Fixin’ fence was a spring ritual. Actually, it was more of a year-around chore
as long as we had a cow-calf operation.
It wasn’t called that in those days .
We had a herd of cattle. Dad kept 20-30 cows and sold off steers and
heifers every fall. Sometimes he kept
some of the heifers if they had decent mothers (decent meaning they weren’t “fence-crawlers”
or obnoxious in some other way), and sold off some of the older cows.
He would change bulls when the heifers
were old enough to be bred by their father.
Having heifers graduate into cow-hood wasn’t always pleasant. Heifers could have trouble having their first
calf and had to be watched closely as they approached calving time. They could also abandon their calf and refuse
to suckle it. Calving heifers was a
pain.
No matter. As long as there were cattle on
the place, there were fences to fix.
Every spring as the pastures greened up, it
was time to go fix fence. We would load
up in the old pickup along with some posts, barb wire, wire stretcher, hammer,
staples, spade and tamping bar. We were
along to help Dad. Looking back on it
now, I think Dad was helping Mom by getting us out of her way for a day.
We would replace broken posts, splice broken
wire, stretch the wires, and replace missing staples. As we aged, we were
trusted to drive the pickup along side of the fence to save Dad the trouble of
walking back and forth along the fence line to replenish his supplies of staples
or grab a replacement post.
It wasn’t all work, however. Many years, there would be flowers in bloom
on the prairie. Especially attractive
were the yellow sweet peas that flourished in the sandy creek bottom. They were easy to pick and they smelled
wonderful.
Not only did our mother get a break from
us noisy boys all morning. She ended up
with a bouquet of sweet peas when we returned at noon, promptly at noon, for
our dinner. The yellow flowers would wilt
and fade, and their fragrance would dimmish in a day or two, and out they would
go. They were pretty as long as they
lasted.
Many times, we had more than enough flowers
for two bouquets. So our elderly
neighbor lady got treated to a bouquet, too. “Pratsy” would always make a big deal out of
getting pretty flowers. Hard to say who
got the biggest kick out of it, Pratsy from the bouquet, or us over Pratsy’s
reaction.
For many years, the sweet peas failed to
appear. Just the dry weather? Or did something find the plants so
delectable that they gobbled them up.
This year, we repeated the old fencing
ritual as we prepared the “little” pasture to host a small herd consisting of a
cow, a steer, and a heifer. There were
plenty of yellow blooms in the creek.
Just dandelions, I thought. But
upon closer examination, many of those yellow blooms were sweet peas in full
bloom.
Nothing would do but we pluck a handful and tend them carefully as we returned to the
house where we could put them in a vase of water. These blooms weren’t as fragrant as in olden
times. Or is it that my nose doesn’t
work as well as in days of yore?
Sweet peas weren’t the only blooming
flowers this spring. The tulips did quite
well, too.
Everything is in bloom with the wettest spring we have had in years. Viva springtime!
