Someone recently said they were shocked to learn they had to feed cattle before they could open presents on Christmas morning. Someone else scoffed when I said I like doing chores. My city friends are perplexed by my desire to live “in the middle of nowhere”. One rancher told me he didn’t live in the middle of nowhere. Twenty-five miles from one town, 26 from another, and 29 from a third placed him smack “in the middle of everywhere”.
Well, I do like doing chores. Even on, maybe especially on, Christmas morning. And Christmas afternoon. Feeding critters, checking waterers, riding, walking dogs, breathing fresh air (even brutally cold, windy, snowy air) makes me feel alive, gets my blood pumping, gets me out of the house, and gives me a good grounding. It reminds me of important things, things for which I am responsible.
When I was around eight or ten years old, Dad bought a set of feeder lambs. My job was to feed the lambs every day. Mom has a photo of me in one of my five or six shirts and faded, holy jeans that were a couple inches short and boots with duct tape over the toe (even as a kid, I wasn’t much of a fashionista) carrying my two recycled ice cream buckets filled with corn. The grain bin was a hundred yards and one gate from the lambs’ feed bunk.
I enjoyed the lambs. They were small, cute, and their affection could be bought with an ice cream tub of corn. Later, Dad bought a set of ewes and a ram for me to take care of. The ram was too rambunctious for my taste. Plus, he didn’t notice fences, so he was always out, seemingly lurking near the house so that when he heard a door, he would come looking for me. His efforts rewarded him a quick trip to the salebarn.
After the ewes came Andy the Goat. Andy was good at prepositions. Over, around, through, under. Not a fence could hold him. His affinity for cardboard boxes was legendary. After chewing through a box, he would nibble the plastic bag inside and drag around 1000 grain bin bolts for me to pick up.
In addition to the small ruminants, there were always the horses and cattle. Before I could drive a tractor, my part of the weaned calves amounted to turning on and shutting off the water to keep the tank filled. My older brothers were tasked with building and maintaining a fire in the tank heater. When it came to horses, my job was riding. Even today, I figure it’s a good year if I get horseback on Christmas, New Year’s Day, and my birthday.
As I got older, I fed the cow and calves with the tractor and feed wagon or feed truck, put out hay bales, and spent more time training horses than joy-riding.
But as they say, a bad day horseback beats a good day doing anything else.
