If the whole World was Ranchers

Chaos all around and then … Silence

Declaration of a State of Emergency

If the whole World was Ranchers

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            With a great deal of trepidation, the acceptance of texting has come to be.

            My uncle and I discuss weather at 4:30. A year ago, neither of us knew a send button from a photo file. He tells me when it is -6 in Ft. Collins and I tell him when it hits the freezing mark at Massacre Peak.

This morning we got started on the influences of our years being connected to the Gila River. I told him that my admiration and respect for the pioneers who settled that place grows daily.

            The texted words became “lifelong commitment” and “work”. Indeed, the body of work those people chained together simply boggles the mind.

            “Can’t go to the house and wait this one out,” is a prelude to their standard. “You’ve got to finish this, or … die trying.”

            Chaos all around and then … Silence

            Gale force winds has pounded us for the past 30 hours.

            The proof is looking at myself in the mirror. My eyes look like I’ve been to Salinas for four days of sleepless rodeo. I’ve dug nearly as much dirt out of them as I have out of my ears and nose.

            It wasn’t just me. The cowboys looked like they have exchanged their eyes for red marbles, and, at the same time, they have completely covered their red cheeks with trough dredgings. It has been that rough.

            We have been at this for days. The cattle market is moving and we made the decision to accelerate our program to catch the grass fever spreading across the Panhandle and northeastern New Mexico.

            So, we got horseback and got after it.

            The first effort was to gather remnants in pastures that were intended to be empty. A lot of horse tracks were the result of that. The big drive was much more intense.

            We brought the herd through the full nine miles from the southeast corner of the Coldiron Pasture to the headquarters. Coming through the gate at the fence line drinker with that many animals was a full blown wreck. Even with riders on the north side of the fence to keep them shaped, the herd spread like wildfire when mixed up calves turned and ran the direction they had been coming.

            It took two hours to put everything back together. Closing the gate on that day wasn’t a celebration. It was sentence commuted.

            The next day, though, was the big day. In Smokey Nunn vernacular, there were not nearly enough cattle to satisfy a rancher, but there were danged sure too many by the time the chute quit banging, the vaccine guns/vaccine stored, and the pour on washed off our hands and face.

            The wind had started, and, I admit it … I wondered why I do this.

            Declaration of a State of Emergency

            The next morning was going to be a celebration of the harvest. We were going to work calves, but there was a problem.

            There were no calves!

            A hundred foot section of steel posts and crusher screen panels was laid flat on the ground, and the calves had scattered like quail. The posts were 6” pipe and they were laid over like they had been hit with a dozer.

            We have no idea what really happened, but what we know, the nearby community was called, and we had cowboys, wives, kids, and westerners in every persuasion unloading horses and hitting a high trot within two hours.

            By sundown, we had the majority of the calves retrieved and once again sorted and classified by sex.

            Whew!

            Yesterday, we finished. That included tagging the heifer calves going to Kansas, getting them inspected and presenting the health certificate to the proper authority, lotting the steer and remaining heifer calves, and getting everything loaded and on the road to destinations. At times it was so dusty and miserable, you couldn’t see across the corral.

            The wind and the conditions were so bad, that, I admit it … I wondered why I do this.

            If the Whole world was Ranchers

            And, then, it was quiet. Gone with the last truck, the chaos and the noise that had ruled our world for days was silent.

            I loaded Carter and headed home to fill his feed bucket and toss him some hay. Deep in thought trying to reassess what was left undone and where to start on Monday morning, a text dinged at me.

            We must admit that the influences of those people and their life long commitments had a lot more impact on us than maybe we want to admit.

            Oh, absolutely that is a truth! The immensity of the message filled me in an instant. All those people who couldn’t get into other people’s business because theirs was so full remain so important. Working constantly to fulfill the tasks at hand and those new ones revealed in their minds, they labored.

 I could see them in memory.

            I had also seen them get mounted and lope off across the flat just days ago to retrieve cattle that didn’t belong to them but belonged to one of them. It all came back in the image of one of those cowboys. All of nine or ten years old, he was booted, spurred, and wearing his leggins’ when he stepped out of the pickup. He was at the trailer gate when his horse backed off, and then he was pulling leather with everything he had to get mounted. Out from under his wide brimmed hat were ringlets of hair in his own unique style. When he loped off with the group, he rode tall as if he had done that his entire life.

            And, then I remembered … I know exactly why I do this.

            Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Yes, Sir, the world would be a better place!”