Editorial / Opinions

Blizzard-driven snow numbed my face as I reined old Buck into the ravine where my Hereford cows and the early calves had gathered for the night. Protected from the wind now, it seemed degrees warmer; but I knew even the ravine and timber wouldn’t stop the falling temperature – already near zero – from killing any calves dropped this night. As if the wind and the below-zero weather were not enough, there was a six-inch snow on the ground to chill the life out of anything so unfortunate as to be born this hell’s night in the Missouri Ozarks.

Winter will soon be upon us and all of the old-timers (a group of which I’m rapidly gaining membership in) that I hang around with, are beginning to make their predictions based on “the signs.” My father observed the natural occurrences when he was alive and always seemed to put a lot of confidence in the hints that mother nature provided, but he once confided in me that the best two signs he relied on to begin the winter months were:  1) A barn full of hay, and 2) enough wood cut by Nov. 1 to get you through the worst of winters. He firmly believed that if those two goals were accomplished, even the harshest of winters wouldn’t seem so bad.

From mums, pumpkins and spiders making webs, to pecan pie, turkey and Thanksgiving joys, to the shopping hustle, holiday parties and Santa Claus, the fall to winter, Halloween to Christmas seasons fly by each year.

A friend of mine's father, who is a little long in the tooth, still keeps mother cows on his ranch in Oklahoma.  He called his son the other morning and said he had a cow who'd calved and the little fellar wouldn't get up. Also, his momma didn't want no one messing with her latest offspring. So his son came over and they took dad's off-road buggy down there, intending to load the calf and bring him to the house.  Now his son's kinda like me, a little out of shape from his office job, and not ready for no 9K run.

Afew weeks ago, a friend was riding with me as I made my afternoon rounds. I was up at the north place tending to a crippled bull when I asked my buddy to look behind the seat of my truck to see if I had an extra can of “purple spray” to apply to the infected foot of the bull. He walked back to the truck, which was hidden from my sight, and spent what I thought was way too much time. When I finally gave up on him and walked over to the truck, I saw him still pulling out stuff from behind the seat.

From mums, pumpkins and spiders making webs, to pecan pie, turkey and Thanksgiving joys, to the shopping hustle, holiday parties and Santa Claus, the fall to winter, Halloween to Christmas seasons fly by each year.

I had no sooner put my tools aside and settled down to enjoy my handiwork on a new back porch than I got the surprise of my life.

I love this time of year, but not for the obvious. Yes, the cooling of the weather and the changing of the leaves is nice, but the part I like is going to the mailbox and opening at least one purebred auction catalog every single day. Some days there are more than one.

I feel like I’ve gone a million miles since my last column. Truth be told, I haven’t gone anywhere, I’ve just been “busy.” I just love that word. Busy. We’re all so busy. August was over before I even knew it, and where did September go? My garden was mildly neglected this year and my level of helping at the farm was diminished to about zero.

For the past quarter century, Dan and Peggy Eoff have hosted a Labor Day event on their ranch, a few miles west of Clinton, Ark. This year that event saw its 24th year of running the National Chuck Wagon Racing Championship. And, despite concerns about the economy and rain, over 30,000 folks dropped in to sip a taste of the largest equine event in the world anyone knows about. Five thousand, six hundred some horses and mules were checked in at the gates by officials for their current Coggins test papers.