Welcome to the West as I see it

Today was the annual Ag Day event at the school, started 35 years ago by a group of cattle women, the local affiliation of the New Mexico State CowBelles, to educate school children about the beef industry and ranching agriculture in general.

For all those years, the women have organized “stations” that show the kids about shearing sheep, shoeing horses, blacksmithing, conservation, predator control, western lifestyles, wildfire prevention, veterinarian duties, and petting “pens” of livestock etc.

The classes file by learning something at each stop. Then at lunch time the entire school — staff, administration and students from pre-school through high school, are fed a hamburger lunch –cooked on the grill by the FFA students and some volunteer fathers.

Even in a rural/ranching community, fewer and fewer kids have any concept what it is all about. We have gotten so far from our roots that even the livestock is foreign to the kids. Today I watched as the horseshoer pointed to his horse’s hoof and asked the students before him why would he put shoes on it?

One little girl in about the 4th grade raised her hand, “I know, I know,” she said in all seriousness. “To protect their finger nails.”

There is much work to be done in preserving our way of life, educating those that would, even unknowingly, endanger it, and continue to record from where we have come..

And it can’t start any too soon.

I love old people. And I don’t mean that rudely at all. I simply am fascinated with their stories, the simplicity of their lives long ago and yet the recognition of how tough things were compared to now astounds me. A look through a window of their lives is a precious view.

And the best part is — they don’t think of it as hard times. It is just what it was and they did what they did because that’s what they had to do.

I spent most of the day Monday with a grand lady that grew up in a remote part of New Mexico and spent most of 95 years right there in the same area. She had choices not to –she went to college when women with degrees were not the norm. She became a teacher and came back to her home and taught school until she retired in 1959.

Today women who are grandmothers will tell you about the life skills she taught them along with the recipes they still use that were her’s.

Photos of her mother hooking up the buggy that she would drive from the ranch to town with little Zelfa at her side speak of an era soon to fade in the minds of those that lived it.

I’m always honored to write a story about people who have survived decades of living –going from the horse, buggy and lantern days to the world of hi-tech convenience. They are always humble, always grateful for the simplest things and always have a quiet dignity that runs very deep.

The biggest burden to me as a writer is to do their life justice in print — always burdened with the space constraints of the newspaper. The photos speak more than the print and I do a juggling act with how much space to dedicate to the old photos and how much to give to the words.

But I pray that however it all turns out, the person is pleased with the result. And somewhere along the way I hope I’ve gained a touch more wisdom through the journey back in time with them.

Ranching sign language is universal. The rancher’s wife stands at the gate waiting for him to make up his mind which direction he is going to go with the small herd of cattle he is bringing to the pens.

She sees him look at the cattle that are trotting a little faster than he’d like and then glance at her, but says nothing.

With a long established telepathy, she knows by watching him, she’s got the wrong gate open even though it’s the one he told her to have ready.

She slams her gate and runs as fast as boots, spurs and chaps will let her, to the other gate that is now the one they need open.

The language that is spoken, and more often not spoken, at the ranch requires visual skills as well as interpretive ones. Then there are some days the meaning comes through loud and clear.

Cattle and horses speak to their owners through patterns and nature’s instincts. A mother cow will eventually give away the location of her hidden new baby if you just quietly watch her trying to not give it away.

She will look every direction but the right one until at one point she finally glances the way of her calf.

A baby calf, falling behind the herd while you driving them, will get a look in his eye that reads: in the next second you are going to see him with his tail curled up over his back, eyes glazed over and leaving to go back to where he came from before you bothered him.

A horse’s ears will perk up to attention while you ride through the brush and you can bet the bank he’s heard, seen or smelled something you haven’t. If the rider will pay attention, a horse will find more cattle in the brush than a rider will ever see alone.

Ranch husband and wife communications, while pretty much the same across the land, take on a bit more animation and sometimes humor. Well, it usually is funny sometime later.

While she’s chunking rocks at the bulls to get them through the gate and he’s hollering it’s the wrong gate, or wrong cattle or wrong something, the next rock chunking usually is directly at him. Not hard to interpret that.

An old rancher trick is to loudly give the wife instruction that she doesn’t need, but that someone else within hearing does.

Rather than offend the neighboring help, he makes her look less than capable and hopes the one who needs to hear it, does. It usually fails in its intended mission and makes for a few days of SPAM as the main course at meals.

A nod, a whistle, a wave or a shake of his head speaks an entire language to his partner who most often is also the cook. Better judgment on his part is not always in use when communicating his thoughts.

You mean it didn’t say “for better or worse and mind reading?”

©2007 Julie Carter

By Julie Carter

The cell phone rang and when answered, the phrase “I’m on my way to a pig sale,” could be heard over the roar of the F-350 flatbed pickup as it rolled down the highway.

The digital hi-fi wireless age has allowed people a glimpse into our personal lives and let them find us in places it never occurred to them we would be.

This particular mother was headed out with her husband and son to get new livestock for this year’s county fair projects. The guy calling was her computer networking tech.

He was someone from her other life. The one where she is a business owner in skirts demanding efficiency, order and perfection.

None of which she would find at the pig sale.

He politely tried to reason why in the world would she be going to a pig sale?

It is sometimes a little hard for “regular” people to grasp the concept of livestock projects for FFA and 4-H youth headed to the county and state fair.

Their deductive reasoning finds no logic in driving long distances to buy just the right pig or three, spending the next three months buying feed and dispensing it to said animals knowing full well the highest odds are for losing money in the end.

The value of this effort year after year is not tangible because it really isn’t about the pig. It isn’t about how much he ate, how well he showed or how many cents per pound he’ll bring in August. It is all about the kid.

It is about an investment in responsibility. From now until fair time, the kid will be required to daily feed, groom, exercise and clean-up after a pig. (Or other show animals but for the purpose of the lesson, we’ll stick with the pig.)

And the most surprising part to those same amazed regular people is that the kid really does like it and so does the pig.

Something happens within the youngster when that animal becomes part of his daily life and dependent upon him.

Psycho-babblers would call it bonding. The pig has no idea about that but he knows that the short person that shows up every day is bringing chow and some attention. That’s good enough for a pig.

Just about the time the pig and the kid are into a steady routine and summer seems endless, it is fair time. Again, although it’s the pig that gets the kid to the fair, it’s still really not about the pig.

Pig pens are cleaned, assigned and move-in day is a flurry of squeals and snorts and some of those from the pigs.

Kids are running, jumping, climbing, laughing and joking. You’d think they’d just arrived in Disneyland instead of the pig barn at the fair grounds.

The teen kids stand in segregated groups with mirrored sunglasses, cool ball caps, bling-bling jewelry and perfect lip-gloss trying to pretend they don’t notice each other. Many a long-term marriage’s courtship began in such a place – a week in the county fair pig barn.

All the kids, large and small, are giddy with anticipation of the fun they’ll have for this one week. Any doubts they may have had in April about whether they wanted to show livestock this year has vaporized into sights and sounds of the pig barn.

My 13-year-old son had some of those momentary doubts. But they quickly vanished when his reasoning skills kicked in.

I was assured of that when he said, “Mom, the fair is a good place to meet girls.”

© 2007 Julie Carter

Every day I think winter is over. I drag out my sandals, wash the pickup, turn off the furnace, clean out the wood stove and say good bye to the mess of ashes —and then it snows.

We can almost always count on an Easter storm. This year, either the storm missed or Easter was the wrong weekend. It snowed ONE more time –the week after Easter. It is the middle of April. Down here in the southwest, winter SHOULD be over.

But I do have to say, if that slushy wet white stuff still posing as snow is the only way we can get some moisture, we’ll just have to take it. I’m ready for some green and some flowers –bring on the summer!!

For those of you that will be checking back regularly and since my life revolves around deadlines with my job at the newspaper, I am setting for myself an every Monday deadline to write and post something new here.

I am going to also post an occasional column for those new to my work to get a feel for what is in the book. Truly my work is how you will best get to know me.