“You have four seconds for the primary chute to open, four seconds for the reserve chute to open, and, if neither one opens, then you can spend the rest of your Airborne career deciding what to do next.” My son was laughing about this line from one of his instructors we as we returned from Fort Benning, where he had just graduated from Airborne School, but we agreed that his mother would probably not be amused. He’s halfway through college, and ROTC, and two years from now will be commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Army. His parachute wings are proudly displayed on our wall, and we are almost indecently proud of our son.
I’m here in Keytesville, Mo., population 584, talking to around 100 farmers, and they sincerely wish that I would sit down and shut up. We’re in a park on Main Street, the mosquitoes have started biting, they only came for the fish fry, and none of them have any interest at all in hearing what I have to say about farming. I get asked to about five or six of these meetings each fall, and I really should know better.
