I was walking through the herd underneath low cloud with an icy wind pushing hard from the South. My cellphone rang and it was my mom. She told me that she had come across something on the road into town and I could hear that she was upset. It was just after six am and I always worry about her on the road in the poor dawn visibility. It’s early spring and grazing is scarce but the road shoulders were cut and burnt to form firebreaks for winter and the fresh , new grass attracts animals and causes a significant hazard for travellers.
I jumped in my truck and followed the road into town scanning the sides for any signs of life. A few minutes later I spotted a jackal in the road, sitting upright on the blacktop. As I approached I could see the blood pouring out of the crushed limp hind legs and the desperate, frantic look in her eyes as she tried, without success, to crawl away from the approaching vehicle. She was pregnant, belly large and awkward in the morning light. There was nothing I could do to save her. I stepped out of truck, into the deserted road and put her out of her misery with a single shot to the head. The gunshot rang out across the winter brown and I dragged her off the road into the tall grass. Soon the crows would spot her and scavengers big and small would heed to the ancient call of fresh meat, stripping her bones clean and reducing her to nothing but a haunting memory in my weary head.
The farm has a pretty busy two-lane that basically splits the northern sections in half. That means several hours spent next to the road and miles of fence maintenance to keep the cows and traffic safe. We often move cattle across this road to new camps and we are at all times vigilant, armed with huge red flags and reflector jackets as well as the pickup a ways up the road with hazards flashing to warn approaching traffic. A simple but dangerous task, it is here where you often see the true character of people. The full spectrum gets covered. City folk in their shiny trucks and SUVs, riders on their scramblers or quad bikes, farmers and tourists all making their way somewhere. Some slow down early and wait patiently while the cows and young calves cross into the next camp offering a friendly smile and a greeting. Some families let down their windows and take pictures while kids point and ask questions. Others blow their horns and sneer at us for wasting their precious time. The other day a friendly couple on their way for a swim at the river gave Byron and I a ride back to the farm after we were rounding up some cattle that had jumped the fence and left us quite far out. They didn’t have to do that but it sure reinforced the notion that there is still some folks out there that care about farmers and ranchers.
Being a farmer is a lifestyle that separates the men from the boys. It takes everything you have and then asks for more. Nature gets a constant vote and getting comfortable with having a bank overdraft that keeps you up at night during winter months is some of the best advice I’ve ever received. Hundreds of mouths to feed, employees and their families relying on that pay check every month and trying to keep your family together through periods of droughts and flood, good times and bad, success and uncertainty. But it also rewards you with work that is open to the sky, magnificent sunsets and unforgettable experiences. To me it’s part of my artistic expression and the life weaves itself into my songs and stories.
I am grateful for the opportunity and the stories. Grateful for the privilege to be a custodian of my little piece of land. I’m honoured to guide my family through the good times and bad. It requires humility and hard work but the rewards are immeasurable. Perhaps you’ll see me next to the road with my cows one of these days or find me on a stage somewhere singing my songs. Stop for a moment or two and say hello. Become part of “The Story”.
JB
