We’ve all heard it, “ranching is a way of life.” It’s usually said (and I always bristle) in comparison to it being a business. Of course it’s a business! I’ve got the spreadsheets, the gross margin analysis, and the line of credit to prove it.
But you could have fooled me the past week. We walked the herd home over four days. It blew, it snowed sideways, they jammed up at times, then trailed pretty. We massaged them through canyons and around traffic, through grain fields, and by yards and flower beds. It’s what we do here in eastern Idaho - those of us that summer in the high country and winter in the valley. Up in the spring and back down in the fall.
When I was a kid we called it, “the cattle drive,” the best three days of the year (not counting Christmas). The family I married into calls it, “going up the Trail.” Or down as it were. Around every bend, at every creek and old homesite is a story. At Spring Creek the brakes went out on the old black Chevy with Mom at the wheel. Two hereford bulls were fighting at Womach Hill and pushed one over the bluff. Vicki got dumped in the rocks at Miner Creek, and Wally slid his trailer off the road up Rawlins Creek. We seem to live through it; even the bull got up and walked away.
We got the herd home on Thursday. It might be cause for celebration, but it's snowing hard outside and there’s weaning left to do, and vaccinating the cows, then walking them to cornstalks, and …..
|They know the routine|
|Jesse said it, "Livin' the Dream!"|
|gathering three that got separated from Mom|