I used to like Spotify

The kids got me hooked on Spotify. I build my own playlist, pirate theirs, and search all kinds of random music. When I’m in the shop, I usually pick an artist and hit shuffle. It’s nice background while I’m working on a project.

Last week, I was getting the drill ready to plant sorghum-sudan grass and thought a little throw back country sounded fun. I saw Restless Heart in concert three times during college, but hadn’t given them a listen for years. I hit shuffle, thinking I would hear a wide range of old favorites. I did and it was fun to wake up some old memories. What I wasn’t prepared for was Christmas music. I realize I hit shuffle, but I never thought they’d mix in, nor did I know there was, Restless Heart Christmas music.

Now, everyone knows I love Christmas music all year long, so it should have been sort of awesome, having random, jingly Christmas music in the shop. What caught me off guard was the song itself. I’ve got a boy at basic training right now, and the other one is a senior. Both are three inches taller than me and way better looking than I ever hoped I could be. They should thank their mother. Anyway, when “Old Toy Trains” came on, it set me back a bit. You know the one, ‘Old toy trains, little toy tracks, little boy toys coming from a sack’.

I started thinking about the North Pole Mining Company. Every Christmas, the boys would get out every toy truck we had and haul load after load of silver and gold out from under the tree. It was quite a business. Last Christmas, they still put several of the trucks around the tree, but not nearly as much mining took place as in years past. It’s difficult for a business when the partners pursue different interests or are just plain over qualified for the work itself and the remaining partner’s knees can’t handle scooting around on the floor like they used to. I hated to even think about shuttering such a lucrative, albeit, seasonal business.

I was kind of fiddling with the seed tubes on the drill when the song was coming to an end. I thought I was having some sort of allergic reaction. I had heartburn, and my throat was tight, and my eyes were kind of watering. It was that, or I was having a very rare tender and poignant moment. Fortunately for me, my screwdriver slipped and went through the end of my thumb. I felt better after that. What did I learn? No more Spotify in the building.

Cheap Sunglasses, a Sleeping Bag, and some Tush?????

I spend a lot of time listening to the radio. It’s one of the perks of working alone all the time. I switch stations constantly for variety. There are several Christian stations, too many Country stations, Public radio, Sports talk, Royals or Rockies this time of year. I listen to KRVN for ag news. I can barely tolerate the talk show stations, liberal or conservative. I don’t know if any of those city folks know what ‘beating a dead horse’ means, but they do it regularly.

Here’s the one that really irks me, though, Classic Rock stations. There are three local and several more I can pick up if the tractor is pointed the right direction. It’s a misnomer. Classic rock is the Stones, the Beatles, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Cream, Jefferson Airplane, etc, etc. These so called “Classic Rock” stations are playing stuff from my youth. I’ll have you know, my youth is not that far removed to be called ‘Classic’.

Anyway, I was listening to one of said “Classic Rock” stations this evening and the disc jockey played an awesome set of so called “Classic Rock”. Def Leppard, AC/DC, followed by Van Halen shook the tractor windows. For ten uninterrupted minutes I didn’t worry about the farm economy, or my kids, or the weather, or finances, or cows being out. I simply assaulted my ears with screaming guitars and wasted youth.

I leaned back in the seat, being thankful for auto steer, because it makes air guitaring much easier, and had a bit of a reckoning. I have blamed my hearing loss on my vocation for years, but could it be something else? Well, probably not, but we all have certain songs that must be listened to with the volume turned up to eleven (Spinal Tap reference for the younger generation).

At that moment, I felt all was well with the world. It just couldn’t get much better. Then, the DJ says a new stage production is in the works………”ZZ Top the Musical – Sharp Dressed Man”!! Praise the Lord, I was so wrong. Life got exponentially better. I’m not much of a go to a Broadway musical kind of guy. I totally missed Wicked and Hamilton, but I’d walk farther than the Proclaimers to see a musical paying homage to Tres Hombres. My entire immature, hormonal, awkward youth, packaged and put on stage could be nothing short of miraculous. Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t dream of waking up with Eliminator’s keys.

Dog brains vs Man brains…..no contest.

It’s finally spring and time for pairs to go to grass. I’ve got a set ready to work tomorrow and thought I’d bring them in to the corrals tonight to save time in the morning. I don’t know why I thought that, being home alone, no help in sight except for the dogs, but I decided to take a stab at it. 35 pairs were strung out about a half mile from the house, with the farthest away naturally being the calves. Jones (actual cow dog) and I walked out and around them. He kept looking at me all the way out there like, “why don’t you ride a horse?” That’s another story for another time. I explained it to him, but we had time on our walk. He didn’t believe me, but the time passed more quickly. I have to admit my surprise, but we slowly and surely bunched them up and pointed them all toward the house. Halfway in, we got to the cedar windbreak and like good cows, they split. All the cows but one, along with about ten calves went on the west side of the trees, while one cow and 25 or so calves went on the east side. This wasn’t in my plans, although my plans, as usual, were pretty fluid. I walked along the tree line talking to both sets of calves while Jones trotted out in the middle of the calving pen to keep the calves close to the fence. Good dog. The whole group came out of the north end of the trees close to the corrals. I had the gate open, but little chance of pointing 35 milling pair towards it let alone coaxing them through it. This is where my planning was a bit weak. I hadn’t really thought about this stage of the cattle drive because I really didn’t believe I’d get this far. I stood there, still in the trees myself, a little perplexed and making up plan C. A couple cows decide they were bored there and were going to head back out. I gave a little whistle and waved to turn them back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jones’ ears go down. He knifed through the trees and hit those cows heals. I had visions of nuclear devastation and cows and calves going every direction but in. *Language warning* I ran out of the trees screaming, “Down, Down, Down, Dammmmmittttt Jones, you Son of a ……GOOD DOG!!!!!!” Seventy tails, straight up in the air, went right in the gate. I did a little happy dance, closed the gate, and told Jones how good of a dog he was, which he already knew.

Memorial Day

Everyone has one in his or her town. Etched in stone, concrete, or granite is a list of names. Sometimes they’re by the high school football field, or baseball complex, or in a park. Stop and look at it. Reach out and trace the names with your finger. They’re real people. If you grew up there, you recognize a few family names or even a relative. Most were young and in the prime of their lives. In our extremely short history as a country, we’ve had over 1.2 million pay the ultimate price for freedom. Dad would talk about Dude Straub. Dude lived west of Uncle John and Aunt Ida’s and would come help brand or move cows or anything else they needed help with at the farm. Dad said Dude looked like he walked right out of a movie. He was over 6 foot and hardened from farm labor. He was happy-go-lucky I think. During the depression, when his family would run out of firewood and coal, they had to pick up wagon loads of cow pies to burn, Dude painted “Heifer City Coal” on the side of the buckboard wagon. To a nine year old kid, Dude was hero material. When Dude joined the navy in 1942, Dad couldn’t imagine the US military would need anyone else to defeat the Axis powers. On January 10, 1943, Durward Staub’s PBY Catalina crashed on a training mission, killing all crew members. When Dad was an old man, Dude was still 25, blond and tan, and Dad could still hear his infectious laugh. This is our little town’s monument. It’s a monument to forever young men. Your town may have more or less names, but it’s our price tag, payment in full for our freedom. We all pray that no more names are added, but evil manifests itself in every age. Look at the boyish face of Paul Martin or the bullet riddled helicopter Larry Liles died in, and be thankful.

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.

Delusions of Grandeur, Nagging Injuries, and Serenading Cows

I felt so good running through the snow. I had parked the loader tractor and was headed back to the pickup. The cold wind was pushing me, so I broke into a trot, then a jog, and then miraculously, it seemed, I was almost running. I’m going to stop here a moment to explain something to all the young folks who may be reading this. When I say, “Man I feel good.” or “I feel 25 again,” something bad is about to happen. It will happen to you someday, but right now, consider it akin to saying, “Here, hold my beer.” So, there I was, muck boots, coveralls, gloves, and hat on, but I felt great. I thought about running behind the trailer to get to the driver’s door, but I spied the trailer tongue, and I was suddenly finishing the 300 meter hurdles at the conference meet. I drove my lead leg over the trailer hitch just like old times. I snapped my trail leg through and the bit of momentum I had built up came to a sudden and dramatic halt. The trailer hitch has a little lever that locks it on the ball. It’s broken and sticks up a bit. When I pulled my leg through, the lever went through my brand new muck boots and into the top of my foot. Common sense says that I then face planted into the snow, but physics says that my momentum flung me into the tailgate of my pickup like a cartoon character. From there, I slid down and bounced off the bumper, and THEN I face planted in the snow.

The casual observer would never have guessed that it had been an attempt at hurdling. It most likely appeared to be an over dressed farmer slowly tumbling to the ground. I laid there for a bit, my foot slightly injured, parts of my body somewhat damaged, and my ego destroyed. I brushed the snow off and crawled into my truck. A baseball game was on the radio, so I quickly forgot my little mishap. Sometimes, having attention deficit is a good thing. The rest of the day passed with hardly a thought about any delusions of grandeur

I got up at 2 am to check heifers, and was reminded of my afternoon escapades. My foot was throbbing and my hip, which has been bothering me for several months started talking to me. I’ve heard about ‘nagging’ injuries, but I’d never really had one until tonight. I always wondered what a ‘nagging’ injury would be like. My hip says, “You’re old enough to know better.”

I said, “What are you talking about?”

“Well, if you’re not going to grow up, this stuff is going to happen.”

“That’s not fair, you were in on it just as much as I was.”

“You think you’re so……

It was getting pretty heated and I heard 763 lean over and whisper to 744, “He’s talking to himself again.” I think the heifers must be worried about me, because none of them had babies in the snow. However, as I was limping through the lane back to the house, a low chorus of voices, thirty concerned heifers, started singing.

The sun’ll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun! Great, calving season just became a musical.

Bram Stoker vs Huey Lewis and the News

It’s important during calving season to keep your imagination in check. The weather determines how many nighttime checks the bred heifers get this time of year. When we started and it was so bitter cold, we were checking every two hours. Now that it’s warming up and drying up I’m trying to go out a couple times a night. This month I’ve seen all phases of the moon and when it’s not cloudy, I watch Orion go from shooting his arrow right at Hershey from the southwestern sky around midnight, to being gone over the horizon around three or four am. I enjoy the vastness of the universe and the completely different world the darkness holds. Seldom do I let my imagination run away like I did looking for the cow last summer…..until last night.

The 4 am check was entirely different than at midnight. Ground fog had rolled in and the moon was up and bright. I could see the dark outlines of the cows laying around me and the little black balls beside them in the mist. I walked the entire length of the calving pen thinking this had to be what Transylvania looked like. Bram Stoker must have been checking cows at night when he had his inspiration for Dracula. I started telling myself, “No, no, no, think of something else.” So I decided it was Huey Lewis and the News Doin’ It All For My Baby video. Much better.

I was standing just beyond the last cow, scanning the south fence with my light, when all heck broke loose right behind me. A calf, about 20 feet behind me to my right let out a war whoop and ran right past me bellowing like it was about to be eaten. Cows were up and screaming for their calves and it was pandemonium. I made the progression from coyote, to cougar, to werewolf, to velociraptor that quick.

I spun around and there in the middle of it all, caught dead to rights in my spotlight, was the guiltiest looking little wiener dog I’d ever seen. His ears were pinned back and his eyes were bulging out. He looked at me and said, “Sorry?” Apparently, on his nightly quest for after birth, which has turned him into more of a brat than a wiener, he bumped into the sleeping calf unleashing the preceding chain of events. I guess it just proves, thank goodness, that my life is more of a Huey Lewis song than a Bram Stoker novel. Whew!

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.

Nostalgia

A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past. That’s what can happen when you stumble onto a long lost treasure in your parents garage. I was putting my mom’s Christmas decorations away when I came across a Kodak Carousel slide projector and around 1000 slides from the 70’s. My dad had started transferring the slides to VHS years ago, but only got a couple of years done. The old projector had quit, and he got distracted with other projects, so there it sat. Thanks to the internet, I found the parts, and for $17 and a little ingenuity, I was in business.

When the fan began to whir and the light came on I was transported back to my youth, which come to find out, was not a spectacular season for fashion, but was filled with a wonderful cast of characters and some amazing adventures.

Let’s start with my brothers. I have promised not to use any of the pictures under threat of extreme duress. They graduated in ’71, ’72, ’74, and ’79. Haircuts were optional and the colors were BOLD. They owned an array of checkered, plaid, paisley, striped, and crazily patterned pants, shirts, sweaters and sport coats. In the winter, anyway, because summer on the farm in the 70’s only short, short cut offs were required. They were some thin, yet tanned lads back in the day. I can only be thankful that I was youngest and could blame mom for dressing me. Although, it appeared that I only had two shirts through most of grade school.

Friends and family seemed to be in every frame. That’s how it should be and that’s really how I remember it. There were pictures of birthday parties, Christmases, reunions, anniversaries, baptisms, weddings and more. Community events like the Fall Festival and County Fair were huge highlights and brought a flood of memories. Laughter was certainly a theme throughout, and I’m thankful for that. I know it’s not that way all the time, but it makes for better memories seeing smiling faces.

One of the more noticeable changes was the farm. It’s a lot like watching your children grow. You see them every day and don’t notice that they’re getting taller and maturing. A friend can show up and say, “Wow, they’ve grown so much.” The farm is that way. I’ve lived here 50 years and hadn’t put much thought into the transformations. The trees grew. The buildings changed colors and new ones popped up. The neighborhood has developed and more people drive by.

The sunsets and sunrises, storms(snow, rain, and hail) and rainbows, and cranes and geese, haven’t changed. My mom made sure we knew that, because she photographed them all. The corn, wheat, and cows along with the cold and hot seemed to remain constant.

I’ll be honest. I did get a little wistful and sentimental. Mostly, looking at the faces. I miss my dad. I love to see him young and in the middle of all the stories I tell. I miss my brother and feel bad he didn’t have the opportunity to grow old. I could close my eyes and hear the voices of aunts, uncles, and grandparents who have been gone for years, but were suddenly close again. All this from some simple slides, stored away in the garage for ages.

Break out some old pictures this weekend. Grab those photos, slides, super 8’s, or even the new fangled VHS’s and stir up some wonderful memories (fashion optional).