Jerry Crownover retires from writing but takes up a new medium: videos

After writing a humorous farm column that has entertained thousands of newspaper and magazine readers all around America for nearly 30 years, Jerry Crownover is calling it quits – and no one is happy about it. 

Well, except maybe his wife, Judy, who has seen him fret and stew, trying to think up clever ideas and write about them twice a month for quite a while now. 

Oh, and Jerry himself, who told the Times recently, "It was beginning to be a struggle every night before the first and fifteenth of the month" when each new column was due. "The first half of my writing career, I would have a theme or a punch line in mind a week or two before it was due. But during the last two or three years, a lot of times, I sit and stare at a blank computer screen the night before it's due," he said.

He estimates he's written 1,200-1,400 columns. "And after you do so many, you run out of ideas," he said. "For these last couple of years, it's just not been as much fun as it once was." 

For the rest of us, especially the Ozark Countians who've known Jerry since childhood, it's hard to accept that there will be no more laugh-invoking, heartstrings-tugging "Life is Simple" columns. So, as a special favor to the Times, he is allowing his hometown newspaper, where his first column appeared in 1995, to publish reruns of his past columns indefinitely. Or at least until our readers’ withdrawal pangs have eased.

But here's more good news: Although he's giving up writing his column after the one that appears in this week's Times, he's already made the move into a new medium: YouTube videos. In the videos, he narrates and shows what's happening at his Crown Cattle Company farm near Halltown. For example, in one recent video, titled "The problem-solving farmer," Jerry talks about the specific time when, as a boy, his dad inspired him to believe that, for farmers, "there's a solution for every problem." 

The videos are easier than writing columns, Jerry said, because "I don't have to have a script. I can tell a story I've told a hundred times before, or I can just describe what I'm doing or say what's happening in the videos." Most of the videos are five to 15 minutes long; shorter, 10- to 60-second videos are also posted most weeks. They're all free to watch. Just go to YouTube.com and search for "Crown Cattle Company." 

One of the recent longer episodes, titled "Who let the cows out?," shows Jerry's 18-month-old corgi stockdog Louie working his first whole-herd job (previously he just did single-animal gigs). Louie also stars in other videos, including "Bulls with anger issues" and "Work like a farm dog" as well as the 10-second short "Danger Zone!" where Louie sideswipes the crumpled-ear barn cat, and "Everybody dance now!" where Louie tries to impress the cat with his front-porch dance moves.

In some videos, Jerry shares several insightful and entertaining lessons in the "Forgotten knowledge" series, and in other videos, like "How to create an electric fence gate . . . for dummies," and "Trying to save a blind calf," he demonstrates some of his farm innovations and methods. 

Childhood contradictions

Although Ozark County claims Jerry as a native, he was actually born in Baxter County, Arkansas, just as his parents Eugene and Virble Crownover were. In 1956, the family moved to a 216-acre bottomland farm at Mammoth when Jerry was 4. "The place was grown up and run down, and I think Dad paid $10,000 for it," he said recently.

Jerry's parents built a big barn on the property before the family moved to Mammoth. And they built a two-room house – no electricity, no running water. "It was supposed to be where we lived for just a year or so, until Dad got the house built that still stands there," he said.

Instead, the family, including Jerry and his two sisters, Alvalene and Carol, lived in the two-room house until 1963. It was a hard life, and they were dirt poor. "But we were happy," he said. 

He remembers his parents worrying about money, especially when a farm payment was coming due. "But Mom was very religious. She always said, 'God will provide,'" Jerry said. 

And he did. In less than 10 years, the Crownovers had paid off their farm – and made it successful. 

Although Jerry would go on to devote his entire adult life to agriculture – either teaching it or living it – he says he hated the work growing up. "I was allergic to cattle hair and corn dust, and I just didn't like working on the farm," he said. "But if you knew my dad, you knew better than to complain, because he would find 10 times more work for you to do if you did."

Jerry walked to the one-room school at Mammoth until the districts consolidated when he was in sixth grade, and he and his Mammoth schoolmates were bused into Gainesville. "I was scared to death," he said. "I was comfortable in my own little world, and I didn't want to go to the big school in Gainesville."

In another surprise, for someone who would go on to earn an Ed.D. (equivalent to a Ph.D.) in ag education, Jerry says he didn't like school and was a mediocre student. He didn't participate in sports in high school but was elected to the student council. He skipped so many sessions of Fred Pfister's speech and debate class he got an F in it (another surprise, given that Jerry would become a popular speaker on the agricultural banquet and convention circuit). 

Jerry thought he would drop out of school at 16, the legal age when it was allowed. "But I got to liking FFA and the ag classes," he said. He even started thinking he would like to teach those subjects. 

His dad "wasn't a big fan of education," Jerry said. "He went to first grade and didn't like it, and he didn't care that I wanted to go away to college. He kind of wanted me to take over the farm or get a job." 

Going to college wouldn't be easy because "at that time, if you wanted to be an ag teacher, you had to go to MU. That was the only place the degree was offered," he said. 

Even though they were convinced a college degree wasn't worth the expense and effort, his parents didn't stand in his way. In fact, when Jerry turned 17 in 1969 and was headed into his senior year at Gainesville High School, his dad told him, "If you're going away to college, you're going to need a car. And you need to buy one that will last."

Jerry's parents, being poor, had only ever owned a pickup. But Jerry had no interest in buying a pickup. He and his dad went to a dealer in Mountain Grove to look at cars. "Dad was always shrewd. He thought I should make the deal, and he let me negotiate," he said. 

Jerry chose a brand-new Dodge Super Bee, "a go-fast muscle car." He and the salesman agreed on a price – $2,875 – and when the salesman asked how he would be financing the purchase, his mouth fell open when Jerry told him, "I'll write you a check."

The salesman was nonplused that a 17-year-old farm kid had the cash to buy the new car outright. But Jerry had money because, from an early age, his parents had helped him buy and raise his own cattle separately from theirs, and most years, when he sold his cattle, he doubled what he had paid for them the previous year. By that summer in 1969, he had saved an astonishing $6,000 – enough to buy the car as well as replacement cattle that fall. 

He graduated from GHS in 1970 and headed off to Mizzou. His parents agreed to take care of his cattle while he was away, and one of his ag teachers at the university helped him get a job working 30 hours per week in the seed lab. Those situations let him graduate in 1974 with a bachelor's degree in ag education and no debt. He spent the next five years teaching high school agriculture while also earning a master's degree.

Then he heard from one of his former Mizzou professors who had moved to Mississippi State University in Starkville. "He said, 'Come down here and teach my lab classes for me, and you can work on an Ed.D. while you're here,'" said Jerry, who agreed to take the job but said he would have to think about the Ed.D. part.

"But when I got there, I found out he had already enrolled me for the doctorate program," he said. 

When he broke the news to his parents, his dad said, "How can you possibly learn anything more? Don't you know enough already?"   

'Good enough to print, but . . . ' 

By 1980, with his doctorate in hand, Jerry was hired to teach in the agriculture education program that had just been launched the previous year at what is now Missouri State University. In 1983, he married Judy, and they continued their jobs in Springfield but moved to a "little 5-acre place" west of the city. They homeschooled their two sons, Seth and Zach, for most of their school-age years. Seth went to kindergarten through second grade in public school before the Crownovers opted for homeschooling instead. At 16, Seth got his GED and enrolled in Drury University in Springfield. After earning his bachelor's degree there, he graduated with a master's degree from the University of Mississippi ("Ole Miss") and then a Ph.D. in philosophy from University College Cork in Ireland. He now teaches online courses for two Missouri universities. He and his wife Agne live in Springfield.

The Crownovers' son Zach was homeschooled until he enrolled in public high school as a sophomore. "He was into showing cattle, and I wanted him to be in FFA," Jerry said. Zach now holds a master's degree in philosophy from Ole Miss and works as a video game engineer and lives in Springfield with his wife, Alli. 

Jerry and Judy moved to their present farm in the 1990s. In 1997, Jerry left his teaching job at MSU to become a full-time farmer – and continue his sideline work as a farm-humor columnist and public speaker.

The writing started because Jerry enjoyed reading syndicated columns by Lewis Grizzard, an entertaining writer who had grown up in a small town in Georgia and had a clever way with words. Jerry faithfully read Grizzard's columns in the Springfield News-Leader, and when Grizzard died unexpectedly of heart issues in 1994, Jerry told Judy sadly, "I'm not even going to buy the News-Leader anymore."

She suggested that he consider writing a column himself. 

Jerry scoffed at her. "I'm not a writer," he said. But Judy pushed him, reminding him that he has always loved to tell stories. He just hadn't loved writing. But, with her encouragement, he pulled together a few ideas. She then told him he should try to get them published.

His first call was to his hometown paper, the Ozark County Times, where he spoke with then-publisher Walt Sanders. 

"I introduced myself, and we had a really long phone conversation," Jerry said. 

Walt finally told Jerry to send him two or three columns to read. Jerry mailed the hard copies to him, and Walt called after he'd read them. 

"He said, 'They're good enough to print but not good enough to pay for,'" Jerry recalled with a laugh. "I told him, 'OK, go ahead and print them.'"

Jerry knew that, once the columns were published, he could use them as an introduction to ask other newspapers to consider them – and to pay a modest fee for them.

And that's what happened. His column was picked up by some area newspapers and by the Farm Credit Services magazine. Then, in 1998, Jerry's hometown GHS classmate Mike Breeding heard that his friend Stan Coffman was starting a new magazine called Ozarks Farm & Neighbor. Mike told him, "If you're going to have a farm magazine, you have to have Jerry Crownover's column." 

Coffman agreed, and Jerry's column became a regular part of OF&N. By then, his columns were also being published in Arkansas and Oklahoma newspapers. 

Then the editor of Wisconsin Agriculturist happened to be in Missouri, where she picked up a copy of Ozarks Farm & Neighbor. That led to Jerry being invited to speak at a Wisconsin banquet, where he met someone from Farm Progress, which publishes a variety of farm-related magazines around the country. Jerry's column started appearing in several of those publications too. 

The column, and the Wisconsin banquet gig, led to a robust schedule of speaking engagements that has taken Jerry all over the country.

And in addition to speaking, he's also taken up a hobby as an auctioneer, after completing the World Wide College of Auctioneering in Des Moines, Iowa.

"It's just something I love doing. I just do it for charity things like the Lions Club auction in Gainesville, or a church bazaar or the FFA kids," he said. "It was just something on my bucket list."

Slowing down, stepping back

Now that he's hit his 70s, Jerry's easing up on these sideline jobs. After three back surgeries in 30 years, he's no longer able to travel long distances because sitting for very long becomes painful. So speaking engagements are limited to those within a couple hours' drive. His health also took a hit in 2021 when he was 68 and his primary care doctor asked, during a routine visit, how long he had been a smoker. 

"Fifty years," Jerry replied. "Two packs a day."

When the doctor asked if he wanted to quit, he confidently replied, "No, ma'am. I love it." 

Well, she said, given his history, how about letting her order some tests?

Jerry agreed. But perhaps as he expected, the results weren't good.

"You're in bad shape with your arteries," the doctor told him. 

"Can you stent it?" he asked.

"Oh, no. You're beyond that," she said.

Open-heart surgery was quickly undertaken. 

Through the long, painful recovery, Jerry only missed writing one column. For that deadline, he recycled a column he'd written sometime earlier, with his publishers' consent. 

While he's stepping back from his writing and speaking activities, Jerry is still farming full time. He's awake before dawn every morning, like most farmers, but has trained himself "to stay in bed until 6," he said. Then he spends some time on the computer and heads out in his Gator, stockdog Louie in the co-pilot's seat, to check on the cattle sometime between 8:30 and 9 a.m. "I don't get in a hurry," he said. "Everything's so automated now and so much more comfortable than it used to be. Even the Gator has heat and AC. 

Things are much easier now than when he was a dirt-poor farmboy, growing up on a small farm in Ozark County. But in case he needs a reminder of those days, he can head out to his shop and lift the tarp on a gift he inherited in 1997. It's his dad's old 1952 tractor, now completely restored.