Billy Beckham

@JLinvilleFert Any hope left for this year?

If you love my depressing fertilizer updates, you will love Mike's depressing grain updates. We are StoneX one-two punch to ruin a good day!!!!! Seriously, Mike is a great follow if you haven't already.

@NITMBB @LibertyMBB Liberty or Bradley

Behold, the #NIT2026 bracket. Who do you have taking it all?

It was 70 years ago that Clarkson tried to slow it down on high-powered and second-ranked Central City in the 4th Region. Stall ball. Almost pulled it off. Corky Withrow was too good and the Golden Tide escaped 11-9.

@JDSHELBURNE Worth the drive & you could always stop by and see the Southern States / Growmark crew. Spencer county thoughts on the regional finals??

@mg13762 Too far

I stopped at Greenwood mall today in Bowling Green to pick up my son a Kentucky T-shirt to wear to the game. I couldn’t even find one. Not a single person that mall carries a kid size UK T-shirt. It’s sad to see these malls going by the wayside. I still love the nostalgia

@Super70sSports I know where your from and I remember the games that meant the world to me, @Super70sSports it’s really amazing how those games have no meaning at all anymore & really do not even know when they play

Of all the sports that I loved as a kid, college basketball has fallen the farthest for me. I just don’t give a shit anymore. It used to be so good. Young people today can’t even understand what we know.

@KentuckyCrops Allie Mutter I 👁️ U! Keep it up

Winter wheat, Spindletop Farm. Grad student Allie Mutter took 3 of these.

@JLinvilleFert The National Farm machinery show is not over yet, we all know that there will be no farming until after the last day of the farm machinery show!

FYI, I just drove from KC to southwest MN. Let me tell you, the fields look TERRIBLE. I did not see a single acre that looked like the crop was going to make anything this year. Not a spec of green out there!!!! OK, someone let me know when the grain markets are limit up!!!

@_TheMizzouTiger Don’t delay it may go up $$ while in the wagon.

Someone’s got a good one going.

@NancyMace Spend them!

If you had NO STATE INCOME TAX, what would you do with those extra dollars? Serious answers only.

@Lane_Kiffin @LSU Nice swing but get on a farm to see the real beauty

Gods country ⁦@LSU⁩

@HillbillyDNA How did camera person miss

Guy trying to see how fast he can get on his new bike …. It didn’t go so well , …. But What did he hit

@Mishi_2210 95

Tell me the Number 99.9% Will fail

@elonmusknews30 Yes

@rrincker Do it, if you feel later that is was too early, do it again!!

Is it okay to apply fall anhydrous yet? Need an expert that sits at a desk and doesn’t farm to let me know.

@OleTimeHardball Absolutely

You hold the deciding vote in the Hall of Fame case of Dale Murphy. Does the 1982 and 1983 NL MVP get in?

Cleaning up the farm for winter!!

A message from a Kindergarten teacher: After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old: “My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.” No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.” My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me. When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic. But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe. My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown. And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice. They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer. The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.” As if kindness were a weakness. Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure — a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.” a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.” a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.” Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up. But this last year broke something in me. The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival. I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times. So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998: “Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.” I sat on the floor and cried. No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications. I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced. I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers. So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try. Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

Ear corn!! Bags, scoops or wagon loads!!

@JLinvilleFert Also, commodities may be too cheap. Could this have an opportunity to pull back land prices or do they keep rolling?

Fertilizer prices are too damned high. That's it. That's the tweet. That is all I have the energy for after a 3-day weekend.