Columns

Farmland a precious commodity — J. David Miller

Many of us have fond memories of Howevalley School. I attended the school from 1956-57 as a first grader and again in 1963-64 as a seventh and eighth grader. Bill Goodman was the principal and his stern looks sometimes were all that was needed to straighten up mischief. The whole community from Cecilia all the way to the Grayson County line would show up for fall festivals and ballgames. It was like a community social.

It’s a compulsion.

When a light is on in an empty room, I feel compelled to step inside and flip the switch.

It can be annoying to others. Folks here at work think so and sometimes actually say as much.

I know it’s annoying because it was annoying when my father did it. When I reach for the switch, I sometimes hear the echo of his forcible voice asking once again, “When you pay the light bill, maybe you’ll learn to flip this switch?”

So you see, it’s one of those family-imposed compulsions.

We go through life being touched daily by our church, our family, our co-workers and we try to support and encourage others. We live by the Golden Rule and work hard in doing the right things.

Then out of the blue there comes an experience that humbles us. It makes us stop and refocus. It makes us think about our impact and influence on our community. It makes us question our efforts. We wonder if we could and should do more.

Such an experience has touched my life during the past few months.

My 10-year-old cat, Hobbes, has a great life. His bowl is always filled with dry food that, according to package copy, is especially blended for a cat his age. Between 5 and 6 p.m. each day, he gets a touch of gourmet canned food. He gets well-kitty vet care and immediate medical attention if he’s not feeling well. He has cat beds near my workstation and my husband’s, yet prefers lounging in our laps or on our paper stacks.