February 3, 2005

After two months of calving heifers, interest wanes so much among friends and family that no one asks what's going on at the ranch. Might have started before heifer calving, as ranch life is a mighty steady program. Hard to participate in the jet age if putting beans on to soak at night is an important topic.

            Son John, the sculptor, stayed around several weeks during Christmas. First time he's been lucky enough to be part of a few small cow works in a long time, or been privileged to share in such excitement as jacking the feed wagon out of a seep muddy enough to mire the old buggy below the hub.

            His reintroduction to the romance of the range began with a casual request to pick up the mail in Mertzon. I smoothed that into him hauling a load of mineral from town — a coveted job he never experienced as a young cowboy. Expanded the next morning to: "John, reckon you could help Tom and your brother Ralph mark a little bunch of baby calves in the Devil River pasture? (55 head of kicking, 100-150 pound black calves.) Should be through before lunch." (Check for time miracle here to gather three sections plus mark calves to be worked two ways.)

            The first delay came when the Devil River count was incorrect. The books were right. It must have been a typo that caused us to carry the cow with the crippled calf on the Devil River count instead of booking her in the horse trap. Caught the mistake too late to stop John from re-riding the fence a second time. Would have honked him in with the feed wagon horn, but the battery short kept cutting the heater on and off, chilling the cab. Nothing on four wheels as cold as an old pickup with the insulation worn from around the doors. Was plenty brisk up in the air on a saddle, but John lives in Connecticut, where zero weather is considered a balmy day.

            Before lunch, a second audit discovered the crippled cow's calf, but showed one cow to have a full bag and another to be dry. Crippled bull in the hospital pen pushed under a gate at lunch. His contribution mixed the cows and calves back together. Second audit showed the full bag cow to be sucked and the dry cow to have a calf and not much milk.

            Didn't take long to separate the cows from the calves a second time, but the six head loaded on the trailer to go over to my son Ralph's place had to be unloaded to set the calf chute. In the process, the trailer door flew open and caught either John or Ralph's hand against a pipe rail. Was hard to think with a west wind rattling the barn roofs. Believe it was John, as later on he had a handkerchief tied above the knuckles on his right hand.

            We finished too late to warm supper. Cows kept coming back bawling for calves after dark. The old fence in the back of the trap leaks cows like a turnstile to a subway train, but I didn't want to mention working on the fence until I knew how much time John was going to lose while his hand healed. (Seems like my boys are always poking their hands in the wrong place at the wrong time. Son Lea injured his hand Thanksgiving snubbing a cow in the chute. I remember Ben or George one in high school allowing a big calf to knock his hand into the path of a vaccinating gun.)

            Day after Christmas, John's pal from Washington DC came for a visit. He works for the EPA. Good thing he arrived after marking. The new automatic syringe misfired every other dose. Had we been apprehended shooting two milliliters of seven-way into the atmosphere, there would have been a lot more trouble in the corrals than bruised hands or bad counts.

            I was so nervous at breakfast the first morning with the new guest that I buttered my eggs instead of the toast. Was unable to decide whether to peel an orange or eat it peel and all. Lady helping clean the house stripped a bed before I checked to see if the mattress tag was in place. Living so far from town, you overlook serious laws like those that prohibit removing a mattress tag. Would like to know someday the limitations on such tags.

            The guest turned out to be a personable chap, well traveled and widely read. Helped John finish filling mud holes in front of the garage, made a hand in the kitchen, and entertained a second guest by conversing in French after dinner.

            I was glad John had a rest from his last assignment. Ranch life is slow, yet restores and rests the mind. I could tell when we said goodbye at the airport that his hand was healing. To save myself, I can't figure why my boys get hurt so often …

 February 3, 2005