30 January 2011

Mailboxes and Old Barns – Sunday Open Thread

Written by Sharon

Branding irons and barbed wire fences were frequently the frame for range wars in the 1800′s. They were both cause and consequence of bitter battles between competing ranchers; between those who owned cattle and those who owned sheep; and they are surely the stuff of some bloody memoirs. But for me, they frame good memories, born too late as I was to remember the losses and deaths in the cattle herds of the 1930′s during the depression and the dry years.

Lessons like responsibility, caring for really big animals, paying attention to details, looking for the one that gets lost or hurt are part of what spills over the life of a child on a farm or ranch that has cattle as part of its operation.

In the best of times our 700 pasture acres could feed 150 cattle and that happened one lone time in the 18 years I lived there. The other years it supported 75-110 head. The cattle drank at five scattered wells that provided water in spurts, both literally and figuratively. Two of the wells had electric pumps. Two had windmills and one was a hand pump. So, you might say there was water available–if the wind blew, if the well was functioning, if the wooden tanks down in the hills didn’t leak, if there was water down there this year.

And then we had The Dam. This was the water collected above a 25 foot high dirt barrier in a likely spot about 1/4 mile from our yard, over a hill or two. Water would accumulate there when the snow melted each spring, up to three feet deep at the most; perhaps 35 feet across and 75 feet long, filthy as all get-out, but a dependable water supply for the cattle in most years.

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There was always a running conversation in our part of the country on the best way to count cattle and Dad always maintained you should just count the legs and divide by four. No matter how it was done, though, the day always comes when the count is short. Maybe three head. Or four. Or worse, just one. It’s “the one” that scares the farmer or rancher. Three or four? Aw, never mind! They probably just wandered behind a hill somewhere or maybe found a weak spot in the barbed wire fence and left for greener pastures, in which case we’ll find them. Not a problem. But one? More likely sick. Lost or injured. Or did the coyotes get it?

“The one” is perfectly described in the old gospel song:

“There were ninety and nine that safely lay in the shelter of the fold;
But one was out on the hills away, far off from the gates of gold.
Away on the mountains wild and bare;
Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.” (Public Domain)

Jesus knew His listeners would understand that story when He first told it, because they knew sheep. They all knew about that one “out on the hills away.” We never had sheep, but I’ve been told by those who did that sheep are amazingly foolish, utterly dependent and, if you will forgive me, quite stupid. Cattle not quite so bad….but still….still…

…the inevitable happened. Dad counted again. And again. Nope. Keep coming up one short.

It’s toward evening with maybe an hour of light remaining. He goes one way to the southeast pasture and sends my brother and me the other direction to check coulees and gullies as far as The Ridge That Had The Indian Rings on it. We walk all the way to the ridge and see nothing. The barbed wire gate there is closed, so we know the missing steer isn’t in the lower pasture. Then as we’re walking back to the farmyard, from fifty yards north of the dam we see it. The steer is laying on top of The Dam, all four legs sticking up, silhouetted in the late evening light. We go close enough to know for sure it isn’t just hurt or sick, but thoroughly dead and fearfully bloated. We hurry back to the house to report what we found. For Dad, it was a debit to be entered in the books. It was personal loss because he cared for his cattle, and it was a considerable financial loss because the profit from a future sales day at the cattle ring was gone.

The livestock yard where he had most of his dealings was about 60 miles away. He would buy young ones to hold for a year or so; or, if prices were good, might buy a little older herd in the fall to fatten up for resale in the spring.

His long friendship with the owner of that sales ring was based on trust and a shared sense of humor. We didn’t have a phone, so the purchase request would be made by mail or by taking a day to drive there. Those orders and the resulting cattle deliveries, involving 2 or 3 fully loaded semi-trucks and occurring infrequently, were a big deal for us. There were also considerable stretches of time when our pastures stood empty. One time a delivery was fast-tracked because these two men did know each other’s thinking.

Dad, Mom, my brother and I had been gone on a Saturday and were coming home in the late afternoon, between the fields along the up ‘n down of the 3/4 mile road from our mailbox to the yard. Dad starts laughing as we pull around the last curve, “Well. Looks like Livdahl’s been here.” I would say he has: a hundred head or so of beef are milling around in the fenced area near the barn. He had taken the time to put our two milk cows in the barn before unloading the new ones, thus sparing those two the considerable bovine stress they might experience in the face of all this unexpected company. This herd had not been ordered and was not expected, but Livdahl had definitely been there. He just saw a good bunch of cattle and decided it fit our pasture. And apparently feeling his oats, he had also included a Brahma bull in the delivery just for fun. Oh, I mean to tell you, we were proud! Couldn’t wait for the school bus to come the next Monday morning. We didn’t say anything, but Dad left the cattle there in the close-by pasture, knowing we would point the Brahma out to our neighboring farm kids on the bus. Having that Brahma bull gave us bragging rights in grade school for some time.

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“Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine….” (and a Brahma bull) “…are they not enough for Thee?”

It’s another day. Another count.

Now because it’s a new delivery, the headcount is done more frequently so they have our close attention. But eventually they have quieted down. They know where the best grazing is and where to find water, but now…one is missing.

After a 24 hour search, Dad finds the young steer about four miles away and has come back to the house. He invites me to go along back out if I want.

This is what he had found: there are so pitifully few freestanding trees growing in the open on these hard hills, but bless his heart, that calf found two of them, not very thick in the trunk, not very tall but very close together where they come out of the ground in a V-shape that spreads. Close to the ground where he was obviously scratching himself up ‘n down, up ‘n down, they are just the right distance apart for him to get his head through…and get stuck. He’s been standing there for at least a day. He’s dehydrated. He’s in big trouble. He can’t just be “pulled up and out” without injury, so Dad had left him to come back home for the saw and a bucket of water.

We grab a bucket, fill it with water and run for the truck. Bouncing along the tracks through the pasture sod, then leaving the tracks and heading out across raw prairie, we get to him as fast as possible. The saw is one of the back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth variety so the job is going to take awhile, and it’s important that the calf get a drink before Dad starts sawing. If he is unwilling to drink, (stuck, miserable and swollen as he is) we might not be able to save him. But he drinks and Dad saws, while I stand there watching, trying not to cry.

Then “up from the rocky steep, there arose a glad cry to the gate of heav’n,
‘Rejoice!! I have found my *sheep’….”

(*calf in this case…which doesn’t rhyme with steep)

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Supper’s done. The day ends well.
The swing is hanging perfectly still on 30′ ropes.
The moon quietly walks out on Big Sky Stage.

The cattle are now quiet for the night.

The darkness is comfortable.

21 Responses to Mailboxes and Old Barns – Sunday Open Thread

  1. Pat P says:

    Another wonderful story, Sharon. Thank you!

    Received this quote in my email this morning, and thought it would be a good one to share:

    “In matters of style, swim with the current.
    In matters of principle, stand like a rock.
    ~ Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826) ~

  2. GracieD says:

    Sharon, as usual I thoroughly emjoyed your word pictures.

  3. Menagerie says:

    Sharon your gift is a precious one indeed. Thank you for a beautiful Sunday morning story. You paint pictures with words.

  4. Pat P says:

    More about previously hidden waivers and cost overruns of Obamacare.

    http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2011/jan/28/tawdry-details-of-obamacare-420960137/

  5. MRM says:

    Sharon, another beautiful story brought to life by your gifted writing. Thank you so much for taking us along with you to the land of Mailboxes and Old Barns.

  6. WeeWeed says:

    Good Morning, Honeys, and thank you Sharon for another excellent Sunday morning read! I’ll be thinking of the poor, stuck calf all day! Hope you’re feeling better today, as well.

  7. Bijou says:

    Good morning, Honeys!

    Thank you, Sharon, for another brilliant ‘installment’. I’m starting to feel as if I ‘know’ your Dad. He sounds like just a wonderful person.
    You are blessed to have these memories of such a rich childhood and we are blessed that you share them with us.

    Have a lovely Sunday, everyone! Only 721 days until BO leaves office.
    ;)

  8. WeeWeed says:

    Hot Air has the weekly poll up – I think we ALL know this week’s winner!

    http://hotair.com/archives/2011/01/30/poll-what-was-the-obamateurism-of-the-week-80/

  9. Shalini says:

    Emma, that was so… Beautiful!! I really missed reading these. I did! Makes me want to share a little something. Well, I don’t have your gift and the story isn’t anything as special as yours, but …what the heck!

    Anyway, it was Friday morning and I was slowly beginning to wake up when I heard a soft lilting music traveling to my room. It was but a faint murmur but sounded very familiar, something which reminded me of the fond memories of my childhood. Something from a distant past. I sat up and shook off the last tendrils of sleep. I did my best to quickly wash myself up and stepped into the main living room. Then it struck me. It was the song I used to wake up to when I was very young. ( I must have been 3 back then, if my memory serves me right.) It was running on a tape recorder which I had forgotten we had and the tape seemed pretty worn out. (As worn out as 25 year old tape would be!) I started looking out for mom, just like I used to when I was a kid. Besides it must be mom who found both the tape and the tape recorder. She wasn’t there but I wasn’t bothered as I knew she must be in her garden. Dad wasn’t there either. Well, it was 10 AM in the morning and nobody else is as jobless as I am in my home.

    So I fixed myself a cup of health drink and sat there listening to the worn out tape and smiling like an idiot. It was just like old days. House filled with music when I woke up, (but usually mom would be there with my cup of coffee! Weird, isn’t it? I used to have coffee back then and now I am having health drinks!!) dad gone to work, brothers and sisters gone to school. Having absolutely nothing to do but feeling extremely happy about anything and everything in the world, knowing they’d be all back soon, happy to see me as happy as I’d be to see them. Except, they have all traveled to different parts of the world and it would be another few long months (or even years) before I meet them again. But it does fill me with warmth to know they are still excited about seeing me and pamper me with lavish gifts, gifts I don’t need but still cherish. To know their priorities have changed but their love hasn’t. To know that they cherish all those childhood memories as fondly as I do, perhaps more than I do ’cause they remember more.

    I belong to the gen X, but I am eternally grateful that I too lived in a time which was free of technological trappings. Yeah, I own almost everything that has an “i” prefixed to it and I appreciate them but those precious days… they are priceless. I hope that someday, if and when I have children, I’ll be able to gift them a beautiful childhood just like my parents gave me. Err… except maybe 4 siblings!

    P.S. Crappy punctuation, crappy typos, crappy grammar… all mine. It’s easier this way than to go back and proof read! :D

    • Shalini says:

      Oops! I assumed it was Emma but it says it’s by “Sharon”. Anyway, that was a beautiful read, Sharon. :)

    • Menagerie says:

      We have missed you. Glad to see you back.

    • Pat P says:

      Shalini, I asked about you the other day, wondering where you were and if you were okay. Now, here you are! What a pleasant surprise this morning. This is one of the best things that has happened to me the last few days. I know that sounds like an exaggeration, but it is true.

    • sundancecracker says:

      Shalini, that was frilliant. Thank you so much for sharing. What a sweet, sweet sentiment. Absolutely beautiful. Great to see you/hear from you again. :) :) :) :)

    • GracieD says:

      Glad to see you Shalini! I, too remember the days before all of the technology. Kids actually had immaginations when I was young. We didn’t dare say we were bored, lest we be given a boatload of chores to alleviate said boredom. Anyhoo, what is your take on the goings on in Egypt…what are they saying about it in India?

    • MRM says:

      So good to see you Shalini! We’ve missed you

      • Shalini says:

        I’ve missed you all too and I am glad to be back. But I hadn’t forgotten. I don’t know whether I should say this (simply because I prefer keeping my prayers silent. It feels like boasting if I say it aloud and makes me awkward.) but I figured it does comfort people when they know people talk about them to God. Our church had an 100 hour Eucharistic Adoration service in mid January and I remembered to mention all of your intentions to God (from the Prayer requests thread). I might have mixed up your names (Except Pat’s friend who’s suffering from cancer and Zmalfoy’s friend who suffered a miscarriage because I have personally gone through something similar. May be some day I could share it here…) but I know God would have got it right anyway. I felt the need to be there from midnight until dawn. I hope it reflects in all your lives. Not because I prayed but because our Lord is a loving and living God. Nothing would make me more happier. :)

        And I know it’s rather late (Like a month late? Yeah like a month late! *Smiles sheepishly*) but wish you all a very blessed New Year.

  10. Michael F. says:

    Sharon;

    Great memories!
    Mine are similar. I was raised on a mixed farm (a long day’s drive north of yours): cattle, sheep, pigs, grain, poultry, whatever they could raise and sell. They’d been wiped out by the Depression, so there was next to no money, and certainly no luxuries. I thoroughly detested life there and left as soon as I found a job – in the next province.
    Now I’m retired, two memories / feelings stick with me: the horses I rode or drove from preschool-age onward; and the natural world along that lovely valley (large then, so small now). I’m reading this book, and I’m deeply moved, again, by the bond we share with the creatures: Intimate Nature: The Bond Between Women and Animals.

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