I hate to watch ’em leave

“So I’ll sit still as seasons move on,
 Though I hate to watch ’em leave.
 Oh I hate to watch ’em leave.”

I’m an absolute music junkie. Any genre, any singer, any time. Driving around the last couple evenings, those Dylan Gossett lyrics hit a little different, and not just because of the music. They lined up with what I was already noticing.

Kansas seasons have definitely changed. In most places, bright headlights on a hilltop might raise concern. Around here, tractor, planter and stock trailer lights mean something entirely different. They signal the start of another prayer. I’ve always believed putting a seed into cool spring dirt or turning a cow out to pasture are some of the clearest displays of the faith we have. You’re trusting sun, rain, nature and time to do their part. It marks the turning of a season.

Seasons have been on my mind a lot lately. Growing up in production agriculture, you learn early on there’s a season for everything. Cows step off the trailer and onto green pasture with calves at their side and bulls not far behind. Seeds get tucked into the ground with the assumption things will grow. Hay gets laid down and rolled up, preparing for what’s ahead. Cows come home. Crops get harvested. And eventually, things slow down.

Winter. Cold winds blow. The pace changes. Agriculture battens down the hatches. Cows still need fed, of course, but winter, in many ways, is a season of rest. A season to take a breath, to take inventory and to remember your “why.” Now, on a personal note, I’m a little jealous of those lyrics.

“So I’ll sit still…”

What a struggle. I’m getting better at noticing it in myself, better at pulling back to where my feet are planted. But my word, it doesn’t come naturally. Being wired as a “go-getter,” winter has always been a tough season for me. Less sunlight. Less movement. More isolation. It wears on you if you’re not paying attention. But agriculture and nature have a way of teaching, whether you’re ready or not. When plants go dormant and life resets, I’ve had to learn to be OK doing the same. God created a near-perfect system in nature, why fight it?

Spring. As seasons change, I tend to approach life like cows chasing green spring grass … FULL. BORE. Spring brings energy. There’s fence to check, calving to finish, things to do. It makes me come alive. And yet, every single year, without fail, there’s a small part of me that misses the slower pace of a season passed. It’s subtle, almost easy to ignore, but it’s there.

Turns out, seasons don’t just exist in agriculture. They show up in life too. There are seasons of pause, rest and waiting…ones I don’t particularly enjoy. And then there are seasons of movement, action and momentum. The transitions aren’t always obvious, but when they happen, you feel it. Right now, I find myself entering a season of "falling into place." I’ve done some waiting. I’ve spent time in that slower space doing my fair share of praying. And now, the things I’ve hoped and prayed for… well, they’re happening. But here’s what I’m learning. Those busy seasons rarely unfold the way we imagined they would. When we’re waiting, we tend to map it all out. “Here’s how this should go.” But life has a funny way of reminding us we’re not fully in charge of that plan. The busy is often uncomfortable, sometimes even a little overwhelming. There’s uncertainty mixed in with the excitement. And that’s where the lesson comes in.

Being named the Kansas Farm Bureau Rural Minds Matter Young Advocate of the Year in 2025 has given me a chance to pause and take inventory of where I’ve been and where I’m headed. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly, but more than anything, it’s a reminder that this work matters and that the conversations we’re having are needed. As I step into this next season with my company, GROUNDED, there’s a mix of excitement and uncertainty, much like any spring we’ve ever faced. The path isn’t fully clear, but I’m learning it doesn’t have to be. Just like in agriculture, we don’t wait for perfect conditions, we trust the season we’re in, we show up and we do the work in front of us.

“Oh, I hate to watch ’em leave….”