June 2004 The Megaphone Page 6
by Julie (Stout) Crim
In
an e-mail from a friend this morning, she asked me if we were too far north to
see cowboys. Well, the answer is "No."
For over 15 years I lived on forest land know as open range. That means cattle
from several different owners could range freely, no fences to get tangled in.
Several times over the years I would look out my front windows and see 20-40
head of cattle feasting on the grass in the yard. I didn't like it but is was
open range after all and there was nothing I could do except get the shovel after
they left and clean up. After doing that once I thought phooey, I'm not doing
that again!
I'd allow their "leavings" to dry and then mowed the yard, scattering
the droppings that fertilized the yard. The grass was always green.
We had a boxer dog named Sam, short for Samantha. The first time they came by he
barked and barked. The cattle stood across the dirt road that ran in front of
our house and mooed and mooed and mooed. They would not go away so I brought Sam
inside. I tried to shoo they away, waving a towel at them and still they stood. I
stood between them and food . . . grass. Oh well, what's a little grass. Grass
in the woods was not my idea in the first place.
But, back to the cowboys. In October it was roundup time. Horses were, in the
olden days, and still are today, the best way to perform this chore along with
dogs. They were so interesting to watch that I could be found with a sack lunch
sitting on a rock, their only audience.
Baby and teenage cows would stray off and need a nudge to join the heard from
time to time. The dogs would nip at their heels and get them moving in the right
directions. Occasionally an adult cow would break loose and start to run. Just
like in those old westerns we watched as children, away rode to cowboy swinging
a lasso and capture the runaway. After that man's best friend would take over.
Eventually they would start for home, right down the highway. If you'd come
around a curve or over a hill and see nothing but brown, you'd hit the breaks
and stop. They had the right of way simply because they were bigger than you . .
. and there were several hundred of them, maybe more than a thousand! We would
stop and the brown wave would part and roll past us, sometimes taking as long as
half an hour. It was like brown water washing past.
With every roundup there's still a chuck wagon. What's considered close here
might be fifty miles away and not thought of as close back in the East (That's
any state east of Wyoming).
The chuck wagon is like a small motorhome. There's a bed for the cook and the
rest is kitchen. He carries a generator so has all the conveniences that he had
back on the ranch. A generator provides electricity for the very large coffeepot
and any other plug in type of small appliance.
Cowboys in 2004 have much the same chores that they did 50 to 100 years ago.
There's always fence to mend. To maintain a ranch and all the buildings, animals
and acres is quite a job. "Only the rough, healthy and hardy need
apply."
And then there's branding time. Cruel? Not really. It's a must when all the herds
get mixed up in the summertime on the open range and in the forest.
Often while in the corral the cattle are run through a chemical bath before
turning them loose. It's for fleas, flies and other bothersome insects.
Have you ever gone up to a cow in a pasture? They don't run from you. They're
calm gentle animals with the most beautiful brown eyes and black eyelashes. They
look at you in a trusting sort of way, accepting you as an equal. They love to
be hugged and petted. They will follow you around the barnyard like any pet
would.
Cowboys still dress as they always did. I expect the only difference is that
they may carry a two-way radio or even a cell phone. But . . . cell phones don't
work well in the mountains and away from civilization.
Some still carry a guitar or/and a banjo and yes, there is still a campfire at
the end of the day . . . when allowed.
Sometimes cowboys start forest fires on purpose. It's called controlled burning.
And yes, sometimes they do get out of control.
Cowboys are usually younger men. You recognize they on a city street by their
dress, boots, truck, dog and gun in it's rack . . . well, not all of them I
suppose. It's a great experience for a young man that can follow orders and
learn. And . . . the money ain't bad.
And, when you think you are about done, well, it's shearing time. Shearing sheep
is quite an art and fun to watch. The sheep hate it but feel so much better
afterwards.
And then there's the lambing season. Ahhhhh, there's nothing quite like a
newborn lamb. Now and again a tiny black sheep appears. He becomes the pet, and occasionally
twins appear. That's lucky!
And what are you eating for dinner?
Submitted by . . .
JJ aka Julie (Stout) Crim '57
to Page 7