Eight…..8…..Eight…..

This has to stop. I wish I had a pause button. I wish I could gather the young people that are hurting tonight and give them a warm meal, a hug and a safe place to lay their head. I wish a city in western ND didn’t have to bury the 8th student this school year. 8. Yes, you read that correctly, Eight Kids. Mental health. Car accidents. Murder. Illness. Suicide. 8.

That’s 8 less future carpenters, doctors, parents, engineers, life-savers. 8.

How many more I ask?

This is one town. In one state. In one Country. Think about that. Start doing some basic math, even if it was as low as 8 per state that still makes 400 student deaths. In one school year. A cure for cancer? Might have just died. A fix for global warming? Might have just died. The chef for you 80th Birthday party? Might have just died.

How many more I ask?

“Kids have it so easy today. Kids today are so spoiled. Kids need better parents. It’s social media’s fault. It’s all the smart phones. It’s the lack of hard, physical work. These kids just need some good, old fashioned discipline.”

Have you heard any of these? Have you said any of these?

Mental health issues suck. Depression sucks. Anxiety sucks. Feeling lost and alone sucks. Addiction sucks. As an adult with coping skills and a strong network of friends these things suck. Imagine as a kid without a strong family or without friends and certainly without some of the coping skills. You just went to the next level of “sucks.” But Death is worse.

Do you ever gather around the water cooler or break room table at work and someone comments that they are really struggling right now with anxiety? Doubtful. If someone did, would they receive support? Blank stares? Or perhaps a comment like “Oh suck it up! Put on your Big-Girl-Panties!”

Do you ever ask for recommendations for a good car mechanic? How about a dentist? Eye doctor? Restaurant? Movie reviews?

What about recommendations for a good therapist or counselor or psychologist, psychiatrist, life-coach?

Why is it so easy to ask and answer the first list of questions? Why don’t we ever ask or answer the second list? Are they not just as important? Or even MORE important?

My Tattoo from this summer. Purple for epilepsy awareness, green for Cerebral Palsy awareness, Defy Normal cuz that is what our household does.

8 Potential film directors. 8 potential restaurant owners. 8 potential therapists. 8 potential Police Officers. Gone.

When will we take action? at 10? or 12? or is it 25? 100? How many youth need to die before you decide to make a difference? Does it have to be your child? What if your loved one becomes number 9 or number 10 or number 100? Does it matter then?

How is it that we have gotten so far down this road that life does not matter any more? How is it that it is more important to have a positive image in the eyes of a friend or family member or your supervisor or your employer than it is to take care of one another?

What are you going to do? Anything? Nothing? You say it’s not your problem. Oh but it is. If you make the wise-cracks at work about kids these days, you are part of the problem. If you are the boss or the employer that is so rigid that an employee is scared to take time off to see their therapist or counselor, you are part of the problem. If you believe that the next generation should just conform to how things have always been, you are part of the problem. If you see and acknowledge the problem but still choose to do nothing, you are still part of the problem.

If you are raising young people, HUG them, love them, give them boundaries. PUT DOWN YOUR PHONE. Go out for ice cream or a frappuccino. Listen to them. Engage in what is important to them. Have some house rules and stick to them. Eat together. At a table. With no phones. Try it once….you might enjoy it. (PS doesn’t matter what you eat, take-out, cereal or a four-course meal!)

If you are not currently raising young people, get involved. Volunteer. Maybe it is to read a book to an elementary class. Maybe it is to teach a skill to a school group. Maybe you ask a youngster to help you learn your new smartphone. Show-up. Go to the basketball game. Congratulate the kid that scored. Volunteer at your local church. Mentor someone. Listen. Be the one that kid number 9 can call when they feel they have no place else to turn. Be the hug or the warm meal or a safe place to sleep.

Smile. Complement a stranger. Help a stranger. Forgive. Such a small word. Such a big impact. If someone did you wrong – forgive them. (You will never forget, but you can forgive.) There is this magical power that comes from forgiveness. It is a weight off your shoulders. That makes you a little lighter in your step.

Be kind. Every person has their own set of struggles and quite frankly you have no idea how big or small they might be. Saying “Good Morning” or opening a door or sometimes just listening can be the life vest of hope that one person needs. Because “kids these days” are watching. What you do at the grocery store, just might inspire a kid to do the same. And that may be the difference in saving number 9.

Since I started writing this a few days ago, it came to my attention that on a slippery Friday night in ND an older gentleman fell and his wife wasn’t able to help him up. She came across two high school boys and asked if they could help. Without a second thought, they did. No recognition wanted or needed. Just doing what was right. Kids these days.

Lets stop at 8. YOU can make a difference.

• Is it too risky to help someone?
• Is it too risky to save a life?
• Is saving one life worth it?

Till next time, be kind.

Deb

This tree is a favorite of so many people that grew up driving this gravel road. It stands alone, but it stands. It has faced many, many storms but still stands.

Spring. Agriculture. Hope

Spring. Many of us in the northern Midwest started to believe that mother nature deleted spring. April was cold. Dreary. And snowy. We were restless. Those of us that deal with depression and anxiety find long dreary winters to be even more difficult. I know some days it was hard to muster up the strength to get out of bed and carry on my normal routine.

Spring. Hope. When you live with the four seasons you know what to expect and you look forward to those season changes, even if you don’t like some of them, you know they are coming. When winter starts to drag on, I long for spring, for signs of black dirt in the fields and a daffodil or tulip poking through the cold ground.

Part of my perennial flower bed poking through for another year.

Hope. A sign that winter will end and we will once again have a new beginning. We will once again have a chance at new life. The kids can play outside and I can play in my flower beds. Hope.

In my career with the Farm Service Agency I have the privilege of working with farmers and ranchers from multiple counties in meeting their financial needs with loans from our agency. Hope. For another growing season for some. For others just starting out, hope for a long term opportunity to take over the family farm from the previous generation. For some, hope that if we help refinance some debt that this year will be the turning point for them again. Spring. Hope.

Hope. The feeling of something good going to happen. A feeling of trust. A belief in the future.

Agriculture is an industry built on hope. Every year you plant a tiny seed. Then hope for rain. Hope for sun. Hope for good weather. Hope for prices high enough to pay the bills. Hope.

Rockstar checking the depth of the corn seed going in his field.

Growing up on the family farm in SD, I was a young girl during the 1980’s Ag crisis. Interest rates were at an all time high of 18-20%. Most farmers have some kind of loans for land purchases, equipment purchases, or for annual operating. (Farmers have to pay for seed, fertilizer, fuel, rent and more all year but won’t receive income until the crops are harvested in the fall. Hence why banks will lend money to farmers in the spring until they harvest in the fall). These high interest rates, extreme drought in some areas, low prices and little to no crop insurance lead to many farmers declaring bankruptcy and selling out. It was hard. It was devastating. My parents like many others were heavily in debt with the local bank as well as the Farmers Home Administration (FmHA which is now called FSA – where I work).

During this time, FmHA called my parents loans. Mom and Dad hadn’t been able to make their payments so FmHA started the foreclosure process. Mom and Dad found an accountant who understood agriculture and the financial world and started to help them out. My mom still tells the story of how they were served with papers and told to show up at a certain date and time at the courthouse. They did. Their local banker was there, the accountant and “some lady from Pierre”. My mom tells of this woman walking into the courtroom with a fancy dress and high heels on. My parents had never met her or done business with her, but she was there representing FmHA . The local banker went on to say that “these were good people” and that he wanted no part of foreclosure. Mom and Dad kept the farm. There was a very small write off and some restructuring of loan terms. In the coming years, Dad sold most of his equipment, put a lot of the land into a conservation program and started working in town. So did mom. We still had pigs and the cows and some land to farm. Dad came to despise the FmHA office and as I got older he would pass the paperwork and letters to mom or I to “see what the hell they want now.” And so I spent my teenage years learning that FmHA was bad. Not to be trusted. The home of the devil himself.

Mom and Dad eventualy paid off their debts, moved to town and really lived a pretty good life.

Mom and Dad’s house. Built on the farm in 1960 then moved to town in 2001.

I went off to college, met my farm boy and knew I was headed to a life in agriculture. You see I loved agriculture just not FmHA. Fast forward to 2008 and there was a job opening with the Farm Service Agency. I needed a change from the bank and this would give me a chance to work directly with farmers. I took the job. I called home and told Mom and Dad worried what they would say. Dad’s comment was why in the world would I ever choose to work there. I assured him that things had changed and that I was working with farm programs not loans. I had no intention of ever crossing that line.

Late 2016 an opportunity came along for me to become a FLOT (Farm Loan Officer Trainer). There would be upward mobility if I wanted it. It would be a challenge to learn something new again. But……how could I work there. Mom asked if I had my head on straight. I figured if Dad were alive he’d tell me I was completely crazy.

I took the job. I struggled. Seriously struggled with the fact that I did this. How could I knowingly choose to be that person that puts farmers out of business? I still occasionally see my Life coach aka therapist and in discussing this she reminded me that I was no longer that scared young teenager living at home wondering what would happen to my whole life when that next letter came from the FmHA office. I was fully in control of my life and most importantly, in control of how I treated my farmers. Whoa. Things that happen in your childhood really can affect your adult life. Game changer.

We then attend the ND Farm Bureau annual meeting and hear about how a certain county’s farm loan staff in the state was treating farmers very poorly. It made my blood boil. Then and there I vowed to always do my best to treat my farmers with the respect and kindness they deserve, even in giving bad news. Everyone deserves kindness. It is now my mission to change people’s perceptions of the Farm Service Agency, specifically the farm loan departments, one farmer at a time. I cannot change the world, but I can change a day or two in the world of each farmer I work with. It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it.

Full circle. I’ve come a long way. From the kid helping Mom and Dad, believing that “those people that worked there” were horrible and anti-farmer, to working there and trying every day to show my belief and support for all those in agriculture. Hope. For myself and hopefully I can give a little hope to my farmers as well.

Rockstar filling the corn planter with seed for his field.

Times in agriculture are tough again. Prices that farmers pay for seed, fertilizer, fuel, land, equipment keep climbing while the price they are paid for their product is low, for some commodities like milk and dairy, so low that dairy farms are forced to quit nearly every day. Corn price is about the same as it was in the mid-1970’s. I can guarantee you that no expense is the same as 40 some years ago. I know that at some time in my career, I will be in the position of telling a farmer that he has to quit. My hope is that I will have built a relationship with them so maybe, with time, they won’t hate me but know that sometimes things don’t work. Hopefully that time doesn’t come along for a long time.

Agriculture is about generations and families. My great-great grandparents came from Russia to the USA and homesteaded in Emmons county, ND. That farm is still in the family. That is a point of pride in my family history on mom’s side. (A large family reunion was held on the homestead in 2000. Read about it here: https://library.ndsu.edu/grhc/outreach/reunion/vfvetter.html)

The third generation is now living on the farm where I grew up just down the road from the farm where my dad grew up. My parents bought the farmstead when they got married and built it from bare land to all that stands there now. My sister and her family bought and moved to the farmstead when mom and dad moved to town. Now my nephew has purchased a few acres and built a hop (house and shop all as one building. It’s cool!)

My nephew’s Hop (part house part shop).

Hope for the future. Maybe someday a fourth generation will live and farm there. Who knows!

Today, my Rockstar is in MN planting his 20 acres of corn. He is 14. The Farm Service Agency in MN gave him a $5000 operating loan. Grandpa is helping him out with equipment and guidance and more. This is a huge opportunity for him and I am proud to work for the agency that helps the next generation get started. Hope. For a good crop. Hope for the future. Hope for agriculture.

The next generation. Lots of people are pretty proud of this young man.

This spring, watch for tractors and slow moving vehicles on the road. Slow down. Pass with care. The farmers in those rigs are going to work just like you. Support farmers and agriculture. Thank them for growing the food you eat, the clothes you wear and the fuel you put in your vehicle.

Grandpa Doug’s IH 1456 ready to go to the field to get it ready to plant.

When you see tractors, please slow down!

Till next time,

Deb

For more information on any of the Farm Service Agency programs or loans please check out https://www.farmers.gov/ or let me know and I can get you contact info for your local office where ever you may live.

The Elephant In The Room.

Anxiety…. according to the dictionary anxiety is a “feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.” As much as I enjoy writing, this is very hard. All of us will deal with some level of anxiety at some point or several points in our life. But when is it too much? According to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) “people with generalized anxiety disorder display excessive anxiety or worry for months. Symptoms can include restlessness, feeling on the edge, fatigue, irritability and more.”

What I do know is I finally recognized and admitted to some symptoms of anxiety and depression and sought help. My life has changed. As many as one and three people deal with some form of mental health issues like depression and anxiety at some point in their life. Which means there are a lot more individuals surrounding us that are dealing with these “elephants in the room” then what we know. I remember growing up and people talking about people that took pills for their nerves or that had a mental breakdown. My only thought of mental health issues were the extreme cases. In college some of my best friends dealt with depression but I really didn’t know what to think, how to help, or what to do. It was easier to simply ignore that part and build our friendship on so many other things. I have some very good friends who’s family members have dealt with severe depression. It has been an eye-opener.

Time to break the stigma

Time to break the stigma

What about me? It was February of 2015 when I finally admitted that I could not live the way I was anymore. I was angry. I was extremely irritable. I was tired. I felt stuck with my career. I felt like I was constantly surrounded by a great big gray cloud. I told myself I had no reason to feel this way. We had recently bought our home in the country. My boys were healthy and happy. We had a fabulous school, daycare, and friends close by. I have an amazing man I call my husband who loves me more than I could ever imagine. So in my mind I kept telling myself to just get over it. Look at all those other people with things so much worse than me. But I just couldn’t break it.

The Tipping Point? One night Little Bear decided to pour his own milk without assistance which resulted in a spill. I flipped out. I yelled at him. The look on his face will be forever etched in my memory. I cried. I called my doctor the next day. In visiting with her she said you are suffering from depression and anxiety. Wow. At the time I was reluctant to accept that. We talked. She prescribed a low dose antidepressant and said to call if anything came up and see her again in a month. I admit I felt defeated. I somehow felt inferior or less able because I couldn’t snap out of it on my own.

I’m a reader. I read lots of books and news articles and realized she was right. Then this amazing thing happened after starting on antidepressants my mood started to brighten and the irritability went away. Fast forward to today. I switched my meds a few times and started seeing a counselor therapist life coach as well. And through all of this I am happier now. I am stronger now. I am more focused now. I am a better wife. And most importantly I am a better mom.

The Reason Why I do what I do. Little Bear at the bike rodeo last fall.

The Reason Why I do what I do. Little Bear at the bike rodeo last fall.

Raising a child with special healthcare needs adds a tremendous amount of stress to a person and a family. Some studies say that parents of children with autism exhibit the same symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder as soldiers coming back from combat. It is always being at a heightened sense of awareness 24/7/365. It’s the lack of sleep. It’s the constant doctor appointments and meetings to schedule and keep track of. It’s the fear that grips your heart every time your phone rings and it’s from school, daycare or the doctor’s office. Because every email, every text, every phone call has the potential to rock your entire world to the core. And until you have lived with a child with a disability it’s really hard to understand what anxiety really means. I have many friends with kids with disabilities. And the more we talk and the more we share the more I see myself in them. I am no longer ashamed to admit that I need help. I think we all need help in some ways at some time in our life. I have struggled to admit this to my own family and some of my friends but not anymore. Nobody says that you have to go on an antidepressant. Nobody says you have to see a counselor/therapist/life coach. Nobody wants to say I need help.

So this is my way of giving myself permission to say I need help and I’m getting help. Hopefully one person out there reading this will have the courage to admit that they to need help.

Maybe you need to call your pastor. Maybe you just need a visit with a trusted friend. Maybe you really just need somebody to come and help you clean your house or rake your yard or maybe make a meal. If someone approaches you and asks for a listening ear or a little help – give it. You may not know what that person is truly dealing with right now and you might just be enough to give them the strength and ability to face another day.

Why write about this now? You see my employer had the opportunity to allow an individual with a disability who is working with the vocational rehabilitation program to come into our office for a couple hours a week as a volunteer/job shadow to get a feel for what opportunities might exist for this individual. The majority of our office personnel are on board. But after two days of this individual coming to our office I find myself extremely anxious when this person is there. It has nothing to do with the person’s ability actually they do a fabulous job. It’s attitude I sense from others. It’s the attitude of why do we have to do this? Why did this person have to come here. What if something bad happens? What if…what if…what if… It almost feels like discrimination.

Then my Fierce Mama Bear personality takes over and I start to worry about the Discrimination little Bear is going to face someday. I fear for the discrimination Nate and I have or will have to face as parents of a child with special needs. I feel angry. Angry that we live in a world that still finds it okay to discriminate on the basis of anything. I’m angry at myself for all those times in my life that I discriminated against someone. Thankfully because of where I am at in life and the meds I take, the counselor I see and the amazing friends and family I have, I can tell myself that it’s okay. Because of my faith I can say a prayer and ask for forgiveness for all the times I was guilty of discrimination and I can say a prayer to forgive others for their acts of discrimination. And I can take that anger and use it as fuel to further my advocacy skills. It’s my job to do whatever I can to ensure a little less discrimination for Little Bear. It’s my job to get him involved so he makes friends that’ll have his back and that will be there for him.

You see anxiety doesn’t hold me hostage any more. I am using it to make myself a better person. A better friend. A better wife. A better mom. And a better advocate. So hopefully I can make the world a better place for my sons.

If you or someone you know is facing anxiety or depression or any thoughts of hopelessness or suicide, please reach out to someone. Anyone. A phone call, a text, an email, anything to anyone. You matter. And there is help.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Everyone has a reason to take care of themselves…these 3 are mine.

Everyone has a reason to take care of themselves...these 3 are mine.