Howdy friends and neighbors. Fall is here! This is my time of the year. I just like it when you start off the day with a pullover and a light jacket. The sun peaking over the eastern horizon, steam floating over the creeks and ponds, and freshly weaned calves starting to bawl. The old diesel feed truck takes a bit more care to get her started and I wonder where a matching pair of cotton gloves might be. The summer grass is starting to fade to a lighter brown as I think to myself that the feed route, with a stop at the coffee shop, will soon be routine. Out to the pens to check on the new crop of calves that are becoming accustomed to their new life on their own. I sip some Dr. Pepper as the calves wander around with the sun shining on them and steam lifting from their backs. A brave one comes forward to get a good smell of the cow dog standing guard under the pipe fence. Pepper just can’t stand the fact that this juvenile bovine is invading his personal space and takes a quick snap at him.
I pour the feed out, look for some that might be a tick under the weather, make sure there is still plenty of hay, clean water and on to the next project. It’s getting warm enough now to shed the jacket and gloves as the sun is quickly evaporating the rest of the night’s dew. I hop in ol’ tan and make the route to check (mainly to see what my neighbors are up to) the rest of the herd in their many places. By about the third stop it’s time to shed the pullover. The last stop is the fall-calving cows’ pasture. I blow the faithful siren (my horn is wore out and refuses to work) and the mob starts my way. There ought to be thirteen cows as they line out for a count. Black streaks dart in and out of the cows. Baby calves run circles around the mamas as they make their final approach to the trough. I absolutely love watching baby calves play. From a stand still they break in two as if Jim Shoulders were strapped to their back and they were just turned out of chute number two at the NFR. Then it’s a dead run with tails sticking straight up in the air. They don’t know where they are going, but they are going to get there in a hurry. The mamma cows pause for a split second and lift their head from the trough to keep an eye on the little ones, then its back for another mouth full.
I take a quick tour by the recently planted wheat fields. Man, the Lord has blessed me this year. Plenty of moisture and the wheat is dark green and growing just like it was designed to do. I think to myself “I need to get around that fence.” And I’m off to be productive now; I just need to figure out what that is.
As the sun heads west, I look for that pullover I threw behind the seat as the temperature reminds me winter is on the way. Man, the days are getting shorter. Let’s head to the house and grab the local paper to see whom the red hot Eagles play next Friday night. As I step in the house and loosen my boots I remember I left my jacket in the feed truck. I slip on some flip-flops and step back outside as the cold creeps up from the concrete sidewalk and look up at the stars that are as crisp as the fall air. Coyotes howl in the distance and a calf bawls back at the pens. I grab my coat and head inside to catch the World Series ball game. One last look up. What a sight. Only God could create that view from Sunny Point, Oklahoma.
I’m Monte Tucker, and that is what’s under my “frost on the pumpkin” hat!
