Well, there might be days that typify this scene, but usually it’s hard work, eat, sleep, hard work, eat sleep…you get the picture. But a person can pretend…
Actually I don’t have to pretend. My Ranchy Farmy Man is pretty romantic…and has been for the past 38 years!
Ladies Eat Your Hearts Out
My Number One
RFM
Brad
The guys on our ranch are unique and diversified in their talents. For over a century this has been the norm. Our ranch consist of farming corn, wheat, milo, alfalfa, and canola, raising cattle and horses, and hunting and wildlife. The men have always had their specialty. My granddad Oscar loved horses and mules. My granddad Lenard loved to farm and fish. My dad loves cattle. My husband loves it all. My brother loves to farm. My eldest son loves hunting and wildlife, his younger brother loves cattle, horses, and fishing, and their cousin loves to farm. I watch in awe as these inherent desires take root.
Oscar
This is Oscar, my great grandfather. We owe our livelihood to his perseverance and foresight. I don’t remember him, but my dad shares great stories. He never smoked or drank, but did enjoy an off color joke now and then.
He always rode a big horse named Tom up and down the road to different friend’s and family’s homes. As a little boy my dad remembers Oscar riding down on his horse early in the morning to make sure he was up and out of bed hollering, “get up Jackie” (his pet name for him.)
My dad remembers Oscar getting his first car. They always knew when he was leaving the house even though he lived 1/2 mile from them; they could hear him start up. He would floor board and gun it every time.
A neighbor told a story about Oscar and his father. My Grandad Oscar had gone to pick the neighbor and his wife up for church on a Sunday morning. On there way they hit a hog (Os raised them) instead of going on to church, they got out and butchered the hog on the spot. Just not much “politically correct” going on during those days.
Lenard
Aunt Mo, Grandad Lenard, My Dad
Grandad’s Last Harvest
Grandad Lenard continued the hard work put into building and expanding the farming and ranching operation his dad, Oscar had begun. Harvest during those days didn’t include combines and tractors, but mules and thrashing machines. He nearly died with pneumonia when my dad was a small boy. When I knew him he had slowed down and was fishing every chance he got…and I went with him every chance I got. He taught me to tie on a hook, thread a bobber onto my cane pole and and clean a fish. He would take me to our family’s ponds and I would fish and he would sleep. I hooked his hand one time fishing in Canada. He said nothing, but reached into his overalls and pulled out his pliers, pulled the hook on through his hand, snipped the barbed part off, pulled it out and kept trolling along.
We were truly best friends. In high school I wrecked a pickup, I wasn’t the most popular person around our house for a while. The day after the wreck I stayed in my bedroom with no visitors…except him. When he walked into my room he had something wrapped in a napkin, “How about a Smokie Sausage” he offered. Years later he would have several car wrecks which led to the confiscation of his keys, and his pickup driving replaced with a riding lawn mower. After each wreck I came with food offerings to ease his humiliation.
In the 1970′s he and Grandma Grace moved from the house Brad and I live in, into a new home. Grandma Grace would eventually enter a nearby nursing home, which left Grandad alone to fin for himself.
His attachment to our house, the house he built in the 1930′s, became stronger as he aged. His favorite past time…coming down to eat “buckwheat pancakes” with our family. There were many a morning that we were not out of bed (one time because it was 4:00 a.m.) My wake up call went something like this: I would hear a tapping at the front door with his cane. I would let him in as he walked in chirping, “buckwheat pancakes, buckwheat pancakes” tapping his cane all the way into the kitchen. He was a joy, exasperating at times as I was trying to also keep up with four kids. But I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. It’s funny to hear my kids relate their memories of him. They remember a lot more of his antics as they were innocent by-standers taking in every event.
Ralph
My dad… he is amazing. He is probably the most focused man on the face of the earth. He has been extremely successful throughout his life and I believe it’s due to that focus. The three things he solely concentrates on; God, Family and Cattle.
He grew up loving cattle. He began showing as soon as he was old enough and won many local, state and national honors including champion steer at the Kansas City Royal. His uncanny ability to know and raise good cattle has expanded the ranching business my great grandfather Oscar began.
I spent a lot of my time going with him; to gather and feed cattle, and if there were calves to be pulled in the middle of the night, I was there. I think back now and that was probably a pain in the rear to get me ready to go with him. My love of animals comes from him. Growing up I’m sure he was the instigator of bringing many of them home.
I never remember missing church. We were there whenever the doors were opened. We attended a country church down the road, and even though our attendance was small, my dad treated his duties with great pride and respect. He taught Sunday School class for years including mine. I have heard many people give my dad credit for their decision to become a Christian.
My dad has a natural ability for positive public relations. He never tells anyone what to do…but asks them what they want to do or what they think. I believe this ability has contributed to his successful business career.
Iman
Iman was my “nanny”. I can’t remember a day that I didn’t spend some part of it with him. He watched me like a hawk. He was always there to saddle “Smokey”-his horse -my friend. I would learn to ride on that horse. I could walk under Smokey, behind him, or just lounge around on top of him. I don’t remember Iman saying much. He was just always there to help me. A kind patient man with a hardened, lined face and a hand extended. Iman was still working for us until my teens. I’ll never forget him.