Normally our family meets for Easter at sunrise at a cross in a pasture at my sister’s. This time on Easter morning it was raining and I’m definitely not complaining as we always need rain.
It had quit raining by afternoon so we met there in the evening. All the kids and a few adults fished in a pond nearby and most of the kids were catching several fish—except I noticed my third son didn’t seem to be catching any. And if you know his Dad, well you would know that when we were quitting fishing I said to my son, “next time you should put a lure on maybe that would help.”
Most of our area received some rain with the larger amounts more to the center of the state, but we are thankful for the rain. Even where we got less than half an inch it is amazing how much better the wheat looked as a few days before it was turning blue and showing signs of dry weather.
On a set of fat cattle shipped to the packer one big fat heifer died at the packing house before they got her processed. I asked the manager of the feedlot why he thought she died. He said it could be from an old lung problem, but probably she was just so fat the heart gave out or quit. He said actually we are trying to push these fat cattle to extreme big fat levels bigger than God made them for.
He said anytime toward those last few days, “You are playing with dynamite as to whether they can stand it or not.” I’m just thankful that we have pushed beef prices to levels most of us thought were never possible.
Many women want to brag about how clean their house is. And they will say, “You could eat off my floor.” Well, that’s nothing—you could eat off my floors, too, but you might get a little dirt in your mouth.
I have a friend who loves jokes and having a good time and she was at a party and walked up to an attractive man. She said, “Hi my name is Carmen.” He said, “What a beautiful name.” He said, “Is that a family name?”
She said, “No it’s a name I gave myself.” He said, “Really.” She said, “Yes it’s a combination of the two things I like best—cars and men.”
Editor’s note: The views expressed here are the author’s own and do not represent the view of High Plains Journal. Jerry Nine, Woodward, Oklahoma, is a lifetime cattleman who grew up on his family’s ranch near Slapout, Oklahoma.
