Showing posts with label N.C. Wyeth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label N.C. Wyeth. Show all posts

Friday, October 31, 2025

Friday Farming. Um. . .large farmers.

N.C. Wyeth, The Farmer.  1911.

On Friday, this blog tries to post something about farming, but it often lets everyone down by failing to do so, posting instead on various other inanities, such as a legislative committee passing a goofball ignorant bill on chemtrails.

Och!

Anyhow, we've been watching the news as first soybean farmers, and then later cattle farmers, have come on the news and stated, effectively, "we didn't think leopards would eat our face!" after Donald Trump took the tariff club and beat them upside the head and then decided that the Golden Arches could serve up Big Mac's with carne molida rather than ground beef.

What a bunch of amadán breallach.  Oh well, it's hard to feel sorry for them.  Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Put that in your Happy Meal, bucko.

But this thread isn't on that.

Rather its on this.

We admire farmers and ranchers, as is rather obvious.  It's our true vocation, even if an unfulfilled one. And we are familiar with actual farming, not the Green Acres/Hallmark/Homesteading type of agriculture.

But we're also agrarians.

Anyhow, I can't help but note this, even though its rude.

The spokesmen for soybean farmers have, at least on some occasions, been enormously fat.

That's a bad look.  They're huge.  And they're not huge in the way that some large people are who are pretty fit, and I've known more than a few.  Indeed, I've known some outdoor employed people, both blue collar and in the sciences, who were really big, but quite fit.  You could tell that what was at work with them was genetics.  But many of these farmers, or at least the snipped I've seen, are just flat out fat.

This isn't the case with working ranchers.  

I guess that shows us the extent to which mechanized farming has become, well, mechanized.  At least one of these great big farmers has been interviewed in his farm machinery as he and it are working in his fields.  And that's just not conducive to living well.  Ranching is still a pretty physically active line of work.

With these guys, I suspect, but of course don't know, that they're still consuming a farm diet that developed prior to the 1980s.  Say, perhaps, before World War Two. Big breakfast, followed by heavy activity, big lunch, followed by heavy activity, and a  lighter dinner. . .sometimes followed by heavy activity.  Now, however, you can omit the heavy activity.

Which gets us back to, I guess, the state of the world in general.  Our technology is, frankly, killing us.  We really weren't meant to live that way, or much of the way our technological world is having us live.

And, as a minor fwiw, you really can't come on to television seeking sympathies for farmers if you look like, to use an analogy, a fat cat.  You guys have obviously been eating well.  Yes, that really shouldn't matter, and its not a moral failing, but it doesn't look good in the presentation.

Friday, December 17, 2021

Saturday, December 17, 1921. Jolly ol' St. Nick.


The Saturday magazines were out with a Santa Clause by Norman Rockwell gracing the Country Gentleman.


Judge had the same theme, but with a N.C.Wyeth illustration.