If these walls could talk what story might they tell?
Would they share the story of an industry that has changed? An industry that has grown and adapted? Would they share the story of an industry that, no matter the circumstance, can rise from the ashes and meet the challenge of feeding, clothing, and supporting a growing world, an industry that believes in the power of its youth?
In 1988, out of the pole framework of a barn, and because of the efforts of volunteer agriculture teachers, emerged the Indiana FFA State Officer House.
The house has provided a foundation for food, faith, and family for 26 teams.
If these walls could talk they would share the stories of the legends that have spent their days in the house. Outstanding individuals like National FFA Presidents Mark Timm, 1989-1990, and Travis Park, 1990-1991or Indiana’s last National Officer Tyler Tenbarge in 2006-2007.
They would express the joy of housing members like, Lisa Moss Chaudion, Indiana FFA’s first female State President and Advisor, or Joe Kelsey, former Director of the Indiana State Department of Agriculture
Throughout its history, 3 Indiana FFA Executive Directors, 3 Indiana FFA Foundation Directors, all Program Specialists, and 26 agriculture teachers have called these walls their home.
These walls would share about individuals who entered the doors of the house and grew to be top of their class graduates, student body Presidents’, business leaders, scientists, lobbyists, and key proponents for agriculture.
If these walls could talk, would they speak of individuals who joined as one not for the sake of themselves, but for the future of an organization?
They would scream out the story of how seven completely different individuals could learn to love, to grow, and to serve.
They would speak of tears of fear, of joy, tears of frustration, tears of empathy, tears of happiness, tears for knowing that you are part of something more.
They have been onlookers for the thrill of victory and the sigh of defeat. They would express lessons learned, plans that fell through, and teams that pushed on no matter what.
They would share the moments of sadness, the moments the officers struggled, or when the loss of a member of friend shook the team to its core.
They would be sure to include the hysterical times; the times when officers stayed up late watching movies, or the constant bickering of loving siblings. They would share the times when officers, members, family, and State Staff gathered and shared a time of comradery.
They would include the emptiness that is felt each and every year as the team becomes busier and time in the house just seems impractical.
They would share the stories of that first night, that last night, and all those nights in between.
These walls have supported numerous forms of life from insects, animals, and humans alike.
If these walls could talk, they would elaborate on the layers of paint on them or the assortment of decorations that have covered them.
They would speak of dust and construction that has begun to fill the air.
These walls themselves have begun to crumble. These walls have barred their load for years, and are starting to feel their age.
The voice of these walls grows old and weary. It slows its pace and slurs its words. These walls have been moved and changed, but their story stays the same.
Each year these walls feel the tremble of new feet chasing each other through their halls. They sense the passion that can only be felt in the weakest of hours.
They would speak of new beginnings, the beginnings of each team and the fresh breath that they bring to the house, the new spark that waits to make its impact.
They would speak of the stargaze eyes that bombarded the house each march, eyes of capable individuals dreaming of making these walls their home.
Over the last 26 years these walls have been spectators, observers of the pride, honor, and humbling passion held by each Indiana FFA State Officer that has lived in this house.
These walls would whisper the secrets of the “incredible perfection” that is created by an organization that puts youth at the forefront.
As I sit here today, housed, protected, and humbled by these walls, I wonder if these walls could talk what stories would they tell.
Oh, if these walls could talk, what story would they tell?
Living to Serve,
2014-2015 Indiana FFA Secretary
Friday, October 24, 2014
Monday, October 13, 2014
The worn leather under my hands…high above the world I was perched overlooking the vast hay field. The trees where brilliant reds, yellows and oranges. The air was fresh, it smelled like burning leaves and diesel fuel. Fall was upon us. As I took a trip around my Papole Kent’s farm (Red Acres) I remember searching the field that butted up to my papole’s property. In the distance, a combine was shelling beans and dust was flying everywhere. As the combine collected the beans I thought of numerous by-products that might come from the crop. As the Farmall BN and I rounded the other side of the field I couldn't help but feel the responsibility of farmers. Harvest season is my favorite time of the year.
From a young age I learned how to operate my papole’s tractors, in fact I could drive tractors before I could ride my bike without training wheels. I could not get enough of the rush I felt high above the earth, hearing the sound the tractor made and smelling the ever so prominent diesel fuel. My papole has restored tractors ever since I can remember and only the red ones. His work ethic was a hard one and it showed in all of his tractors. The tractors bonded papole and I. The heritage that existed was intertwined in the frame work of each tractor. The Farmall BN that I was driving previously was my Great Grandpa’s. My papole would tell me of stories about the BN. He told about when my great grandpa first purchased it, how the dents got certain places and how diligently the tractor worked. A staple part of the farm and a piece of history to share with his 4th generation great granddaughter.
Now that farmers are out harvesting, memories stir up from those long tractors rides. Taking walks down the road and admiring the changing crops. Spending time with family, friends and enjoying the beautiful fall season. No matter what part you reside in this fly over state we all know the importance of farmers and admire their tireless work to feed the world. As we drive past the farmers taking the combines another round remember how blessed we are to have such committed producers. I would like to give a shout out to those producers making the food on my table possible. I love farmers, they feed my soul.
Back home in Northern Indiana!
This is my Papole Kent and I going on the many tractors ride I would take when I was little!
Taken in Southern Indiana near the FFA Leadership Center.
You Ag Lovin' and Farmall Driving Indiana FFA NRVP,
Love Lindsey O'Hara
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Is it possible for it to be October already? That does not seem possible! Like Dakota previously said, the team and I just completed three weeks of chapter visits and district kickoffs! We met so many members from across the state and getting to experience all of the different agriculture education programs was amazing!
On Saturday, October 4th, Kathleen and I adventured down to Scottsburg, Indiana to watch the Scottsburg FFA Fall Prospect Beef Show! Congratulations to the Scottsburg FFA Chapter for working so hard and diligently to make this show successful! Kathleen and I not only got to watch the show and talk with a few FFA members, we also ran into the 2013-2014 Southern Region Vice President- Ethan McNeely! It’s always good to see Ethan!
As we are finishing up our last minute preparations so that we know this weekend will be the best it can possibly be. Just know that I cannot wait to see everyone! The team and I will be revealing the theme shortly, so be looking for that on all forms of social media! Come prepared and ready to have the time of your life at SOAR 2014!
Serving with a grateful heart,
It was 6 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. I was driving; my passengers were all asleep. It was dark, and I was tired. We were somewhere in the seemingly endless Northern half of the state. It was another day of chapter visits, fast food, and district kickoffs. As I drove, I turned the radio off as to not wake up my teammates. The silence combined with the dark created an eerie emptiness all around me. My thoughts were as loud as voices, with no actual voices to dampen them. The hum of the engine kept time as I stared ceaselessly at the horizon my headlights created. The drive wore on. I wore on. Pushing a swath through the undisturbed darkness with my high beams, like any plow-fitted truck pushing through a freshly fallen snow. For miles I illuminated a canyon with walls of corn stalks rising up on each side. Eventually, my course led me onto the main street of one of Indiana’s innumerable tiny towns. A hardware store, a rundown gas station, and one solitary flashing light, these are what they all seemed to share. I had noted these characteristics as I had been through countless other nameless little towns in my travels. I pressed on through the town, my headlights providing brief glimpses of the houses on either side of the street, brief glimpses of the people’s lives who occupied this little town. Again, the hum of the engine kept a rhythm as my thoughts swirled about me, and I began to contemplate the people of those tiny nameless towns.
I had gone my entire life never knowing this town –which I was now driving through—even existed. I was willing to wager that most of the world would live and die having never known that this little one-flashing-light town in Northern Indiana existed. With that, most people on Earth would never know that any of the people in this little town even existed. I was startled by the thought. I was even a bit scared by it. These tiny people in this tiny town could disappear, and the world would be none the wiser. And what’s more, I too was a tiny person, having come from a similar tiny town. I too could disappear along with all the other occupants of my tiny little town, and the world would know no differently. That was a terrible thought. The idea that most people on Earth would never know I existed terrified me.
As I continued to drive, I soon left the little town in the darkness in which I’d found it. And although it was now behind me, it was still very much in the forefront of my mind. The longer I drove, the longer I thought. Light eventually broke over the horizon, painting the sky every hue of red and pink and orange. At the same time a new perspective broke within me. Why should I worry about whether the majority of people on Earth know I existed? There are a few people who will know, and if I am able to impact those few people positively then for what else can I ask? So many of us—tiny people from tiny towns all across the world—will not be remembered or even known by most of the population. But, some will have known us. Perhaps it would be in vain to try and change the lives of every person on Earth, but we can change the lives of some. We may not make a difference to everyone, but we can make a difference to some. We can make a positive difference in the lives of those around us, those who will have known us, and those are the differences that matter most.
2014-2015 Southern Region Vice President
2014-2015 Southern Region Vice President