‘Twas six days before Christmas and at the Producer
Not a creature was stirring, save one ink-stained deducer.
Page seven was hung on the news hook with care
In hopes that some wise words would soon appear there.
The scribe thought of farmers all snug in their beds,
While visions of bumper crops danced in their heads
This year nature was fickle in dishing out rain.
Some farmers did wonder if their work was in vain.
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Darn hoppers! Darn dust storms! Darn gophers and drought!
Darn head blight! Darn spring frost! Darn sun! they did shout.
There were high costs for inputs but they did not stint
Yet their pockets held nothing but nubbins of lint.
Vanclief said he’d heard of the troubles out West
He made a quick visit at farmers’ behest.
Vanclief toured for an hour, then flew again home
He pondered the matter and talked on the phone.
Then from down East there issued a hot, fetid breeze.
Farmers read in these pages of ag policies.
But the details – how lacking! The dollars – how few!
The premiers were nonplussed, except for a few.
But let’s not forget about good things this year:
The charity of neighbours who don’t find it queer
To send bales of hay out West by train and truck
Giving help to our ranchers now down on their luck.
And what of the wheat board, caught in a trade fight?
It won the ninth challenge by being in right.
The board held some elections, the campaign was busy,
Some farmers were jailed, which put more in a tizzy.
GM labels and West Nile, the U.S. Farm Bill,
They each made bold headlines, these pages did fill.
The scribe at the Producer, she pondered the year
With its foibles and triumphs, backward did she peer,
Then concluded the future just had to be bright.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
