Editorial / Opinions

There are times when I’m reminded how fragile life really is. The idea of my life and the lives of those around me being a vapor – here today, with the very real possibility of them being gone tomorrow – reminds me to appreciate every minute of life I have. There have been many sorrows and deaths, and even a few escaped tragedies recently. They've all made me think. One tragedy escaped was when my sister was in a really scary car wreck a few weeks back. She somehow walked away from her totaled SUV unscathed. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drive past the spot of her car wreck without thanking God for his mercy.

Afew weeks ago a lady from the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum called and left a message on my phone to call her. I got back to her the next day, knowing I didn’t owe the Cowboy Hall any money, so what was the risk? She was very pleasant, and laughed about my message on my phone you get when you call me and I’m not here.

One morning last week, my wife nonchalantly asked if she could borrow my Jeep for the morning. Most men subscribe to the “what’s mine is yours” philosophy and would simply have said, “Sure, take the Jeep, ‘cause I’m using the truck all day to feed cattle.” Those men are not married to my wife and don’t know her track record with unfamiliar vehicles.

There are times when I’m reminded how fragile life really is. The idea of my life and the lives of those around me being a vapor – here today, with the very real possibility of them being gone tomorrow – reminds me to appreciate every minute of life I have. There have been many sorrows and deaths, and even a few escaped tragedies recently. They've all made me think. One  tragedy escaped was when my sister was in a really scary car wreck a few weeks back. She somehow walked away from her totaled SUV unscathed. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drive past the spot of her car wreck without thanking God for his mercy.

I’ve been telling you an old skunk hunting tale of a boy that is probably a lot like you and I were as kids. In issues past, our young adventurer got up early to check his traps, and he found he’d trapped one mean old skunk. The boy was sprayed in an unsuccessful attempt to kill the nasty ol’ polecat, and no amount of grandpa’s horse lineament could cover the smell. Thankfully, grandma rescued him and let him bathe some of the stink off in her house before his mother caught him. And that’s where we meet up with our youthful hero... at Grandma’s house.

My wife’s cousin and his family came down for a short visit this past weekend. They live in St. Louis and the only connection with agriculture that any of them have ever had in their entire lives – is me.

Can you believe just how much the way we raise cattle, farm and life has changed in the last century?

Agood friend of mine, John Duncklee, is an award winning western writer who was educated in geography, and taught English in colleges in Arizona and Sonora, Mexico. John ranched in the dry 50s in Arizona, and bought and sold feeder cattle on the Mexican border. A navy veteran from World War II, he’s grown cotton, made range studies in the San Francisco mountains north of Flagstaff and built furniture from desert wood.  He owned and ran many race horses on the Tucson track, and worked mules in his pre-college years in Wyoming.

My wife and I were watching the local news one evening recently when one of those odd “human interest” stories grabbed our attention. A recent immigrant to our country was trying to raise money in order to pay a “dowry” to the father of the woman he was wishing to marry, back in his home country. The “dowry” was what caught our attention, because the groom had to come up with 110 cows in order to receive permission from the father to wed the young lady. My wife and I were appalled, but for very different reasons.

I made a mistake in my last column. I mentioned a train wreck in Bois D’Arc, Mo., I thought I’d seen in an old picture. Turns out, back in the old days they sold postcards with pictures of train wrecks on them, and Ryan’s great-grandparents had picked those postcards up somewhere along their travels in life. Sorry for the mistake, and the confusion. Clearly I should be more careful when digging through old pictures. But I will remind you, that oh-so-short bull I saw in the photos and mentioned last time? He was real. Can you believe just how much the way we raise cattle, farm, live has changed in the last Century?