Just say Texas, partner, and you have my attention.
In last month’s “Across the Ozarks” column, editor Lindsay Haymes related a story about a trip in Texas and passing by various famous cattle ranches, including the Pitchfork Ranch, one of the oldest and most famous ranches in the Lone Star State.
One reason I was interested was because many years ago I bought Hereford cows and calves from the Pitchfork and trucked them back to our Missouri farm. Why Texas cattle? Simply because I could not find quality stock cattle in Missouri. And I had seen a story in Farm Quarterly with a picture of the ranch manager at the Pitchfork, D Burns, and he had an honest-looking face.
I called, made a date to meet him on a certain day, picked up my father who lived in Texas not far from the ranch, and drove to the Pitchfork.
There we were shown around the ranch, learned of its history, and saw what I wanted. What did I want? I had found out that Texas culled cows at a younger age than Missouri did, simply because range cows could not be pampered. Therefore, my idea was that I could buy their old cows, feed them all the grass they could eat, grain when needed and plenty of homegrown hay.
The system worked as long as I wanted to run cows and calves and my cows went to market at greater weights than they weighed when I bought them – at market prices.
Further, it was my belief that Missouri cows were less hardy than range cows, and that proved to be the case. There was another bonus. During one extremely dry period in Texas, I got a call from D Burns that they were weaning a set of heifer calves off some old cows because they were short on grass, and 'would I take a hundred head at a time for $100 a head?'
I had them ship 100 head as soon as possible. The heifers were a beautiful sight as they tumbled off the truck ramps and at once started running, showing they were in good shape.
The problem was also just that. Immediately on hitting the ground, they started running. And they did not stop. They did not stop when they hit the barbed wire fence a quarter-mile away. To make this story short, I finished gathering the heifers a week later from neighboring fields.
When calving time came, a massive storm visited us. Fearing what would happen if the cows calved during the storm, I phoned D Burns. His question to me was this. “Do you and your family have a warm place to sleep?”
I assured him that we did.
“Do you have a windbreak for your cows?”
Yes, to that was answered as well.
“Then go to bed and sleep well. Your cows will be all right.”
The next morning at daybreak I checked on my cows. They were all strung out along the fence row, snow was on the backs of all but three cows. They were standing up. And three new baby calves were curled up, sleeping soundly.
I raised 93 live calves out of those old girls, and sold them after the calves were weaned. The heifer calves stayed on the farm as the foundation for a new herd, and I sold some as yearlings to my old friend and MFA Mill boss, J.F. Johnson, and he kept them on his pastures at Marshfield until they stopped having calves. The steers all paid the bills.
As for D Burns, we became fast friends. The Pitchfork also had a ranch in Wyoming, where they finished steers for slaughter. I would return to the Pitchfork Ranch numerous times, mostly just to say “Howdy,” but I also made one trip up to Wyoming to meet Burns and tour the Pitchfork Ranch in that state. My wife, Helen, always made the trips when I went on story assignment, or on these types of ranch visits. That was as close as we ever got to a vacation. But those trips never failed to pay big dividends.
I could write several stories about the Pitchfork and D Burns. And I am happy to “ride over those trails once more.”
I thank Lindsay, a great young journalistic talent, for giving me another opportunity to open up my book of memories.
