The Future Farmers of America (FFA) was founded in 1928 in Blacksburg, Virginia. Today it is known as the National FFA Organization with over 850,000 plus members in 50 states plus Puerto Rico and the U.S Virgin Islands. Members range from 12 to 22 years of age in over 9,000 chapters and enjoy well developed programs centered around the agricultural industry. A national annual convention brings these young want-to-be farmers together.
Frankly, I am surprised at the size and ongoing vitality of FFA. In a time when agriculture has been gobbled up by Big AG it is hard to imagine young people looking to a future on the farm. I see FFA—jacketed young people in my area and I am reminded of my youth in rural Indiana by our local small family farms. So the FFA is alive and serving a great purpose as it approaches its 100th birthday.
I never belonged to FFA. But I had experiences with FFA that seem wild and wooly today. My g-o-d I hope current FFA members can’t relate to the following tales.
An annual event known as the Pest Contest stretched over a few weeks or a semester with local chapters competing with each other .
My experience with the pest contests was two-fold. My cousin, Danny Smith, was an FFA member at Wolf Lake High School, and brother Terry and I spent a lot of time on Danny’s farm, which belonged to Uncle John and Aunt Ethel. Aunt Ethel took care of us while Mom was working at the garment factory.
Well, on nights when Danny and some of his classmates went out hunting for pests I would tag along. They would go into barns and hunt birds with BB guns. A beheaded bird had point value, depending on the species, and would add to the contest tally. I don’t remember the range of pests (sparrows, pigeons, ground hogs—anything dubbed a pest in the 1950s) but I remember one night when the scarcity of birds/pests in a barn led to the hunters to hunting Danny’s cousin. From various locations in the barn they began to fire at me! Stupid on their part, scary on mine. BBs would not kill but they could put an eye out. That didn’t happen, thankfully.
The second recollection is centered around the FFA at Wawaka High School with grade schoolers tallying counts for the high school FFAers. Big fun for us! We would bag sparrows nesting in trees all over town, snap the heads for contest count and pile lots of headless bodies in the middle of US Highway 6. The great sport was watching 18 wheelers run over the great mound of bird bodies. (Maybe I have been reading too many Cormac McCarthy novels.)
Recalling this grade school activity leaves me wondering about Highway 6 (transnational) before the Interstate System. Oh yeah, and also about the dead birds. Beyond the pest contests, bird hunting was a regular activity. The sparrows would make a fuss as they settled into the maple trees for the night. Once they quieted down we would tape a flashlight alongside the BB gun barrel, spot one and poof — got it.
Red Ryder BB guns were not assault weapons, but maybe gun control regulations should have been in place.
Next week I will tell of another time when it was suggested that Roger be hunted. Help! I am being flooded with memories of people not taking my life seriously — like the time my FRIENDS cast me off a pontoon and would not let me, a non-swimmer, board the boat. As I reflect back on these early events I will chalk them up as character building. It is miraculous that I am approaching 80!
Finally getting back, Eric. Yeah, pacificism comes in various ways. Mine comes from the New Testament and Historic Peace Churches. Also, from the reality that all war is wrong headed. On this Memorial Day I lament the total waste of lives in wars.
I’m doing well. Days are simple. Life good with Cinny. We are into 28 Days of Joyful Writing on Death. A Stoic in Scotland is our guide. 8 days to go. Go experience. I’m writing from Dunkin’ at exit 19. Cheap coffee shop. Maybe we could meet here sometime.
No wonder you're a pacifist. I think I once shot a bird from a long distance down at the creek with my bb gun, and I wasn't sure if I hit it or not, so I walked up to where it had been, and there was just a blood trail and no bird. I felt so awful I never shot at an animal again, but I still enjoyed shooting at inanimate targets.
Sorry I didn't comment on previous two posts. I've been a little preoccupied with some things. But, I always like to hear about people's spiritual journeys or musings, and I plan to re-read those posts and maybe I'll comment further. Hope you are well.