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Don’t drive angry

So, for starters, Praise the Lord! I’m alive. There were a few seconds yesterday when it was in question. I had to think about it for a day before it was funny enough to write about. Today, I’m sore and have limited range with one arm and if I have to sneeze, I look for a place to sit down so I can hold my ribs, but I’m incredibly thankful that’s all that happened.

The pastures are starting to green up and the cows know it. I had one first calf heifer that decided she needed to explore outside of their enclosure, and wander towards the road. I put her in three times yesterday morning. The fourth time she wandered through the yard I kind of lost it. I jumped on the Big Boss (6 wheeled utility vehicle) and took off after her. She turned to run back and I thought I’d make a point with her. I got right on her tail, and was pushing her hard and fast back to the pen. In the blink of an eye, things got exciting.

She zigged toward the trees and I didn’t want her to get in them and hide from me. I should have zagged, but I didn’t. I turned sharp with her to cut her off, and my brand new tires grabbed hard. I looked up the equation for trajectories, but I didn’t know how to put all the scientific stuff on here. It’s not that important. The good thing is, I weigh 900 pounds less than the Big Boss, so in scientific terms, I flew farther than it did. Thank goodness. I launched off of it like Pete Rose diving into third base at 25 mph. I could see the box of that angry monster flipping up in the air towards me and for a split second, I was pretty sure things were going to end badly. 1070 lbs of iron rolled up behind me. I had skidded to a stop on my chest and face. I sat up and took inventory and was elated with one little scratch on my eyebrow. My hat was about fifteen feet in front of me and the Big Boss was upside down behind me. To give you an idea of what adrenaline can do, I flipped that 6 X 6 over like it was a toy. I drove it up to the shop and the dog and I WALKED out and put the cow in.

When I told Eli about it, I asked him if I should be a man and tell his mom what I did. He said, “You should be a man, take an ibuprofen and keep your mouth shut.” I was honestly surprised at Allison’s response. She asked if I learned anything. I guess so. 1. Don’t drive angry. 2. I had two pair of work jeans that weren’t ripped. Now I have one. Stay safe friends and don’t drive angry.

A basket of fruit and an amorous dog

Mom had her knee replaced this week. It went well. It’s going to be a challenge for her because she waited about ten years too long, but she didn’t want to wear it out, so she figured if she got it done when she’s 85, it should get her twenty more years. She’s spending a couple weeks in the rest home doing physical therapy. They have been so good to her, taking care of her PT, meds, and the rest of her needs. She’ll be back to the pool and quilting twice a week before you know it.

We stopped in to have lunch with her and it was like old home week. Varsha asked me if I knew everybody, and to a young person, it probably seemed that way. A neighbor from years ago is in because she suffered a stroke a few months back. Her husband Stan comes in everyday for lunch and ice cream, and he caught me at the ice cream machine. We talked cattle and weather and his health. I got caught up on all their kids. About that time, Carolyn and Lee showed up to visit with them, and I thought, how awesome to spend quality time with friends of over 50 years. Still a lot to discuss and laugh about.

My friend Sue was there, spending the afternoon with her cousin. It’s heartbreaking, and I know many of you have gone through it with loved ones, watching, caring for, and having one sided conversations with someone who’s trapped inside themselves. Eli sat down and played piano and Will played along with his guitar for her. Shari actually tapped her foot to the music and we saw an occasional smile.

I found my sixth grade teacher just a few doors from my mom. His wife, Joyce, was with him and we had a nice conversation. I owe him a debt of gratitude I will never be able to repay. I missed the first two months of sixth grade and he spent every recess and before and after school with me until I caught up to the rest of the class. Looking back, he probably knew it was best for his sanity to not have me in sixth grade for two years.

I bumped into several other people that I knew, and started to wonder if Varsha was right. It’s interesting in retrospect. I saw everyone there how I saw them 30 or 4o years ago. It seems odd, but I see them younger than I am now. It may not make sense to you, but I looked at many of them through a child’s eyes. Their kids are my age, and when we spent the most time together, we were little and they were in their 30’s and 40’s.

We weave in and out of lives. We make contact, loose contact, reconnect, and sometimes just sit and wonder what happened to someone. The older I get, the more important it is to treat everyone well, to try and live by, and spread the fruit of the spirit. There are times (sorting cattle) when it’s difficult, but we could all use a little love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Well, that was kind of serious for me, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell a funny story before I quit. So, since I ran into Stan, I’ve got a story in honor of him.

We had a Black Lab when I was a kid, that for some reason wasn’t fixed. Like Ricky Nelson, he was a travelin’ man and he made a lot of stops, all over the neighborhood, and he owned the hearts of several neighbor’s female dogs. He was hardest on Cazzy, because Cazzy’s prized Australian Shepherd had a couple of half breed litters. Cazzy even caught him once and took a wire welding brush to his tool box, then poured turpentine on it. I can still see that dog running in the yard dragging his butt, back legs above his head, howling and promising to never roam again. But, he recovered and returned to his amorous ways. Stan and Judy lived right across the road from Cazzy, and were the owners of one of Ricky’s girlfriends. Stan hated that dog with a passion.

In the spring of 1974, Stan stopped by to visit with dad. They were standing on the back step when that old lab came around the corner, tongue wagging on the front end and tail on the back end. Stan turned white as a sheet. Dad asked him what the matter was. Stan looked at dad and said, “I shot that damn dog and buried him last week!”

If any of you had a male black Labrador that went missing about 45 years ago, I know nothing. Je ne parle pas anglais.

Polar Vortex

It was Christmas break of, I think, 1983. It hadn’t been above zero Fahrenheit all month. It really hadn’t bothered me much. My ’62 Mercury started every morning and got me to school. The landscape looked like a post card with the fluffy snow covering everything in a blanket of white. There was always a fire in the fireplace when I got home from school.

The weekends were the only time I had to be outside, and when you’re a teenager, you don’t put much thought into how much the cold slows all projects down. Diesel would not flow and it plugged fuel filters, water pipes and hydrants froze, cornstalks were covered with snow, and a person had to do everything with mittens on. Those weren’t things I was concerned about sitting in a warm classroom, but they did fill my weekends. I got to chop ice and pitch it out of the tanks onto the mountain of existing ice from every day before. I filled the feed wagon and buckets with silage, which was a treat, because the silage was warm, and I got to thaw frozen pipes, which is where this story is leading.

As the years passed, I have learned that my dad and my brother’s less than stellar attitudes were merited by the time Christmas break rolled around. My experiences as a stockman have taught me that it’s no fun to feed valuable hay because the cornstalks are covered in snow, and there are better aerobic workouts than chopping ice and swearing. Calves don’t gain weight and equipment breaks down with alarming frequency when it’s freeze your nose hair cold.

Everyone has a tipping point. my brother’s always seemed to happen when I was with him. We had gone over to chop ice out of the stock tanks on the pivot. The tanks were up in an old farmstead, and filled out of a frost free hydrant. That was OK, but the person who lived in the old house would leave the door to the cellar open so his dogs could sleep down in it to stay warm. It would cause the water pipes in the cellar, which fed the hydrant, to freeze. I didn’t know it, but several times a week, Dad and my brother were taking the propane torches over to thaw the pipes so they could water the cows.

On a rather bitter, gray, school free morning, we headed over to check water and found the tank full of ice, the pipes frozen, and the cows thirsty. We had forgot the propane tanks, and headed home to get them. My brother took it well, initially.

About halfway up the long driveway, his ice scraper slid down right in front of where he looked out the window. It was one of those plastic handled scrapers with a brush on one end, scraper on the other and gas station advertisement in the middle. He kept it on the sun visor, and for some reason, it wouldn’t stay that morning. He reached up and popped it back onto the visor, but about a hundred yards later, it slid down again. He used just a little more zeal in returning it to its place that time. We turned onto the road home and were going way to fast when it slid down for about the forth time. That’s when things took a turn for the worse.

A lot of variables played into the next part of the story. Excessive speed and the fragile mental state that cold weather causes were only two of them. The sun visor was not only for storing an ice scraper, but was also where six months of receipts, parts lists, to do lists, random mail and some bank statements were filed. The last time the scraper slid down, he reached up and jerked it, and all other contents of the visor, down. It didn’t just fall into his lap. Because of the frigid temps, we had to leave the windows down a little so the front windshield wouldn’t fog over. The polar vortex going through the cab, turned us into a 3/4 ton, green and yellow snow globe. One of the figures in the snow globe began breaking the ice scraper over his knee into tiny plastic pieces. The other figure stared out the passenger window as they slid sideways down the snow packed road to their impending doom.

What I remember most, was my brother angrily throwing the remains of the scraper on the pickup floor then looking out my window, realizing that no one had been driving for awhile. He said, “Ah, shit.” Good fortune, or an incredibly frazzled guardian angel guided us into the ditch that was level full of powdery snow. We couldn’t see anything through the snow blowing over the hood. We came to a stop, unscathed, locked it in four wheel drive and drove home very quietly. Not much was said the rest of the day, but Dad made sure the cows got water.

Irish Yoga

It surprises me how many people comment about the age of my children. “Only a couple more years and it’ll just be the two of you. You won’t know what to do.” Well, this week was kind of a dry run.

Andie moved to Orlando. Laurel and Varsha are on their way to D.C. The boys have been at Chadron State football camp. Forgive me, I’m a man. I spent the first day of just the two of us for the first time since 2010 thinking, “OHHHHH Yeah!!!”

We got up early and brought the last batch of pairs in from the home pasture. We sorted and hauled most of the day, the cool breeze turning to a hot baked wind by late afternoon. But, I’m a man of focus, and I’m not letting cattle, or weather, or fixing the sprayer and rolling up the last of the wire side track me. I’m headed for the house on a mission, and you can imagine how utterly happy I was when my lovely bride offered me a glass of wine.

Some of you will remember what happened with my last glass of wine over a year and a half ago. I was even less prepared this time. I was so focused on my day that I think I stopped at the house around noon and had a bit of salad. On an empty stomach and most likely dehydrated I smilingly raised my glass and drained it. The next thing I know, I’m laying on the living room floor doing Irish yoga.

I couldn’t feel my teeth and I was singing, “Riunite and it feels so good, Riunite and it’s understood.” I have to tell you, I’m somewhat surprised and embarrassed about how much of that song I know. Sometime, during my serenade, Allison went to bed, but she left me in the living room in the ‘Drunken Dog’ pose. I was on my knees, backside up in the air, arms extended back with palms up, head facing to the right in a little puddle of drool.

That’s the position I was in when my phone woke me. Now, when my phone rings after 9 pm, I freak out a little. No one calls me after 9, except when my kids are scattered to the four corners of the world and it must be an emergency. I’m up and scrambling for my phone, but my arms are asleep, so I just flail them at the phone like pool noodles. I succeed in knocking my phone across the kitchen floor.

If I wasn’t so stubborn and cling to the past so tightly, I’d have a smartphone and could at least have answered it with my nose or face recognition or something, but, noooo, I still have a blasted flip phone. I dive on the floor and start pushing it around trying to bite it or bang it against the cabinets with my head hard enough it might pop open.

For the second time, the phone says “Call from 308…”, I only have about one ring left and it goes to voicemail. I spin around and get hold of it with my toes and pry it open. I desperately throw myself towards the speaker and shout, “What is it?!” A perky voice answers, “Hi! This is Heather. You’ve qualified for a six night stay at the resort of your choice.”

I start SPEAKING IN TONGUES! I have no one to interpret it but the dog, and she must have known what I said because I saw her scooching toward the stairs on her belly.

Stay sober friends, and have a romantic weekend. I’m sleeping on the couch.

Bigfoot?

Well, it’s 6:30 and I’ve had a pot of coffee and a couple hours to think about it. I didn’t sleep that well. Dogs in dogs out. Dreamed I was hauling hay from north of town, one stinking bale at a time. Woke up wondering if the dogs were being jerks because the cows might be out.

Then I heard it. 4am and the strangest yeowlly growly sound is coming from down by the mailbox. It’s getting closer and closer and louder and louder. I got out of bed and opened the curtains and there it was.

I could just make it out in the pale moonlight, a giant ROUS. Those of you that aren’t fans of Princess Bride, an ROUS is a rodent of unusual size. This guy is about two feet tall, pretty long, walking slowly through the front yard.

Like any normal person would do, I put on my muck boots, grabbed my spotlight and ran outside to look at it. I’m standing in the yard, 4am, boxers, muck boots and lamp, thinking, “This is not how I want the authorities to find me.” Went back in, put clothes on. By now Will is up because whatever it is is standing outside of his window making the strange noise. I head out the back door and can’t see it because it rustled out into the trees. I’m so disappointed. I’m sure I’ve found an actual ROUS, or maybe the elusive link between reptile and mammal, after all it walked like an alligator but had hair. 

 Allison is up by now. She heard the noise and I’ve explained to her what I saw. Now, she’s been sucked into too many of my misadventures (think alien abduction, etc) and lived with the overactive mind of a 6 foot six year old for too many years to believe it was a woolly alligator. She methodically debriefed my morning escapades, and after listening to animal sounds on the computer, I’m sorry and somewhat embarrassed to admit, it was a large porcupine. Dang it anyway.

COFFEE!!

FJ

They say addicts don’t even realize when they’re addicted to something until it’s too late. I learned that the hard way this morning. I wasn’t always a coffee drinker. It all started about ten years ago. A cup here, a cup there, always prefering tea or cocoa. But at 5:30 am, there I was, staring at a broken Mr. Coffee.

I went into the textbook stages of grief. Denial-“No, this can’t be happening!” Anger-“Work,Work, WORK, you son of a motherless goat!” Then I started poking the on/off switch. Bargaining- “Please, please, please, please, please.” I sat on the floor holding the lifeless shell, rocking back and forth, caressing it -Depression.

Finally, I decided I didn’t really NEED coffee. It was just a habit, a motion, absolutely unnecessary. I could accept this and move on like a grown up. So I put three tablespoons of coffee grounds on my cereal and started my day.

It’s Hot!

  The snow is beautiful. There’s ten or more inches piled on everything in the yard. Outside of the trees, the thirty mile an hour wind we got with the storm made some impressive drifts. It’s not cold, so it’s not miserable, just slow. Everything takes longer, especially with heavy wet snow.

  I got paths scooped to bins and buildings, bunks scooped and everybody fed their grain. Haying was a trick. I drove the loader tractor a ways, then dug it out with my trusty shovel and mutt scraper. It’s not a bad cardio workout. I took the girls on the pivots a couple bales. By the time I had dug the tractor out twice and got to the gate farthest from the pickup, because the drifts were too big to use the close gates, I was getting warm (In more ways than one).

  The gate popped right open, but for some reason, after I fed, I lacked about two inches from hook to loop. I didn’t have any tools, and the fence is hot both ways, so the gate was hot and the loop was hot. I hate getting shocked.

  I know some of you guys are tougher than me and would have just grabbed it, taken a couple hits, and hooked it up. Not me, I found a little plastic ice scraper in the tractor and tried a dozen different ways to pry, pull, or push the gate close enough to hook. On my last attempt, I had the gate handle in my left hand, and was trying to push the fence loop towards the hook on the scraper handle. I was SO close. I gave it just a little pelvic thrust to get that last fraction of an inch.

  I’m standing in a foot of wet snow, sweating bullets, coat, hat and gloves off. I went to ground and I went to ground the last place I wanted to go to ground. NEVER pelvic thrust an electric fence. That Gallegher 30 mile charger sucked the breath and nearly the life out of me. I dropped to my knees and tried to throw the handle. It made two circles around my wrist and the hook caught in the hammer loop of my coveralls. Now I’m basically tied to the fence and every second and a half it’s alternating shocking my hand and leg. I can’t catch my breath to even cry out.

  The cows think I’m playing charades. “Oh, Oh, Oh, a fish on the ice!” “No,no,no, he’s doing the worm.” “He’s MC Hammer!!” When I got loose, I noticed I had made the craziest snow angel you’ve ever seen. I staggered to my feet, I didn’t care anymore,  I grabbed the fence and hooked it up. I climbed up into the tractor, kind of weak kneed, and sat there thinking I could use a cigarette. I’ve never smoked. Seems odd.