Ogden Valley News | 2005-07-01 | Page 14

THE Page 14 OGDEN VALLEY NEWS Volume XII Issue XI July 1, 2005 germinate. Alfalfa seeds are small and are planted shallow n a few days, it became apparent ‘that the crop would not grow. Rather than lose the seed, Dad spent a week or ten days coaxing a small stream of water over the whole 10 acres of uneven, rocky ground. Bill and I were doing something in Sheepherd at the same time and as we went about our ork, Dad was out in the bare field irrigating the dry, freshly worked soil with laborious effort. The ground was too irregular to set the water and let it run and the problems of getting all of the ground soakedwere compounded by the fluffy condition of the soil. He stayed with it, refusing to give up the crop and year later the field produced a resasctabl yield of hay. n spite of all of the hard work, drudgery, and the aching muscles, there were lighter moments and moments of rest and reflection. I learned to appreciate rain. Any farmer experiences a feeling of wellbeing and relief when he sees thirsty plants being nourished by the freshness of rain. But, as a boy, I found relief in rain as a result of the fact that when it rains, the farm work stops and everyone gets to take a nap. Ev light rain gave the haying crew a needed rest and the ensuing naps were taken without any feelings of guilt for having turned aside from our tasks. not always kind however. In Sheepherd and on the Homestead, early spring rains frequently caught us out in the open, far from the cabin without any prospect for a rest. When our fencing activities, ditch work, or cattle drives were interrupted by rain, it usually meant we got wet to the skin before we made it to the cabin, shivering cold, and with enough of Sheepherd’s gummy clay soil sticking to our shoes or boots to make our feet feel like balls of lead. When there was a lull in the work and we had time to pause and look around us, a more subdued side of the experience was enjoyed. There was the noise of raindrops tapping on oak and maple leaves, thunder clapping and rolling across the sky darkened by ominous clouds, and the fresh smell of sage accented by new moisture on it and on the rocks and soil. All of this sharpened our awareness of the things we almost ignored when we were caught up in our work. This was especially true if the rain was light so as not to overwhelm our senses or obliterate the other sounds of the mountain. The rain added brilliance to the already vivid red flowers we called Indian paint brush. It was not only the rain that had a soothing influence; the rhythmic cha-coo of wild chickens supervising their young and the call of quail and other birds were very much a part of being in ae In the spring, a close loo t the tall, sentinel-like thistles that have purple owers later on, shows them to have a greens and reds of other plants. this the deep blue flower of gangly bluebells, and the chirping, whistling noise of a robin, the lonely coo of a morning dove, and you have some of the beauty that remains as a memory long after the drudgery of work is over. If one were to look back and pick out ne day as the most significant day of their life, the selection would no doubt vary from person to person. But I suspect in most cases, the day would be a highly visible one: the day of marriage, going off to school, or on a mission, or graduation. That day for me was one I hardly recognized at the time. My most significant day started as many did. We were in Sheepherd working. Dad and I saddled two horses and rode for cattle on the neighboring ground belonging to the Byram sheep outfit. down Cottonwood a couple of miles, then back north across Byram’s into Felt’s and east up Dead Man’s Hollow back to Sheepherd On the road in Cottonwood, we met one of the Byram owners and he and Dad talked. The conversation included a discussion about a lawsuit Byram were involved in. Dad and I sat on our horses. I did not join in the conversation but listened as I stared down at the Z SHEEPHERD cont. on page 12 metal bit in their mouth irritated the corner of their lip. The team most likely to endure this kind of misfortune was the team on the mower. The mower was made with the center of gravity of the metal gears and cutter bar placed forward of the two wheels and axle assembly that was attached to the long wooden tongue. This design put a lot of weight on the front of the tongue and consequently on the horses’ collar. After several days, the horses wore large, raw sores on the top of their necks just forward of the withers. The harnesses were removed and they were left idle whenever possible. We also tried to keep the flies off and the sores from cracking by dressing them with oil. Nothing seemed to work except prolonged relief from the kind of work they were doing and this never came until fall. Riding horses subjected to constant use, received abuse from a hallmark of cowboy attire—the spur. A few jabs in the belly by a boot with a spur on it are painful enough to make any horse move quickly. Repeated prodding with spurs, when there are many days of riding to be done, wears a raw sore that only men driven by a hard life would inflict. The horses did not suffer alone. Countless mice, birds, squirrels, chickens, and snakes were unavoidably destroyed in the haying process. The backs, legs, shoulders, and hands of the men who did the work were also affected. Take a good look at the bent over, stiff way any man walks who has spent his life farming with hand tools and horses. By the time anyone reads this, it probably won sible to find such a man. They a today’s agricultural landscape and there is a big difference between farming with mechanized farm equipment and moving every ton of hay, every sack of barley, with your back. I remember one year Dad had plowed a ten acre piece along the creek in Sheepherd and replanted it in alfalfa. After the field was seeded, the weather turned dry instead of giving us one or two soaking spring rains that we usually enjoyed and which were essential for the seed to ground or at the saddle horn and shifted my weight from one stirrup to the other. We didn’t find any strays to drive back that day and the ride back through the gently sloping incline of Byram’s ground, extending north from Cottonwood, was a long one. Along the way we talked as the horses walked side by side, each taking one track of the dirt sheep camp trail. e talked at length about the lawsuit and the lawyers who were representing Byram’s. Almost as an after thought, as that part of the conversation ended, Dad asked if | a I would ever like to be a law I wa probably in High School at the time ed my plans for the future had never progressed beyond the fixation, formed early in life, of getting away from the farm, and somehow making a good living. I don’t think I answered his question—does any teenager ever? But, we rode on and I did think about it. The question carried with it no implied request or suggestion; although it might have been asked to start me thinking. The subject was never discussed again, but the conversation and that day’s ride for stray cattle has never been forgotten. I have often wondered if I became a lawyer because I rode with Dad that day. Go away fly The wagon 'll be here soon I need the rest fly We been hay’n since June Its bad fly Catch’n rest on the hard dry ground And try’n to slee; With a rock in my back’n you fly’n around You sound funny fly Like a buzz saw that skips and jerks Why pick on me fly A poor hand with a back that hurts Maybe you'll go And I'll doze off ae start to dream Oh, damn it anyhov The shades ibaa some and I hear the ” Gage Froerer & Assoc. [phone] aes home & barn. Great Brey ae 6,300(+) sq.ft. , 5 BD, SUE he is tub & NEW LISTING! 3200 sq. ft. Rambler on 9.25 AC, pool,Horse property, views of Snow Basin Ski Resort, South Fork River runs through property. $900,000. Call Kirk 710-9460 or Ed 725-6705 Eden Office Ania Star CCondo Condo: Nice quiet area, views of Ogden Valley ‘ Pineview Res r, Snowbasin Ski Re: Wolf Creek Golf Course. $219,000 (Onl Cr mye RinLc! 2405 Highway 158 BRANCH BROKER Deborah Hegg [phone] CR ou emis REALTOR Ay Parana ee m RCO a living! 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