I’m one of those people who plan. I lay out my clothes for tomorrow before going to bed, put the dishes from the drainer into the cupboard, and make a mind map of chores and obligations that await me upon waking. It never works, of course. You’d think someone my age would have figured that out and just let life happen, but I’m hard wired to plan, in spite of the fact that weather generally changes the choices I made for clothing, and often interrupts the rest of my schedule. Or the phone rings with a request that requires immediate attention, the toaster malfunctions and makes me start breakfast over—now I’m late—and who knows what else will go wrong, but surely something will. Obviously, mornings aren’t my best time of day.
But there’s one situation that takes priority when you live on a ranch. If we get up and find cattle in the yard, or headed up the county road, all else gets put on hold. Cattle are a lot like humans, in that they don’t like having their choices limited. Fences are okay for a while, although they will circle the boundaries of a pasture they’ve just been moved to, for the first couple of days. They generally settle in and graze contentedly but eventually some will start rubbing on a gate till it breaks or discover a weak spot in the fence, and everyone is off for an adventure. Older bovines are usually compliant about going back where they are supposed to be. They seem to shrug and say, “Okay, we’re busted but it was fun while it lasted,” and trail back to the place where they escaped. Young stuff is more like teenagers; they tend to argue. And calves—well, if you’re a parent, you’ve had a child lie on the floor and throw a screaming hissy fit. Calves are a lot like that.
Last week, it was that good looking set of red heifers I mentioned awhile back that went walkabout. The neighbor had said they were kind of wild, when I was wishing they were mine. That tempered my envy a lot but came to mind when we started out to remedy the situation. Heifers are unpredictable at best; teen aged girls are a walk in the park in comparison, but all went well, for once.
I have memories of times when it didn’t. We used to pen calves in the corral at weaning time and put the mamas in a far pasture. Often, the mamas found their way back overnight and lured an occasional youngster through a fence, so for several days we’d be putting things right and hoping it stayed so. We’d wake at night, and if the bawling still went on, figure things were pretty kosher. When all got quiet, or you heard hoofbeats pounding up the driveway, it was hard to go back to sleep, knowing morning wasn’t going to be pretty. Once, it was so bad we were three days getting everyone gathered up. The next year, we rebuilt the corrals and reinforced everything before weaning. After the work was all done, I sat on the porch swing with a friend who had helped with the gather the prior year. We were quietly sipping our iced tea when she asked, “they can’t get out this time can they?” I assured her that security was tight and no problems would occur. The next morning calves were all over the meadow, in three other pastures, on the road, and someone called to say we had calves in Brownlee, which was seven miles away.
Moral of this story? If something can go wrong, it will. Planning is a waste of time. Just get up every day and do what’s in front of you. I really wish I’d remember that.
Meet me here next week, and meanwhile, do your best. Somebody might like it.