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Let me tell you the story of how I lost three of my fingers in a meat grinding accident as a kid—don't worry, I'll leave the rough parts out.
I grew up in a twenty-four-by-thirty-six foot house. My dad’s butcher shop was right next door. And in 1966, my left hand met the business end of our family's meat grinder.
You might be asking yourself why a nine-year-old was allowed to use the meat grinder, but as a young farm kid, I knew how to operate trucks, tractors, power tools—you name it.
I don’t remember putting my hand there, but I sure as hell remember pulling it out. We rushed to a local doctor. My mom and dad had to drive me over 40 miles to the closest hospital where I could get surgery.
After I lost my fingers, I had to give up my dreams of playing the saxophone and took up the trumpet. I graduated college with a degree in music.
But I never gave up farming. I still work the land my grandparents homesteaded over 100 years ago, planting every spring and harvesting every August. And I even have the same meat grinder. Sharla and I still use it to this day. (It's a good meat grinder!)
I’m telling you this story because I’ve never forgotten who I am or where I came from. I’m a proud dirt farmer from just outside Big Sandy, which, in my opinion, helps me be a better senator for Montana.
We’ve been able to accomplish a lot in the Senate—more than I can count on my fingers, but that doesn’t really matter since there’s so much more to do. That’s why I’m turning to you:
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I won't stop working to protect and preserve our Montana way of life. Thanks for reading. 🤙
—Jon
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