed to deliver another load. Suddenly I understood my duty as a soldier in this war on noxious weeds. My job was critical…plus now it was my turn to drive.
Once in the pasture and with Dana firmly gripping the sprayer seat, I ground the transmission into fourth, popped the clutch and pulled the throttle wide open. My brother was in for a ride. Over the creek bottom we flew but every time Dana was airborne he managed to pull himself back to the seat. Disappointed I couldn’t throw him; I zoomed down into a gully and made a hard left. “That should do it,” I thought to myself as I looked over my left shoulder to check my results. The sprayer was gone.
Spinning quickly, I glanced to my right as the sprayer zoomed past. With Dana still clinging to the seat, the sprayer shot into the gully and stuck what was left of its tongue into the bank on the far side. The tank made an instantaneous stop ejecting Dana through a series of airborne summersaults. (Later in physics I learned this was called inertia.) Thinking the worst, I hopped off the tractor, walked over and gave him a kick. He appeared to be alive.
On closer inspection I noticed the blood was running freely down his face so I knew his heart was pumping. Before long he started chuckling, rolled over and staggered to his feet. Silently, we stood shoulder to shoulder and studied the carnage. We were brothers. We were in this together. And we were screwed.
Realizing we were going to need a log chain to extract the sprayer from the bank, we climbed on the Ford and with the front half of the broken sprayer-tongue still dragging behind the tractor, we slowly drove home. (And I mean very, very slowly.) Following our path it was obvious we had fought a tough battle with noxious weeds that afternoon. There was visible evidence of several uprooted thistle patches in the scarred ground of our wheel tracks.
Once home we met Dad in the driveway and described our version of the event. “It was metal fatigue,” we explained as we crept to a stop in front of the shop. (Metal fatigue is a tough defense for the vocabulary of a 10 year-old, but I stuck with it.)
“I told you to keep it in first gear,” Dad said as he shook his head. “Are you listening?”
Now, I told you that long story so I could tell you this short one. Several weeks ago I expressed my concern about carbon dioxide sequestration and the devastating effect it will have when public opinion targets livestock as the biggest producer of greenhouse gasses. An article in the February 20th, 2007 edition of the Christian Science Monitor proves my point:
“American meat eaters are responsible for 1.5 more tons of carbon dioxide per person than vegetarians every year,” claimed researchers at the University of Chicago.
“Livestock are one of the most significant contributors to today’s most serious environmental problems,” stated Henning Steinfield of the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations.
“Arguably the best way to reduce global warming in our lifetimes is to reduce or eliminate our consumption of animal products,” writes Noam Mohr of EarthSave International.
This session of the legislature is packed with bills addressing climate change and carbon dioxide production. As of today, environmental bills HB55, HB227, HB282 and HB779 have been killed in House committees. Coming from the Senate are SB218 and SJ20, both dealing with carbon sequestration. These bills must be killed in the House and we will need your help. The 49 House democrats will lock up tight in support of these green bills. If we lose the support of one republican the bills will pass and livestock producers will be required to open their checkbooks. Are you listening?
