by Gwen Petersen

Big Timber, Mont.

This year I’ve decided to avoid righteous resolutions, noble declarations, and soulful pronouncements. I’m abandoning good-hearted benevolence, hopeful wishes, and kindly proclamations. Instead I’m going straight for creative griping, biting commentary, and endless complaints. Why, you may ask?

For half a century I have stumbled again and again over a glaring fact. Statistically, country women do not exist if you measure by the goods and services generated for feminine folk engaged in agriculture.

Entrepreneurs mostly pay no attention to, do not cater to, and do not produce merchandise for short country people of the female persuasion. It is past time for us daintier humans to become an annoyance, an aggravation, an unscratchable irritation to manufacturers of farming and ranching supplies until they wake up, look around and discover rural working women.

One Size Doesn’t Fit All

Why can’t I buy those yellow gloves

In a size to fit my hand?

The fingers nearly fold in half,

The flapping I can’t stand.

Why can’t I buy some working boots

In a size to fit my feet?

Why insist that men’s work shoes

As footgear can’t be beat?

How come I cannot purchase haybales

Light enough for me?

Why am I forced to struggle daily

With bales the size of trees?

Why can’t I buy a sack of grain

That I can lift alone?

Why must I have to drag the bag

With curses, moans and groans?

Why shouldn’t manufacturers

Listen to my pleas?

Why not products made for women “

Small to fit our needs?

We don’t count in agri-business

Because we are so few,

Now, that’s a silly senseless reason,

That logic’s plumb askew!

Give me products made for me,

For I won’t quit this fussing;

Pay attention to my ag needs,

Just listen to me cussing.

Blast it, gosh, and darn and rats,

I’ve got chores to do

Using stuff that’s wrong for me “

Tell me, whom do I sue?