We would wake up real early on cattle round up days. This particular day it was probably 3:30 am. I was sixteen, in the middle of final exams for the year and I was supposed to be studying but we had cattle to process and brand as well as calves to sort. We had to have an early start because the herd was about sixteen kilometres away on another section of leased land and they had to be pushed back to the main handling facility at Tygerfontein where all the necessary infrastructure and handling tools were close at hand. My sister and I had the dairy parlour clean by six and with a breakfast of eggs, bacon and white bread smothered in pork fat we hopped on the back of the pickup. As we turned onto the dirt road large drops of summer rain started pelting down. Grandpa didn’t think it would last and made the decision to continue with the roundup. I knew it was going to be a big day.
It was raining all out by the time we got the herd out the gate and onto the road back to the farm. Thunder rattling the earth around us and flashes of lighting spooking cows along the way. I’m sure Grandpa knew that it had been a bad call by then but as I have now come to learn, managing a farm, often your desire to get a looming deadline ticked off your ever growing list sometimes gets you into tricky and trying situations. I still smile at that day. It was bordering on ridiculous but as Grandpa would often say.. “ No use trying to reign in a leaping horse”. The decision was made that we’d push them to the farm and put them out into the pasture there to dry out for a couple of days before continuing the work as planned. Managing and driving a herd of fiery and protective Brahman cows with little calves is a fun but potentially dangerous exercise and you had to be on your toes. The entire herd was running at a steady pace and the guy in front, yours truly, had to see to it that all gates along the road were closed, approaching cars were alerted using our mandatory red flags and making sure the cattle got turned the right way at farm road intersections. We finally got them there safely just after two o’clock and we were staring at them through the farmhouse window with cups of steaming coffee and freshly baked biscuits from grandma’s oven. By all accounts it should have been a miserable day but for some reason there was an atmosphere of joy, relief and pride. Soaked to the bone in a warm summer rain, full of mud and manure we were exhausted but cheerful.
I remember looking at them in the big living room. Grandpa, my father and sister and grandma with her legs crossed listening to the radio while the heavens opened up and blessed the farm with well needed rain. It’s one of a few times in my life that I felt truly happy. I’m grateful for this memory. I keep it close when times get hard.
Later that evening dad gave me the car and I drove into town for a birthday party. As I came over the hill looking down on my hometown in the distance, the clouds had opened up and bright shafts of orange, pink and red sunset light beamed through gaps bathing the valley in a golden glow. I felt tired and my body felt a bit battered after another demanding fourteen hour day. But I was smiling. I had a tape cassette of Bruce Springsteen’s “Tracks”on the radio and Fever was playing loud with the windows open. Cool air rushing over my face in the most perfect sunset.
I was not quite a songwriter yet, but she was waiting at the party, oblivious to the spark she was about to ignite in a teenage cowboy’s heart.
JB
