I had the honor of representing the company I work for at a trade show in Houston last week. That’s pretty much my excuse for not posting. Working the show all day, then taking clients out to dinner, and ultimately entertaining those folks after dinner turns into an 8am-2am type of gig. As a result, not much time to write or do blog stuff.
Over the weekend I had some time to myself since my wife was going to lunch with her cousin, so I headed out to the ranch. My main reason for the impromptu trip was to pick up my ice chest and some leftover beer from my grandparent’s 60th wedding anniversary party the weekend prior. Grandma was pleasantly surprised when I walked into the house unannounced. She explained that a bull got out on another piece of property so Grandpa was out in the heat tracking him down. With a summer cold. At over 80 years old. Alone. In the heat.
All I could do was roll my eyes. I’m only an hour away. All he had to do was call and I’d be there. Not much I could do or say about it, he’s got a young cowboy’s mentality in an old work-horse’s body. So I sat down outside at my usual spot on top of the picnic table, with my feet on the bench and elbows my knees, and waited for him to get back. Wasn’t long before he pulled into the shed and walked over looking sweaty, tired, and sounding like crap.
He said since I was around that I could help him unload and put out feed for the black Angus heifers we’ve got isolated from the rest of the herd. I guess it was a good thing I showed up because he had over 1200 lbs of feed and was in no shape to do anything with it on his own. I wanted to get the chore over with but he wanted to eat lunch (“It’s dinner round here. Lunch is what you take in a sack”). So I walked around a small part of the place a bit to get a feel for how dry it is and get a look at the cattle.
After my walk I went back into the house and found Grandpa asleep in his chair. I woke him to find out where I should unload the feed but, of course, he wanted to participate despite his cold. So he headed out of the house and backed his truck up to the pens. We knew what to do from here. He would fiddle with and cut the strings off those tricky feed sacks while I did the lifting, moving, and dumping. We’ve done it hundreds of times before but today he was especially glad to have some help.
It was miserably hot, even in the shade of the feed shed, and the dirt in the pens was thick and loose. A horny toad ran for cover in the corner of the trough as I dumped the first bag, while the wind tried its best to cool us down. Were there other things I’d rather be doing? Probably. Did I think it was silly to do this in the heat of the day? Absolutely. But I’m a young man, full of farm-boy strength, who doesn’t tire easily. I was glad to be the one doing the tough work so Grandpa could take it easy. After all these years of keeping up the place, I’d say he’s earned it.
