Years ago, I decided that I wanted a career in agriculture.

Those two things intersect in a very real way, even if it isn’t really very clear from a flyover level. But, a step back into the basics of each shows the common thread.

Eating disorders happen when someone’s view of reality is warped in relation to food. Agriculture is the means through which we produce our food. I have an incredibly complicated relationship with food, individually. Food is comfort, familiarity, memories, and nourishment. Food is also an unhealthy coping mechanism, a temptation, and a source of anxiety. Food is a requirement, and at times feels like a necessary evil.

But, the industry that creates that food is one full of good, honest, hardworking people leading a lifestyle that I at times miss and always admire. The rural lifestyle. It’s full of big skies, open air, the smell of rain on green plants, dirt roads, and dreams wider than the prairie. My life is drastically different these days than I ever thought it’d be. I live downtown, and have a view of the Kansas City high rises, just blocks away in the business district, from my living room window. (By the way, I love where my life is right now.) Two very major things remain the same, though: I am still a recovering bulimic, and I am still in love with agriculture.

So, how do I reconcile this complicated relationship? How do I handle being surrounded by food, entrenched in communicating the processes through which it is produced, when food itself carries a pretty significant weight in my life? It definitely takes perspective, and support. While most of the time I can go through my life without “feeling” my eating disorder, when it does rear its ugly head I do have to work hard at maintaining some normalcy. This is always hard when I’ve had a “rocky period” with my other “demon,” bipolar disorder. If you caught this recent post about my experiences with bipolar disorder, you might know that those periodic spurts of instability can be very…un-fun. (I’m fine, I will be fine. I’m like a Super Ball, I can bounce like crazy but I’m hella hard to break.)

Tack on a busy-hectic-wonderful period involving some rapidfire projects and work and some awe-inspiring philanthropic experiences lately, and Spring 2013 was pretty pressure-dense for a while. (I should clarify, I’m fine. I’m happy. I’m healthy. I just have to work hard to stay that way sometimes.)

But, what’s the biggest secret to finding balance between my emotional-baggage-laden relationship with food, and working in an industry where I’m inundated with food-related stuff?

Love. I love the people. I love the products. I love the lifestyle and the jargon and the work. I love my job. I love my career. And that love has made me find balance, not just in where eating disorders and agriculture cross, but life in general. Food isn’t evil. Food doesn’t have a consciousness and it isn’t seeking to hurt me. Food is actually quite wonderful, just like the people who grow it. In fact, I love food. It emits memories and culture and sentiment. The problem with food is how I handle it, or have handled it in the past. I take accountability for the complications in this relationship.

Once upon a time, this was how I’d spend a normal Friday night in October. Harvesting, taking in God’s amazing work from the seat of a tractor or combine or truck. Being a part of our food system.

And this is just one instance of how complicated food is. This is just my story about how complicated food can be. That isn’t considering food intolerances like celiac disease and lactose intolerance, and other physical aspects of food choice. (Although, my infractions in the past have definitely impacted what my body can handle.) My story doesn’t touch on why some people choose food for ethical, moral, or sentimental reasons. It doesn’t acknowledge the jargon and labels and stories and mindsets that impact the complicated choices of food in our society.

Everyone has a story and a reason for how they feel about food. Mine stems from a complicated past, one I’m not proud of but one that is very much a part of who I am; a past that includes countless hours helping to produce food, but also fighting with food…a past that I want to use to help people now. It impacts how I behave at restaurants, how I plan my meals, or how I time my trips to the snacks at a party. It’s the reason my refrigerator and freezer look the way they do. But my love of agriculture allows me to understand the greater food system.

This was my lunch at the Iowa Hunger Summit Luncheon in Des Moines in October of 2012. It’s a blend of rice, vegetables, and a protein powder that can affordably brings hunger relief to impoverished areas. To some people, “food” in general is something that they are just grateful to have.

So, knowing my own complicated story with food, it saddens me to see how segregating food can be. Whether you’re a meat-eater, vegetarian, vegan, locavore, organic foodie, or just some average Joe who walks into the grocery store and buys what’s on sale, everyone has a food story. Rather than pass judgment on the weird girl who eats slow at the restaurant because the portions are big and tempting, let’s work at recognizing that each and every one of us has developed our food habits and consciousness through a different set of experiences.

Let’s seek to understand each other. There’s more than one right approach to the complicated relationship with food.

• eCommerce intern for Futureceuticals, Inc.
• Communications intern for Illinois Corn Marketing Board
• Marketing and Communications intern for North Central College
• Multimedia intern for the AgChat Foundation
• Social Media intern for Charleston|Orwig
• Social Media intern for AdFarm (Sacramento)

In those four years, I started multiple blogs (all of which have consolidated into Country Nights, City Lights here on KellyMRivard.com). Friends and colleagues began to use the hashtag #KellytheIntern (we miss you, Chris), and I met amazing people who changed my life. Friends, mentors, lifetime role models, and people who helped me grow into someone more mature, more levelheaded, more experienced, and more open-minded than I ever thought I could be.

Friends I got to know because of these experiences have stuck around years after we stopped being “colleagues.” This is Mike, and this picture is part of a long-running joke about pink John Deere shirts.

I graduated from college just under 13 months ago. I started as a full-time AdFarmer 13.5 months ago.

As a “grown-up” with a little more real-world experience, how did those internships shape me? Professionally, personally?

A lot. I would not be where I am without them. The value of those internships goes far and above “just” my resumé. It wasn’t just job experience and references that I gained.

Internships took me out of my comfort zone. Because of Illinois Corn internship, I discovered blogging. Because of AgChat Foundation, I discovered how much I LOVED realtime social coverage. Because of Charleston|Orwig, I was able to live outside of Illinois for the first time in my life. Because of AdFarm, I took the journey of a lifetime.

I enjoyed my first-ever room service with other AdFarmers in a hotel room, during a conference call, while on a business trip in Bakersfield, California.

Really, these internships, each one, played a big part in me finding out who I wanted to be. They helped me figure out a picture of the adult Kelly that I could appreciate. AdFarm’s willingness to take a midwestern college student and give her the opportunity of a lifetime, to live and travel around California while discovering her passions, was pivotal.

But, there’s more to the story. There’s more than just what I did in my job. There are people who changed my life.

Katie Pinke was my “non-boss” at AdFarm during my Sacramento internship (she did not want me to call her my “boss”). Strong, opinionated, outspoken, but also nurturing and empathetic, Katie was what I needed in my life. While I was well into my recovery from bulimia when I went to California, as I prepared to go back to “life as usual” for my senior year of college, I got edgy. I got scared. I wasn’t ready to go back to Illinois. I had found so much happiness in California. I was happy working for AdFarm.

I relapsed. I relapsed pretty hard. The stress of going back sent my bipolar disorder off-kilter, and the bulimia followed suit. Katie, and other co-workers, knew. They confronted me about it. And Katie gave me the tough love I needed. She told me that she was sure AdFarm would consider hiring me after college. She had been talking with the powers-that-be that would make that happen. But, she would not allow them to hire me if she did not think I was capable of taking care of myself. Advertising was too stressful for someone with bad coping habits, and she cared too much to let me walk into that situation.

I got my act together, and headed home with a fresh tally of “__ Days Since Last Relapse.” And I’m not perfect. There have been other, small relapses. But in California, I saw how happy I was capable of being. I found a goal to shoot for and a reason to REALLY care. The wake-up call I had in California led me to the wellness I have now. And, and that wellness has been invaluable in gaining and flourishing in the job of my dreams.

Katie has since gone to other professional opportunities, but she’s still one of my biggest cheerleaders and fantastic mentors.

So what have internships given me? A hell of a lot more than just a few lines on my resumé. They’ve given me perspective, courage, enthusiasm, inspiration, passion, and vision. They’ve given me one-of-a-kind, life-changing experiences. They’ve given me confidence, and class. And I know way more about the hugely diverse and exciting industry that brings us our food and many other products. I have a deeper love and broader understand of agriculture. That’s all made me a better professional, and a better person.

Should you do internships? Hell yes.

Go out there. Get an internship. Or six. Change your life. Shape your career. And kick ass.

Mr. Eddy teaching about cows. Yes, they are doing that thing I did with a cow once.

If God made a farmer, it couldn’t have been too long after that he realized he needed an Ag Teacher.

He must have realized that he needed someone that could teach animal science digestion principles, read financial balance sheets, teach vegetative plant cuttings and differentiate the instruction for each of his students – all in a day’s work.

Someone who could corral the ornery nature of a teenage boy in a mechanics lab and help a shy girl find her voice for public speaking.

Someone who would be equal parts task-master and fun-lover; getting more work done by 5th period than most would all day and helping students realize it was fun doing it.

Someone who could speak loud enough to inspire their charges to attain new heights of achievement and yet remember to remain silent enough to allow them to learn to climb on their own.

Someone who could fill a 40 hour week by Wednesday, then spend two more nights working with Career Development Event teams, weigh lambs for state fair all day on Saturday and then create lessons for Monday morning.

Teaching Agriculture is certainly the toughest job you will ever love (borrowing a phrase from the Peace Corp). I am of the opinion that no other career could offer the daily challenges, the momentous tasks and make the rewards so uplifting as teaching agriculture.

Some ask me what I teach, to which I reply… ‘Kids’. – Agriculture just happens to be my particular choice for context. I have been teaching at Southeast Polk for 9 years now and 14 overall. My program teaches STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Math) concepts with an agricultural flavor. The subject material ranges from Agriculture Food and Natural Resources topics, to biotechnology, and from greenhouse operations to an advanced animal science class that manages a herd of 23 cows for the Animal Learning Center at the Iowa State Fair. It’s usually never dull.

Ag Teachers across the country are spending their efforts in the education of the future of agriculture. We are working hard to make a difference in those youth who have determined that they have a passion for our profession of agriculture. Someday they will be the farmers, merchants, scientists and policy makers of our future – and maybe even a few will choose to teach others.

We invest our time because we ‘believe in the future of agriculture, with a faith born not of words, but of deeds.’ Hi, I’m Agriculture, and teach tomorrows agricultural leaders.

See the blog of agriculture teachers from across the country as we live a Day in the Life of an Ag Teacher or follow the fun on Twitter @AgEd4ME

You can also learn more about Mr. Eddy by checking out this great blog post and video by my friend, Janice Person!

My brother, myself, and my mama — the day I moved to Kansas City from Illinois.

Luckily, I had plenty to do with friends (and Nightwolf) so, I kept busy. But, this isn’t about me. It’s about my mama. The day after Mother’s Day, we go back to “life as usual” — Mother’s Day is a day on the calendar that we celebrate, and then we go back to our everyday lives. Now, maybe I’m just a bit biased because my mom is the coolest, but I’m going to try and stretch it out a little longer. I mean, our moms are moms all year round. I personally think one day is kind of a measly thank you.

I mean, not only did Mama give me life, she taught me how to live, and live well. Here’s some of the greatest lessons she’s given me:

1. Stand tall. Mama is a respect-commanding 5’2″. (She looks tall next to me, standing an intimidating 4’10″.) Whether it was physically, or theoretically in the face of a challenge, my mom is pretty good and holding her head high and standing her ground. Factor in the stubbornness and temper I was known for as a teenager and you can imagine things got pretty explosive.
   
2. Love deeply. I mean, this is a given. My mama loves me, night and day, even from 500 miles away. She supports me in my crazy endeavors, and even if she doesn’t support something I DO she still loves me. That’s pretty cool stuff there, folks.
   

   Mama paid for eight years of private flute lessons for me. She drove me to contests, concerts, band camps, honor bands at colleges that were hours away from home. She helped run the band boosters, she bought instruments and uniforms. In college, she drove nearly two-hours one way just to see my concerts. This is after one of those college concerts. She knew I loved playing the flute, so she did everything she could to enable it.

3. Forgive others. Things don’t always go right in life, and people don’t always live up to our hopes and expectations. Sometimes, others can hurt us — even those we are closest to. No matter how many times I or a sibling sassed back, no matter how many times another family member did something inconsiderate or hurtful, she has forgiveness to offer up. And after that, she typically transitions back into Lesson #2, Love.
4. Protect family. “Family” is a loose term. I have many friends who have grown up knowing my mother as “Mama Joy” — a second mama. But, once you are in the family, you are to be loved and protected and supported. I’ll never forget when a high school English teacher accused me of plagiarism. Holy smokes, there was an aftermath. (This lesson is probably why I got in a shouting match with a drunk man on the sidewalk once because he tried to pick up my dog, who was terrified of him. Don’t mess with my dog, people.)
5. Make time. For what? For the things that matter. For family, for friends, for pets, for quiet moments, for nature, for the things that matter. Mama has spent most of her life taking care of others and being way too busy, yet I still have some pretty fantastic memories of sitting on our back deck with her, watching the sunset. Or, drinking morning coffee. Or, just relaxing. Now her quiet moments are spent watching the river, and walking in the woods, punctuated by the pandemonium that her grandchildren bring. (I’m the youngest of four, and I have several nieces and nephews.) Whether it’s a raucous occasion where my entire loud family gets together, or a calm moment of bonding between her and my stepfather by the bonfire, or an energetic phone call with me, she makes time for the things that truly matter in life.
   

   Mama and my stepdad with two of their grandkids on the boat in Illinois.

6. Say no. Not all the time. Not every day. But, now and then, learn to say “no” when someone asks you for something. My mother is one of the most generous, giving people I know. Even when she doesn’t have much to give, she gives what she DOES have. Sometimes what she gives is time, energy, and compassion, sometimes it’s more concrete than that. But, she also knows the value of saying “no.” We can’t be everything to everyone, and sometimes taking care of ourselves and our own matters more. I struggle with this lesson, but I’m getting better.
7. Say yes. And on the flip-side, say yes to the strange opportunities that life brings you. Say yes to the little voice in your head or the feeling in your gut that tells you that this is what you’re meant to do. Say yes to faith, to hunches, and to serendipity. Sometimes life hands us things we don’t expect — sometimes we can’t fully understand them until down the road. But, sometimes you come to that intersection where “once in a lifetime” meets “time for action” and you jump. There’s a few of those times I remember from childhood, but she and my stepdad turning an abandoned track of forest into a home is a great example. And, it showed me that taking that leap can be good. And here I am in Kansas City, the happiest I’ve been in a long time.
8. Have faith. This goes hand-in-hand with #7, but is probably even deeper-rooted. Sometimes, our “leaps” don’t work out, but both my mother and I believe that happens for a reason. Sometimes, we have to deal with disappointment to learn and grow. Whether it’s the faith that God will provide and everything will work out, or the faith that when it doesn’t something better will come together, faith is important.

These are just a sample of the amazing lessons I’ve learned from an amazing woman. Here’s to many mother Mother’s Days to you, Mama. Thank you for helping me grow into the quirky, driven, creative, compassionate, strong individual I am.

The Gladiola Festival has always been a big part of my life. In my 20-something years on this Earth, I’ve only missed it twice — once because I was living in California, and once because I was freshly-relocated to Kansas City. I may miss it again this year…that’s to be determined yet. But, the culinary highlight of Glad Fest (which is saying something, because it’s always a very food-filled festival) is, for me, the bits ‘n fixin’s.

At the Flea Market that happens on the Saturday and Sunday of Glad Fest at the Island Park, there’s a food cart that shows up every year. It’s unassuming, smaller than most, and has a rustic chuck wagon feel to it. It’s a stark contrast to the lit up carnival-style carts that surround it with deep-fried everything and foods on sticks that aren’t typically served on sticks. I’m not even sure what the cart itself is called, but they serve it: bits ‘n fixin’s.

When my older brother left for the military, he taught himself out to make this masterpiece to make up for missing Gladiola Festival. Then, he taught me. This “recipe” isn’t an exact science, at all — more of a folklore of food that isn’t really taught, but FELT.

By the way, this is the brother who figured out the science to the perfect homemade bits ‘n fixin’s. Keepin’ it classy, broseph.

You start with beef.

Sirloin.

The first thing you do is you take that magical cut of mouth-watering beef and you cube it. These are the “bits” in bits ‘n fixin’s. You don’t want the cubes to be too big, less than an inch or so. Then, you take red-skinned potatoes (yes, they must be red-skinned). You cube them suckers up, too. You cube ‘em up real good. Then, you take some green bell pepper, and you hull them, and you cut them into less-than-an-inch pieces, too. Then you take some onion, and you cut those up.

You heat up a cast iron skillet. (You use anything but cast iron and I will come find you and grab you by the collar and shake you. There may be crying involved and it just won’t be pretty.) (Legally, I think I need to add a disclaimer that that is a joke and not a real threat.)

Now, this is where things go from “amazing” to “HOLY WOW AWESOME, BATMAN.” You take butter (or margarine, whichever floats your boat) and you put a lot of it into that skillet. Then you add your sirloin, potatoes, onion, and green bell peppers and you add them to your awesome buttery cast iron skillet.

Then, you season it. Our combo goes as follows:

• Cilantro
• Parsley
• Basil
• Garlic
• Salt
• Pepper

Obviously you can do whatever you want here, but this is the mix that my brother uses and it’s dynamite. Seriously, years of childhood memories and family gatherings during the Glad Fest are running through my mind as I think about this.

Anyways, you cook your bits ‘n fixin’s in that hot skillet until the meat is done to your liking and the potatoes are soft. The onions and peppers will work with the butter to give the potatoes and meat a nice flavorful sort of buttery glaze.

Scoop servings into bowls and use dinner rolls (white, or whole grain for some added nutrition) to sop up juices. It’s amazing. It’s wonderful. It’s comfort food, but wholesome and hearty. And if you ever need something easy to take out to a bunch of hungry farmers during a busy season, it’s a big hit. (Be sure to bring proper eating utensils — paper bowls and disposable silverware are a must!) It’s also great for camping trips, because cast iron and camping go together like…uh, bits ‘n fixin’s. Yeah. It also stores well as leftovers and reheats easily. It’s like, the meal of kings. Not that kings are likely to reheat leftovers in the microwave…I think…

Ingredient List

• Sirloin steak (as much as you dang-well please)
• Red-skinned potatoes (as much as you dang-well please, but be sensitive to the beef-potato ratio)
• Green bell peppers (see “Red-skinned potatoes”)
• Onion (see “Green bell peppers”)
• Butter or margarine (LOTS OF IT)
• Cilantro, parsley, basil, garlic, salt, pepper, and/or whatever seasonings you deem worthy of this meal of kings

And because I love Glad Fest, and my family, and don’t have any pics on hand of bits ‘n fixin’s, here’s some other photos:

My possum-taming brother and his Mini Me watching a Glad Fest parade, circa 2010.

My family has a long history of dynamic floats, including this one. The theme was “Gone Country” so we line-danced on a moving float for two entire parades. Safe? No. Were there injuries? Yes. Was it worth it? I think so.

Where can you get Cinderella and a Kangaroo together in the middle of the street? Glad Fest. I got to play Cinderella on a float that year and somehow my sister and her friend Stew managed to snag a picture of all of us with a giant red kangaroo during the parade.

If you didn’t see the poll about what to call my boyfriend when it was live yesterday, I essentially explained a little bit about his personality quirks and our dynamic as a country-girl-city-boy couple and threw out a list of suggestions. Here’s the list:

• Nightwolf — his suggestion/idea. I asked off the cuff for an idea of what he wanted to be called, and he shot this back almost instantaneously.
• Huckleberry — my friend Brooke Clay of Rural Gone Urban suggested this one from the classic movie Tombstone, because it’s fantastic and western and wonderful.
• The Jedi — Despite seeming like I put a lot of myself on the Internet, for the deeper aspects of emotions (and relationships) I tend to be pretty flighty. I joke with my boyfriend about how he used some sort of Jedi mind tricks to get me to open up to him easily, and not freak out when I’d typically trip over myself trying to run away as fast as possible.
• Kevin — submitted by a reader, I’m not sure which though. I have no idea why, but I got a really good belly laugh out of it when I added it to the list; it’s especially funny because my boyfriend has a friend whose cat is named Kevin and stories about the cat are a good source of laughter.
• Blogomous Maximus — I feel like my older brother submitted this one, and I had to include it because it’s so ridiculous and hilarious. I would have used Maximus for short.

So, what ended up winning?

Sometimes, the Internet hands you things that are perfect for the situation, and it’s wrong not to share them. This epic picture, the context of which I don’t understand, is one of those things.

Friends, readers, lurkers, creepers, family, and wonderful strangers of the Internet: meet Nightwolf.

The first picture we ever took together, on one of our first dates. He took me to the Sea Life Aquarium here in Kansas City. The original picture is super dark and I tried to “save” it with Instagram.

Note how big and goofy my smile is, and how chill and laid back Nightwolf is? That’s a pretty clear representation of how our relationship dynamic seems to work.

The nickname Nightwolf won by a pretty decent lead, with Huckleberry in a comfortable-but-not-close second place.

I should point out, I don’t intend for this blog to be a dating and relationship blog. I don’t plan on raving about how wonderful Nightwolf is (although he is absolutely wonderful) in every single post. But, Nightwolf has become a pretty big part of my life, and as this blog is essentially about that — my life — I want to have the option to write about it.

I’ll try my best to reserve the more estrogen-laden stories of romance and adorableness for special occasions. (I’ve already gotten texts for my male ag blogging contemporaries about how “gushy” and “romantic” and “girly” the last post was. Sorry I’m not sorry.) And I’ll still be covering the other subjects I often mull over on this blog: agriculture, food, eating disorders, mental health, optimism, and the human spirit. Oh, and my pets.

Psh, you think I’d quit blogging about my cat just because I found a boyfriend? Please, let’s be real here.

So, Internet, I hope you’re ready for Nightwolf. Here’s hoping I have many more adventures with my fantastic “city boy!”

But, he needs a blog-friendly nickname. What shall we call him? When I asked him what he wanted his “codename” to be, he asked if he could be Nightwolf. Well, yes, that’s cool. I laughed out loud and thought, “This is why I love you,” when he said that. We decided, however, maybe a poll would be more fun.

So, here we are.

I’ll tell you guys a little bit about him and we’ll vote.

This boyfriend of mine is kind-hearted. He has a dog that totally doesn’t fit the mold on what kind of dogs single guys should have. He saw her at the shelter when she was on death row, and he knew he had to save her. He’s involved in some cool non-profit work, and even spent a few hours with me at Relay For Life while I was running around helping with the event and raising money for the American Cancer Society.

He’s also a huge softy for my tiny dog. He willingly walks her with a pink leash or carries her around when we take her places. (I’ll be buying a “boyfriend-friendly” leash soon, though.) The first time he came to my apartment, he had roses and Italian carry-out for me and fancy treats for Rory. Friends, that’s some chivalry there.

Yes, he willingly carries this tiny lap dog around. And the Fredcat even likes him!

I am spoiled.

He’s freaky-smart, and also works in digital communications. His specialty in digital work is mind-boggling to me. Like me, he’s a geek. He said he knew he had to woo me when, during our early courtship, he found out I own an Avengers t-shirt and Yoda slippers.

This is the photo that caught his eye.

Another cool thing is, he’s also really supportive of the other things I geek out about, like art and music, and especially agriculture. When I have a random ag nerd moment about our food or a momentary rant about some misconception in agriculture, he’s very encouraging and accepting of it. I’m not sure he entirely understands the “why agriculture” part but he’s on-board with my passion about it. That’s cool, friends.

I guess I should point out, he’s a suburban guy. And he’s completely taken me off-guard and swept this country girl off her feet. I never thought that would happen, esteemed readers. I tend to be pretty trigger-shy about things like romance. It was always easy for my to run away in the past. And being “too city” was always an excuse not to give a guy a chance. This guy, though…this guy.

On a regular basis, he mind-boggles me with his laid-back demeanor about the curveballs life throws at us. In the two months we’ve been together, both of us have had some pretty, uh, “exciting” situations arise in our lives. He’s been fantastic. Even when stressed beyond belief, he’s been fantastic. This is just one more way in which I am unbelievably blessed.

Oy, I can feel that goofy, giant, girly smile on my face right now.

So, here’s the poll. If you suggest new ideas, please be nice. I’m a big fan of this guy, I’d like to keep him around and having my blog readers scare him away would not bode well for that.

After he has a proper nickname, I might even include a picture or two of him. Until then, happy polling!

There’s MANY reasons why May is a fantastic month. Now, I like a lot of months. In fact, all months have something to offer us. My sunshiney inner-optimist is all about how fantastic the whole year is! But, May is special. Why?

May is Beef Month.

Like red meat? So do I. In the top 20 situations where I am happiest, chances are 15-17 of them involve me somehow feeding my voracious inner-carnivore. I have lots of fond memories of eating beef with my family — whether it was beef from my uncle’s place, or calves that we finished ourselves, beef was a family affair in our family. My mom isn’t a big meat eater, but my dad was, and every single one of his kids inherited that gene.

One half of the Rivard rascals in the pasture with some of our bottle calves. The one with big black spots was T-Bone, the one with little spots was Porterhouse, and they were bull calves from a local dairy.

But, beef is way bigger than just my family traditions and satiating my velociraptor-style cravings.

Here’s some facts to “beef up” your May Beef Month knowledge:

• Texas, Nebraska, Missouri, Oklahoma, and South Dakota are the top beef producing states in the U.S., in that order
• There are 742,000 cow herds in the U.S.
• 90% of the cow herds in the U.S. have under 100 cows (next time someone says that small farms are dying out, you tell them this)
• Beef is rich in zinc, iron, and protein — in fact, when I know I’m going to be donating blood, I conscientiously eat more beef in the days leading up to offset my anemia (Beef: Saving Lives, One Pint of O+ at a Time!)

An AMAZING burger that I ate in Wisconsin a few months ago.

And, beef just keeps getting better. According to research done by leading beef sustainability expert Dr. Jude Capper, massive leaps and bounds have occurred in beef sustainability. Comparing 1977 to 2010, each pound of beef produced used:

• 10% less feed energy (i.e., the feed didn’t need to be as nutrient-dense)
• 20% less feedstuffs overall
• 30% less land
• 14% less water
• 9% less fossil fuel
• and there been an 18% decrease in carbon emissions.

To view the rest of the article, be sure to click the hyperlink about Dr. Capper! Thanks for being a rock star, Jude! And for more statistics and trivia about beef, check out BeefUSA.org – it’s a wellspring of information for all things beef!

May is also Egg Month.

Steak and eggs, anyone? Let’s stop and think about this for a moment: without eggs, what would we have? Eggs are in SO many types of food. Think about all the baked goods, pastas, omelets, skillets, scrambles, quiches, puddings, and much more you’d miss out on without eggs. And even if you’re of the sort that doesn’t partake in egg-tastic goodness, the existence of eggs has led to the creation of egg substitutes that lead to egg-free alternatives!

Eggs are a rich source of protein, and also offer potassium and Vitamin A!

And eggs are way more than food. Eggs products are used in adhesives, biological research, vaccines, and even artificial insemination. Egg shells are also incredibly useful for composting and fertilizing, and about a bajillion other things. It’s amazing to think of all the ways eggs impact our everyday life, and well-being.

I don’t have a picture on-hand of eggs. But I do have a picture of me with a cake. And cakes have eggs in them. Look at little baby 17-year-old Kelly! D’aaaaaw!

May is also Birth Month.

This isn’t an official thing. Yet. But, my birthday is May 31. So I like to jokingly say that May is “31 Days of Kelly” and that I celebrate my own “birth month.” (I just like the anticipation of my birthday.) Honestly, with the walking hazard that I am, I think there’s a lot of folks who are pleasantly surprised (or not so pleasantly…I don’t know?) that I’ve survived this long.

In all seriousness, I feel like 23 will be a good year for me. 22 had been wonderful, definitely. I graduated from college, I moved to a new city, I adopted my Dachshund Rory and my cat Ferocious Fred, I found myself, I found my health, I learned to speak up about my struggles, I rediscovered God, I fostered some amazing relationships with fantastic friends, and I even met “someone special” who I’m sure will eventually make an appearance on this blog. (Spoiler alert: he’s awesome.)

22 was the year I lost the weight I gained during my battle with bulimia. March 2012 (left) and February 2013 (right). It isn’t about the numbers on the scale. It’s about feeling happy, healthy, and stable.

22, you’ve been kind to me. And I’m going to do the best I can to enjoy my last month with you. 22 has been a year of self-discovery, adventure, and excitement. 22 has been the year when I’ve seen how happy I can truly be, even when handling some pretty daunting challenges at times. 22 has shown me that with the right support, the right mindset, and a lot of faith and prayer, I can handle anything. Even with a pretty hefty dose of stress, I’ve never been happier.

I look forward to much more growth and discovery in 23.

And in the meantime, you can bet I’ll be celebrating Birth Month with lots of beef, eggs, and plenty of other amazing things this world has to offer!

And I don’t think anyone’s surprised that I managed to talk about my birthday AND agriculture, all in one post.

Growing up in a small rural town on a small ranch and being involved with agricultural, it was only natural that I continue down that path. My lifelong dream of becoming a veterinarian is right around the corner.

Dr. Jacque (pronounced Jack-ee) and a patient.

I have been actively involved in every aspect of agriculture from the family cattle ranch to Future Farmers of America (FFA). I grew up growing our own vegetables and raising our own meat whether it was beef or pork. When I hit middle school, I was introduced to FFA and that was a real eye opener. It has made me into the woman and soon-to-be-doctor I am today.

When you think of agriculture most people might not consider a veterinarian as being “agricultural.” When you think of a veterinarian you think of the guy or girl who gets to play with puppies and kittens all day. What about the ones that are called out in the middle of the night for a cow who is having trouble delivering her calf? Now THAT’S the veterinarian that I know.

When you bite into a juicy steak, or chomp down on some yummy sticky baby back ribs or even a chicken leg, what goes through your mind? I bet the first thing is “Wow, this tastes good!” or even, “I would like this recipe.” Well, I am here to tell you that there is a lot more that goes into preparing that meat for the greater population consumption. There are hand-selected veterinarians that work on the assembly line in a meat plant ensuring that the carcass are safe to go into the food chain. These veterinarians stand on the line examining every carcass that comes by and they have strict rules and regulations to follow in order to make your food safe.

Hi, I’m Dr. Agriculture, and I work at your local agricultural fair, rodeo, and many more events keeping all animals safe and free of disease. When you think of the word zoonotic, who do you think protects you from these highly contagious and potentially deadly diseases? That’s right, veterinarians! And we are trained and educated on how to prevent and educate the public about these diseases. Most human physicians, if they come in contact with a zoonotic disease, might have you ask your veterinarian if they have heard of it. Most do not go through the extensive training that we do in this field.

So, next time you hear someone say “I’m agriculture” think of the doctor behind the scenes keeping animals and you safe from outbreak of deadly infectious diseases. There are many aspects to agriculture and it is worth taking time to learn how and what people do to keep this country running. Without agriculture, we would be hungry, naked and potentially sick. Think about that…

I haven’t talked very blatantly about this lately. At least, not in a big way, not since my big tell-all about it in December. But, it’s been here. It’s real. It happens and it’s something I deal with.

I have a lot of “good” days and “stable” days and “normal” days. I have “mediocre” days, “meh” days, and “bad in a normal sort of way” days. I mean, there’s always a certain level of having to work just a little bit harder to lead a “normal” life compared to my “normal” friends. Most days, that’s not that big a deal. Then there’s days, like this one, where a segmented rational part of my brain knows, despite it all, that whatever mood I have isn’t necessarily a reflection of real-life.

It’s my brain, lying to me.

I’m always bipolar. I always will be. But I don’t always feel it in a big way.

And when I do feel it, it completely sucks.

If you don’t fully understand bipolar disorder, it’s a condition where your brain has trouble moderating its own chemicals. I don’t fully understand the biochemistry involved, but chemicals known as “neurotransmitters” are not effectively managed. Some folks have episodes that last months at a time and have long breaks in between. Mine isn’t quite like that. My episodes come in short bursts, and tend to be more subdued.

Either way, sometime during the afternoon, the mild feelings of “Tuesday sucks” suddenly turned into the familiar, dreadful realization that my chest felt hollow and empty. I lashed out at friends over minor things, because I was panicking about these feelings setting in. When others tried to have open, honest conversations with me about the crash we knew was coming, I put up walls, hid behind forced sarcasm and humor. I began questioning my own self-worth, my own skills, my own quality of work in my job and in my life. These things are normal.

I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to ferret away the hurt and act okay. While I don’t say it enough, I’m blessed to have friends that are willing to say, “I know you’re not okay today.” I’m trying to learn to be okay with not being okay. It’s hard. I’ve driven people away with my own instability, and now I’m overcompensating by holding it in…even around those who are accepting and nurturing.

I made a “vagueBook” status about it — nothing specific. The folks who know me well enough knew what it meant. Others who didn’t still had support to offer.

Thank you to everyone who had support to offer through emails, messages, IMs, likes, comments, and wall posts. Each little show of support is a ray of sunshine in the dark, dingy cell that is my brain right now.

The simple fact is something in my brain is off-kilter and I’m on my way down to what I typically refer to as a “crash.” I had a feeling this was coming — I’ve felt too good for too long. And it wasn’t until the crash hit today that I looked back and realized that I’d been operating a little fast lately.

In early adulthood, these disorders can fluctuate a lot. The “brand” of bipolar I deal with now feels very different than the one I dealt with in college. I don’t always know how to handle it. Now, I have longer periods of “stable” in between. And after years of dealing with little or no normalcy, the stability scares me. When you’re used to sailing in turbulent seas, solid ground can feel foreign and uncomfortable. The “new normal” of my bipolar disorder seems like I’m on a cycle that brings three or four (bigger but manageable) episodes a year, with smaller, milder ones in between. It’s taking getting used to.

I’d actually say bipolar disorder for me is a bit of a blessing. I get the joy of experiencing way more of the human emotional spectrum than most people can enjoy. While I spend a lot of time talking about how I don’t like “feelings,” that’s a lie. I just don’t like MY feelings. Despite that, I can empathize with people very easily. When you’ve felt pretty much every emotion in the book over a three-day period, it’s hard not to understand the full spectrum. I may not always show it, and I may act “okay” — but damn, do I feel it. And I feel the co-existing conditions that have developed alongside or because of bipolar: anxiety, mostly, and the occasional craving for a bulimic relapse. (I won’t do it. I refuse to let myself do that this time.)

Oddly enough, crashes bring up some fond memories too. The college roommate who walked to the candy store and bought a Heath-covered caramel apple to lure me out of bed when I was feeling particularly depressed; the many wonderful friends in my life who have held me while I hyperventilated during a panic attack; my best friend’s husband, who broke into a bathroom with a screwdriver to get to me because he didn’t want me falling back into bad habits. These things happened during a period of my life that I like to refer to as, “damn-near rock bottom.”

I’ve come a long way since then. Now, I have my faith, a strong career, and a wonderful support base. I have a lot more life experience, a lot more perspective, and a lot more self-love than I had when the theoretical shit was hitting the fan. Ideally, I’ll never be in a place to need that level of support again. But, if I needed it, I know I have it.

In a few days, I may be on the higher end of the spectrum. Or, I may be back to “normal” — I’m not entirely sure. But in the meantime, I’ll take care of me. I’ll turn to the folks who help the world make sense to me. I’ll pray. I’ll talk to my therapist. I’ll try my best to exercise, even though I really just want to lay around and feel sorry for myself. I’ll keep on going.

Because, you know what the best thing about bipoar disorder is?

The bad is temporary. The good, though…the good things I’ve gained because of this monstrous burden, those things stick around. So, if you seem me being moody, antisocial, anxious, uncharacteristically quiet, or overcompensatingly chatty this week, bear with me. It’ll pass.

Today, I feel bipolar. But I know I’ll be okay.